Hugh rolled on top of him and the weight of him felt incredible. Emmrich was about to make a comment about him being a better blanket than the blankets but then the man kept talking... and moving downward. His breath caught at the kisses and promise of the movements.
"Let's," Emmrich said breathlessly, propping himself up on his elbows to watch. His cock slipped between Hugh's lips and his mouth fell open. He hardened quickly, heavily due to the suction around him.
"Look at you," he managed. "You feel like you were made for this. You look perfect." He shifted to just one elbow so he could reach down and touch Hugh, his cheek, the side of his face, his hair, anywhere he could reach. So freely Hugh offered this up. So easily.
"Not sure I'm not dreaming now." His thighs trembled with the effort of not thrusting into Hugh's mouth as the heat rose in his veins.
Hugh soaked in the praise like a parched man seeking water. Blunted nails scraped along his skull, and he hummed happily. The pressure of Emmrich's touch, the softness of his words, and the brackish taste of pre-cum filling the back of his throat were all-encompassing and deeply satisfying.
Maker, he was going to practically be in mourning when Emmrich inevitably tired of him. That much was certain—Hugh was too needy, too tightly wound, and too much of a lot of other things that would frighten off someone like Emmrich. The man deserved 'dashing,' not a Warden from out in the sticks.
Emmrich came, and Hugh let out a full-throated moan as he swallowed him down tip to root. Hugh was sleepy-eyed and grinning broadly when he let Emmrich slip out of his mouth with a lewd popping sound.
"Made for it, hmm?" Hugh asked as his languidly fisted Emmrich's spent cock while trailing kisses around the other's navel.
"I think our morning plans might be a bit delayed."
When he came, it was with Hugh's name on his lips in the closest thing to a prayer he'd said in years. He did not believe there was a Maker's side to be at, but he could see this being as close to it as ever possible.
The noises Hugh made sent a shudder through him, one that didn't stop as Hugh kept playing with him. Emmrich just barely resisted the urge to try to pull away. It was so much, verging on too much, but he selfishly wanted everything he could get from their short time together.
"You were perfection," he groaned out. "I won't be, I can't... it takes me a little time to recover now." He didn't want to disappoint Hugh, but his recovery time had gotten longer as he'd gotten older, and that was just one of the reasons he expected the younger man to tire of him.
"So why don't we see to you?" His fingers twitched in Hugh's hair, tugging just a little. The kisses were so nice and he almost didn't want them to stop, but he didn't want to neglect Hugh either. "Come up here."
Hugh raised his head, first to chase the pleasurable feeling of Emmrich's fingers in his hair. If he closed his eyes now, the gesture could have lulled him back to sleep. No one had before or stayed long enough to be bothered. Another little idiosyncracies Emmrich brought into his life that he will miss fiercely when Emmrich departs. Then, Emmrich's words clicked, and he blinked.
"S'alright." He hadn't considered the other man's refractory period, but with his own to contend with, this would've been the situation with almost any partner that wasn't a Warden.
"Now..." Hugh pushed himself up and started to crawl up the bed, over Emmrich, with a hungry look in his eyes. "What did you have in mi—"
A few things happened in rapid succession. First, there was a loud and insistent knock on the bedroom door. At the interruption, Hugh's lips pulled back in an irritated snarl that showed sharpened teeth. With a rushed apology to Emmrich, Hugh rolled off the bed and hurriedly stepped into his trousers as the knocking continued, and Hugh began swearing under his breath. Hugh bounced on his heels a moment to work out some of his, ah, renewed excitement before crossing the room and throwing open the door.
"What?" Hugh hadn't even attempted to inject civility into his tone and demeanor.
With the way the room was angled, the bed would be out of view to anyone peering in. Likewise, all Emmrich would witness is Hugh's back and the sound of another voice—male and brash.
"You're a sight," The male voice crowed with a whistle. "Poached one of those girls from the town for the night again?"
"Mind your own, Tomlinson," Hugh said, already exacerbated. What is it? We're not due for inspection, so I assume the Commander didn't drop in to yell at us for not running drills."
The man laughed again, "Thank the Maker, no. A raven come up from the docks this morning, Seems the harbormaster has a stick up his ass and is scrambling to get the bound for Nevarra before nightfall. That's you, right?"
Hugh made a noise that confirmed before the man followed up with,
"My sympathies. Saw the mage they sent — old, skinny too. You might starve, yeah?"
Hugh made another noise, this one closer to a growl. "That's enough."
"What? You hate those rich noble sorts. Broke the nose of that one chevalier last winter for calling us a bunch of dogs. Don't tell me you've gone s-"
"Jog on, Tomlinson," Hugh sighed, halfway to closing the door. "I've got a job to pack for."
"Right, right. Just don't break that one. That spooky bastard could be trouble with Nevarra. Oil and water, us and them."
The door closed harder then it needed to, Hugh turned and leaned against it as he let out a loud sigh. He ran his hand through his hair as his eyes fell back on the bed.
"Sorry about that," Hugh looked awkward, frowning and his face reddened. "The other Wardens are...well, we can be a bit of a boys club. Don't think too poorly of us."
He had a few ideas, but before he could work on making that deliciously hungry look on Hugh's face even hungrier, they were interrupted. Despite how the door didn't allow a view of the bed Emmrich grabbed the blankets again; he wasn't certain this Tomlinson wouldn't barge in further.
The conversation wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, but in the context it was discouraging. He was old and skinny, and spooky to boot. The fact that he wasn't a noble or a bastard didn't change that he was rich now, either. After Tomlinson's words it was so much more clear that he was everything a warden usually would absolutely avoid. Everything Hugh would usually absolutely avoid. He would be broken by this. But he wouldn't blame Hugh for it, and it wouldn't hurt the Wardens. That much at least he could be sure of.
Emmrich managed a weak smile once the door was closed. He knew a toddler could see through it, but he had to try.
"Well. He wasn't too far off, was he. I am what I am." Apparently not even to Hugh's usual type, too, which was also the opposite of promising. He shrugged to try to make it seem like not such a big deal. "Perhaps I should gather my stuff so we can make sure to get to the docks on time."
He got out of bed and had a realization. "...I don't suppose you know where my smalls landed last night?"
"Tomlinson's an ass but he's harmless," Hugh said flatly.
Ordinarily, that would have been it. His fellow Wardens way out here all shared a dim view of nobility and the like, but Emmrich didn't seem to have any title beyond professor within the Mortalitassi. He dressed and spoke well, but that didn't so much as denote nobility as it did good standing within his order. Nevarrans were magpies with their jewelry, if memory served—some sort of cultural thing.
Still, Tomlinson's words had gotten under Emmrich's skin, and he wasn't alone in that. Thanks to that large mouth of his, Tomlinson inadvertently revealed Hugh's occasional loose nature. He doubted Emmrich was the sort to look down his nose, but it rattled him to think Emmrich would think less of him now.
"If he had accused you of being kind-hearted and likely the most tolerant person in the North to take meeting his first vampire with an open hand rather than a stake he would have been on the money," Hugh offered a small smile, "But like I said, Tomlinson's an ass."
A chance look at his feet then gave Hugh an idea on how to salvage the situation. He bent down, and when he stood, a pair of blue silken smalls hung on the end of Hugh's crooked fingers. Hugh didn't move, instead holding out Emmrich's small clothes, inviting—well, teasing- the other to get them.
Kind-hearted and tolerant. He'd take those, even though the old still hung there in his mind. It rested a little easier when Hugh started teasing him, though. Hugh's expression said everything, and Emmrich couldn't help but smile back.
"Those do appear to be them," he said. Emmrich crossed to the Warden, but he didn't take the garment. Instead he slipped his arms around Hugh's waist. He had been intending to see to Hugh before the interruption, after all.
Emmrich kissed Hugh's mouth hungrily, sucking on the man's lower lip. His hands traveled over Hugh's backside before he stuck his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and tugged downward. Pressing close like this let Emmrich feel Hugh's not-too-diminished erection against his thigh and he smiled into the kiss before breaking it. He met Hugh's gaze, held it, and dropped to his knees to press light kisses along Hugh's thighs, teasing right back.
"We won't make him wait too long," Emmrich said. "But you shouldn't be left waiting either." He took Hugh's cock in hand and ran his tongue along the side of it, nice and slow, wondering how patient the man was (or wasn't.)
"Be a shame to lose these," Hugh let the smalls dangle from his hand. "The blue brings out those stately good looks...and pert backside."
Hugh liked to believe he had said the right things here. The 'old' comment from Tomlinson went ignored because Hugh didn't know what to say. Yes, Emmrich was older than him, even if he didn't know by how much, but that hadn't factored into his decision. He detested people who spoke out of both sides of their mouth and was only honest himself—unless it was a game of cards. Bringing up the disparity in their ages now just seemed like rubbing salt in the wound. It didn't concern him, so he wouldn't let it weigh on Emmrich if he could help it.
Then, Emmrich was pressed against him, and a hot tongue sliding between his lips, and Hugh stopped thinking altogether. His reaction was immediate. He moaned into Emmrich's mouth as his hips bucked the taller man to find some friction. Hugh only had a moment to run his hands up Emmrich's lithe body before Emmrich was sinking to his knees.
"How thoughtful..." Hugh exhaled, eyes blown wide, fang poking over his lip where he started to bite down in anticipation.
"Oh, Emmrich—" There was a gasp and dull thud as Hugh's head struck the door as he arched into the clever tongue ran slick up his cock. Impatient didn't do Hugh's need for Emmrich justice. The moment he felt Emmrich's lips pass over his cockhead, Hugh fisted Emmrich's soft, salt and pepper hair and brought that tremendous, wonderful warm down on his erection.
"Please...please...fuck— incredible," Another low moan, Hugh fucking into Emmrich's mouth as his vision blurred, stumbling over pleas and praise.
Compliments about his appearance helped Emmrich's mood too. He did take excellent care of himself, and that mattered. He wasn't old and saggy. Yet. He'd keep working on preventing that from happening, and he'd also keep working to get Hugh's hands on him more because he hadn't had nearly enough of that yet.
Later, if he can find a way to phrase it, he'll have to tell Hugh how cute he was with one little fang showing. Much later.
Emmrich moaned as he was steered how Hugh wanted him, breathing steadily through his nose. Hugh began thrusting and Emmrich relaxed, letting himself be used and glad of it. One of his hands rested on Hugh's thighs to keep himself steady, and with the other he gently fondled the man's balls. The heavy pressure against his tongue, insistent against the back of his throat, was bliss, and he could taste Hugh getting closer.
Even if he was just a passing bit of fun for Hugh, poached from responsibilities for a few nights during the mission, he would still be memorable. He would do his best to not be easy to leave, because he's already so lost.
Despite his earlier remarks in an effort to placate Emmrich, Tomlinson's words rotated around in Hugh's head while he could still think. There was some kernel of truth to it, albeit unknowingly on Tomlinson's part, that Emmrich really wasn't Hugh's type. Emmrich's wasn't a fellow Warden and possessed little in common with the rotating number of rough-hewn village girls and sailors.
—Maker, phrased like that, it dawned on Hugh he was hardly a step above a street cur for his antics. Emmrich would be more than forgiven when he inevitably lost his tolerance for a sharp-edged bastard like him.
A shame, because Emmrich wasn't the sort of company Hugh had before but damned if Emmrich wasn't exactly what he needed. Everything about Emmrich was soft, well-cared for, and that didn't factor in his calm disposition and apparent experience. The phrase 'in good hands' did the man no credit.
"Fuck—!"
Fingers twisted in Emmrich's hair, another gasp and a final thrust of his hips and Hugh was spent. The back of his head struck hard on the doorframe, but he neither noticed nor cared as he rode the last waves of pleasure before he could see straight again. Urgency overrode gentleness as Hugh hauled Emmrich up by his arms and pulled him into a bruising kiss. He groaned as he devoured the taste of himself and Emmrich on his tongue until he found a note of something metallic in the mix.
"Shit-"
Hugh pulled back just in time to see the small cut on Emmrich's lower lip. He had forgotten to retract his fangs in all the excitement. Cupping Emmrich's cheek, he gingerly thumbed the kiss-swollen, reddened lower lip marred by a tiny little red gash just a hair off from the center. It would scab over within the hour, but that wasn't the point. The point was the two sharp little problems poking out of Hugh's mouth.
"I'm so sorry, dammit, do you need a cloth? Water?"
He was quite pleased with himself at Hugh's reaction, the hair tug, the swearing, the desperate response after. Emmrich was more than happy to tangle his tongue with Hugh's and press close, drinking in all of Hugh's sounds and flavors. Not until Hugh yanked back did he even notice that his lip had been cut, and he shook his head with a smile.
"You're hardly the first person to bite there, Hugh, it's fine," he said in a rough voice. Emmrich re-closed the new gap so he could rest his head on Hugh's shoulder and enjoy the rest of coming down from his mouth being fucked. He ran his hands soothingly over Hugh's back. Soon enough he'd need to get dressed and they'd need to get on the move, but right now he could enjoy this.
"Unless the scent is going to bother you. But otherwise I'm entirely fine, darling." Sometimes in winter his lips split on their own, no less. This was nothing.
"You'd mentioned possibly changing the bandages on the other in the morning. Is that needed?" That, though, he could go for. That would likely be gentle and nice. But you couldn't bandage a lip.
Hugh had rebounded quickly, but he was in no rush to move. Emmrich may not have weighed much, but his body was a pleasant weight against his own. With Emmrich's head on his shoulder, Hugh noted it still smelled faintly of lilac and sandalwood. This close, he also noticed the shock of black running along his temple—the last stubborn streak of color in his otherwise greying hair. It was cute.
"Be an issue in my line of work if a little bit of blood set me off," Hugh said wrly, words muffled against Emmrich's temple.
"Right, your bandages," He sighed, still not eager to move with Emmrich's hands running up his back in a way that made him go slack against the door. Maker, the things he'd do to just roll right back into bed with those hands on him. "Let me, ah—"
They parted enough for Hugh to stuff himself back into his trousers. It was then he realized he had been white-knuckling Emmrich's smalls this entire time. Color flushed his face a third time that morning as he held them out.
"Here I'll need the panti- bangages. I'll need bandages— I will...get the bandages."
He made a noise, a little hum, to say he heard Hugh as he talked just because he was too comfortable to pull away or actually say any more words. Once Hugh moved, though, Emmrich gave in to the inevitable and stretched out, which put him in the perfect position to see Hugh turn absolutely crimson.
There was no way Emmrich could resist grinning as he took his underwear back. "If you need them I have others, you know." Apparently he also couldn't resist teasing. He pulled them on and followed that up by getting his pants and pulling those back on as well before sitting down in a not-covered-by-glass-shards chair to await help with the shoulder bite. It was a tiny bit sore, but it felt like nothing worse than a small bruise and Maker knew he wound up with small bruises constantly.
"Will you need to feed like that daily?" There was no judgement in his voice. He was trying to plan ahead to make sure Hugh didn't wind up hungry, he didn't wind up dizzy from blood loss, and that there were enough places on his body to safely bite like that so as not to overlap on the same spot too often. It should be fine. He did wear long sleeves all the time, after all. But Emmrich himself might need to eat and hydrate more than usual.
The tease Emmrich levelled at him struck true. Hugh could only let his mouth hang open as his face turned such a deep shade of red he looked as if he might pass out from the rush of so much blood to his head. Eventually, he only mumbled something before retreating to the dressed where he left everything from the night before.
"Only every few days," Hugh explained after collecting himself as he moved to Emmrich's side to remove the bandages. Emmrich's inquisitiveness rather than dread over the arrangement was refreshing. He might not have known much about spirits, but right away, Hugh could tell why a wisp of curiosity attached itself to someone like Emmrich.
"Regular food sustains me well enough, but blood is what keeps me hale and hearty," He continued after washing the puncture marks, which had already started to close before redressing them. "Speaking of, you may want to eat a little more red meat. I can't tell much about a person from their blood, but yours...do you get headaches often, dizzy spells? Your heart beats a little too fast. Usually, I find that means a person isn't eating enough.
"You're lithe, sure, but in a good way. The kind of skinny that bends nice like supple willow branches, so I know you're eating well."
Hugh's hands stilled over the freshly bandaged shoulder, and he cleared his throat.
He nodded at the first bit, a little relieved. It had been quite arousing, but every day might have gotten taxing. Otherwise he relaxed, listening and enjoying Hugh's gentle hands on him.
"I don't get headaches or dizzy spells often at all, but I also don't eat meat. I work with corpses and can't stomach the thought of eating flesh." He'd cut into too many people. Plus he'd adored Lucy, and valued life in general. While technically plants were alive, they didn't have personalities. They didn't seek affection, and they weren't ever cute. He could eat them with no qualms.
"And it's never rude to say I bend well," Emmrich said, smirk returning. "I can work on eating more," for the duration, he thinks but doesn't say because that's his own private pain, "and that won't be difficult as the Necropolis was poised to provide nearly anything. All we knew was that the main price was feeding you. The assumption was that you'd be as demanding as a noble so we'd need to be prepared to source any number of things we don't usually have in our kitchens."
He shifted his shoulder, testing the bandage, and nodded before standing and picking up his shirt to start tugging it on. He gathered the rest of his clothing and toiletries.
"Let's prepare to leave, I think, and then perhaps hit the library on the way out? I'd love to see if you do have someone residing there."
"You'd make for one conflicted vampire in that case." Hugh couldn't imagine not eating meat. Then again, he also couldn't imagine not believing in the Maker or wearing the color yellow because he thought it made him look peaky. People had their preferrences same as they had limitations. "Forgive my asking, but that does put some light on things. Glad we served what we did at dinner, then."
Once Emmrich's shoulder was seen, Hugh started to pick up the clothes scattered around from the night before. Emmrich's nightgown was laid neatly over the back of the chair while his own were either tossed in a corner or put back on after passing the cursory sniff test.
"Hah!" Hugh barked a laugh as Emmrich explained the situation in the Necropolis. "Would have loved to see them scramble over a menu thinking my price was—I don't know, what do fancy people eat? Cavier on gold plates? They weren't so far off the mark—I am picky. Too much lyrium in the blood gives me one fuck of a headache and any potent tinctures hit me like rampaging bull."
He then looked at Emmrich and winked as he threw on a shirt.
"I can tell when someone has a sweet tooth, too. Right, library. Anything I should do? Hate for you to find a spirit only to find out it's one of my old commanding officers I've pissed of."
"I'd honestly thought you'd served what you served at dinner because the Wardens knew. Most of the Mourn Watch is vegetarian. But I'm quite glad of the coincidence. After so long not eating meat my body would not react well to it." Indigestion was a polite way to put what would happen.
He chuckled at the question, shaking his head. "Some of the things that get served at the fancier parties are... certainly something. And it's all tiny portions that say someone spent way too much time and caused excessive food waste so that someone could eat only what's deemed fashionable." Sometimes he was required to go to those events, and while he did quite well for himself in a crowd, he also found a lot of the pretension and artificiality exhausting.
Once Hugh was ready headed out toward Emmrich's room so he could gather the rest of his things. "I hope you don't mind my sweet tooth," Emmrich said as he switched into a clean shirt and started pulling the rest back on, vest, sleeve garters, jacket, new socks, and his boots. "I can cut back if need be, but Manfred does sometimes get so engrossed in the way sugar dissolves that the tea he serves becomes more sugar than anything else, and I hate to discourage him by not consuming it." He can't say drinking it. It doesn't count as drinking that that point.
"And you shouldn't worry about it being one of your commanding officers. They may have left an imprint upon a spirit, if one is there, but it's rare for a person to linger." That being said, there's always a chance. He finishes repacking, making sure the books are on top so they'll be easy to access, and gestures toward the hall.
"If you don't mind leading the way." He'd like to take Hugh's arm again, but Tomlinson and potentially others might see and he doesn't want to risk shaming Hugh. He'll only reach out if Hugh offers.
"Our working knowledge of the Mourn Watch and greater Nevarra is...sadly limited," Hugh admitted with a contrite look. It was no secret beyond an actual Blight that both organizations seldom crossed paths, let alone cooperated. Then, with a beaming smile that bordered on the comical, Hugh added, "But coincidence certainly has done wonders for building political bridges and your stomach, so let's consider it a win!"
Once they were dressed, Hugh looked over and noted Emmrich's hesitance. He might have schooled his expression, but his accelerated heart rate and perspiration gave him away. Even an excellent card cheat wearing a mask couldn't hide those little giveaways. Emmrich wanted something, or at least was expecting it, but hesitated. Then it struck him, and Hugh's expression turned to a subdued, rather touched smile.
"You know," Hugh began as he sidled up next to Emmrich and held out his arm. "I'd doubt we'd run into the likes of Tomlinson on the walk over. The hardheaded oaf is more illiterate than I am."
The walk would be shorter in the daylight, and the library was closer than the dining hall from the officer's wing of the fortress. The library itself was a wide tower with three levels of winding stone staircases with tomes of varying states filling a cramped maze of shelves. Beyond that there were only a few desks on the first and second level all covered in a thin film of dust and sand.
"It's uh..." Hughed cleared his throat, "Nothing to brag about, I'll admit. If you do end up summoning a spirit that starts dressing me down for my 'insubordination' or improper uniform maintenance, well, do be a love and banish the bugger, yeah?"
Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that the Wardens know little of Nevarra. Other than that first disastrous Blight that took all of Thedas by surprise, Nevarra had barely seen any Darkspawn activity. There'd been more than a few theories about that, with the Mourn Watch wondering if it was the high level of Fade energy in the Necropolis specifically that might be deterrent. There was, currently, no way to know.
But he, apparently, was fairly easy to know because already Hugh seemed to read him like a book. Emmrich took Hugh's arm with an equally soft smile as his heart leapt in joy. Perhaps the risk of running into others was low, but even then this gesture said that Hugh wasn't ashamed of last night at least.
"A shame that there's not more access to reading," he said honestly as they walked. Everyone should have the opportunity to learn, though he knew that it was far more complicated than practical.
The library was indeed dusty and sparse. After a pat Emmrich released Hugh's arm and walked deeper in, sensing the way the magic moved through the Veil here. It was off. The Veil was thin in a way that spoke of suffering or blood magic or both, and not for the first time Emmrich wondered about the rituals around making Wardens and also vampires. One did, after all, need to consume blood to exist.
Finally there was a shifting and he followed it up a twisting staircase and into a back corner. Emmrich held out a hand and green threads drifted out, revealing to Hugh what Emmrich could already see -- a lone spirit lingering there. He was armored and bearing a massive rectangular shield.
"Protection," Emmrich named him, and inclined his head. Protection bowed back, his gaze mostly on Hugh. "Fitting, considering the duties of the Wardens."
"Though they do not value their duty as once they did," Protection said, his voice thin and weary. "Fewer come with higher goals. Even he did not."
Well that wasn't how this was supposed to go. Emmrich was fully aware of why many people joined the Wardens, but he wasn't trying to throw that in Hugh's face. "He'll be protecting now, and that's what matters. However, if you find this place wearing your nature thin, I can assist you in returning to the other side of the Veil."
Protection considered this, looking around, before shaking his head. "No. I will linger yet. I am not entirely forgotten."
Emmrich looked at Hugh with an apologetic smile. "I believe it's Protection alone here. Should we go grab something for the road and head out?"
"I'm told the postings in places like Jader, Montsimmard, and Denerim host finer libraries," Hugh answered with a masterfully subdued tinge of bitterness. Even if he had been a Warden with a finer reputation, it was commonplace to deploy those of his nature to the distant corners of the North. Less temptation to go sampling the locals and causing a stir if they were out in the middle of nowhere.
There was nothing practical in educating the foot soldiers, especially the ones you didn't want in polite society. Hugh's unpolished and slapshod handling of the written word wasn't surprising but another reminder of where he stood among the rank and file. He glanced sidelong at Emmrich as they moved through the library. Whatever scrap of affection from Emmrich he might have earned from one good night, he hoped it wouldn't twist towards pity.
When Emmrich seemed to catch wind of something unseen, Hugh followed. What transpired had him on edge, but he decided to trust both the process and Emmrich. Spirits were not unknown to him, but he had little experience and none of it pleasant. The spirit that manifested, Protection, was a unique sight enough that Hugh found himself returning the bow.
At the spirit's rather castigation, Hugh bristled but allowed his temper no more than a deep-set frown and hiked tension in his shoulders.
"Boys cut from the end of nooses for cutting purses to live, girls taken out of cells for killing soldiers who thought they were owed something from them on the merit of being red-blooded men with needs, and mages picked at random every couple of years don't often find much value in dying young, no.
We might all be thieves, killers, or just plain unlucky, but bit much to stare down your incoproreal nose when it's us doin' the dying to keep the world turning and just floating there." Hugh was almost challenging the spirit to argue at that point. It privately shocked him how swiftly he went on the defensive, but that was how he felt. Even knobs like Tomlinson deserved as much.
"Even the worst of you keep your oaths and hold this fort. Your camaraderie for your fellow condemned inspires my staying," The spirit said with a weary patience that was almost grandfatherly.
Hugh went quiet. And then, have a long moment.
"...Are you lonely here?" He asked.
"No, that is not a word that signifies to a spirit such as I am," Protection answered.
"Right, well," Hugh looked at Emmrich and nodded curtly. "Right then."
He then turned and walked off, down the stairs and out of the library not with great haste but in long-legged strides that more than spoke of his eagerness to depart.
"They are simple," he finally offered up. "Single-minded, and not good at nuance. What their name is, is what they know. The waking world has a complexity they simply cannot grasp." Would that help? He didn't know. Most of Thedas did not understand spirits either, which is why they were so easily harmed and transformed.
"They require patience, until and unless they grow more complex, and that's a rare process that takes hundreds upon hundreds of years. I doubt that Protection spirit has been there that long."
Emmrich didn't want either to feel judged, but he wasn't sure that he was succeeding in that at all. At least they reached the kitchens quickly enough at this pace. A Warden looked him up and down, looking unimpressed after.
"Was there perhaps something to take to eat on the road?" Emmrich asked both the Warden and Hugh. The sooner they got out of here and into the palanquin, probably the better, at this rate.
"He's in the wrong place, then, given none of us live more than twenty, so he'll be seeing plenty of us, and I guarantee few are less patient than us," Hugh said dismissively and over his shoulder.
He had not spared Emmrich a glance back or any consideration for his words. That was twice now he'd revealed some terrible secret of the Wardens to a man he barely knew in a moment of heightened emotion. Part of him knew he was being cold and abrupt, but the alternative was far worse. Hugh knew himself and knew that if this persisted, he risked his temper flaring up like a hot coal catching the stray breeze that sparks a wildfire.
The Warden who greeted them in the kitchens was an elf kitted out in traveling leathers, with an inconspicuous stave bearing the head of a roaring griffon. They looked Emmrich up and down, from his gold to his own staff, before glaring at the skull carving that adorned it. Cool, they looked to Hugh as if needing a direct order to answer.
"We're bound for the docks then Nevarra, Pana," Hugh said to the other Warden, Pana, with flat affect.
"You can take my pack," Pana said, shouldering off a satchel onto the table. "Not leaving for Weisshaupt for another few days, just got word of sandstorms to the West. You're going the other way, so you might as well."
They passed Emmrich, and for the briefest moment, their hardened look in their eyes and their posture hinted they were going to check him with their shoulder before a sharp look from Hugh had them side-stepping.
"Aside from the deep stalker jerky," Hugh said, as if nothing had happened while he rummaged through the bag. "Everything here looks good for the road for us both. Where's this palanquin of yours?"
He was not used to someone being so clearly angered by his staff. Especially not another mage. Was there something deeper beneath the resentment toward the Mourn Watch? He was senior enough that he would have been briefed if other Watchers had known. Maybe it wasn't related to the Necropolis at all, maybe it was Nevarra itself or the mortalitasi in general. Emmrich had no clue.
"Um," Emmrich said, trying to process the question he'd only half-heard since he'd been more concerned with Pana's anger. "Oh. Right. Behind the stables. I saw that there was an area that looked disused back there, just large enough, and figured that would keep the skeletons out of the way. The wisps powering them haven't reported any disturbances, so it's been unbothered."
It was entirely possible, and he'd even hoped it would be the case, that the Wardens hadn't seen it there. The wisps didn't need to get distracted, the skeletons didn't need to be poked at. And with the ire he was seeing (and had heard from Tomlinson,) he didn't want the palanquin itself poked. Who knew what would happen?
"Did... Is there... There's not enmity, surely? Between Nevarra and the Wardens? Certainly we haven't interacted much, but there wasn't anything in the briefing that suggested that level of resentment."
"Who, Pana?" Hugh asked as he peered around Emmrich to the empty spot the other Warden had previously occupied as he slung the pack over his shoulder. "Doubt it had anything to do with you personally. All I know is Pana came from a Circle in the Marches and gets along poorly with—uh...less traditional approaches."
When he looked to Emmrich, his attention briefly locked onto the staff with its black and green skull grinning back at him. The only expression Hugh wore was curosory fascination at its design before he frowned and said,
"It's something of an unwritten rule among the Wardens that we don't ask after what brought them into our merry fold—so I couldn't tell you more. Sorry."
If Emmrich hadn't already seen the Wardens as a group of isolated paranoids, he certainly would now. Their ways were steeped in centuries of secrets and sacrifice that made them insular even in times of peace. Hugh wished that Emmrich hadn't seen the harsher side of the Order, but he knew if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.
—Speaking of horses and riding. At the mention of skeletons apparently carrying the palanquin, Hugh looked startled at this revelation.
"They've been out there all night? That can't be comfortable, can it? I— I mean I suppose skeletons or wisps or whatever don't really tire, but, surely that couldn't have been enjoyable to spend the night with the horses then carry us for seven hours."
"Ah." Yes, that would do it. Whether they were resentful of the freedom of those with the Necropolis, or distrustful of the leeway given, there was that gap. It was a shame, when they should all be working toward mutual freedom.
Emmrich's expression brightened back up at the questions. "The wisps got to zip around a new area, which they find delightful, and the skeletons are simply that. Their former occupants were all members of a family who builds the palanquins, artists, carpenters, and they volunteer their skeletons to carry their family's work when they pass. It's a matter of pride for them."
He made a gesture in the air, a wave. "They'll be getting the palanquin to the front gate now. Come, see."
When they emerge, the palanquin rested on the ground, and eight skeletons stood ready to pick it up. It was a lovely wooden-framed structure, covered in carvings of flowers and draped with lightweight purple fabric. Inside were two plush black fabric seats, with a pair of green, gold, purple, and black cushions. There was room for someone to lay down on each bench, just barely in Emmrich's case.
"Any questions?" he asked, settling in on one of the benches and leaving room for Hugh to sit next to him if he wanted. A second later he was reaching into his pack and offering up the books he'd brought. "And here. As promised."
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"Let's," Emmrich said breathlessly, propping himself up on his elbows to watch. His cock slipped between Hugh's lips and his mouth fell open. He hardened quickly, heavily due to the suction around him.
"Look at you," he managed. "You feel like you were made for this. You look perfect." He shifted to just one elbow so he could reach down and touch Hugh, his cheek, the side of his face, his hair, anywhere he could reach. So freely Hugh offered this up. So easily.
"Not sure I'm not dreaming now." His thighs trembled with the effort of not thrusting into Hugh's mouth as the heat rose in his veins.
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Maker, he was going to practically be in mourning when Emmrich inevitably tired of him. That much was certain—Hugh was too needy, too tightly wound, and too much of a lot of other things that would frighten off someone like Emmrich. The man deserved 'dashing,' not a Warden from out in the sticks.
Emmrich came, and Hugh let out a full-throated moan as he swallowed him down tip to root. Hugh was sleepy-eyed and grinning broadly when he let Emmrich slip out of his mouth with a lewd popping sound.
"Made for it, hmm?" Hugh asked as his languidly fisted Emmrich's spent cock while trailing kisses around the other's navel.
"I think our morning plans might be a bit delayed."
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The noises Hugh made sent a shudder through him, one that didn't stop as Hugh kept playing with him. Emmrich just barely resisted the urge to try to pull away. It was so much, verging on too much, but he selfishly wanted everything he could get from their short time together.
"You were perfection," he groaned out. "I won't be, I can't... it takes me a little time to recover now." He didn't want to disappoint Hugh, but his recovery time had gotten longer as he'd gotten older, and that was just one of the reasons he expected the younger man to tire of him.
"So why don't we see to you?" His fingers twitched in Hugh's hair, tugging just a little. The kisses were so nice and he almost didn't want them to stop, but he didn't want to neglect Hugh either. "Come up here."
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"S'alright." He hadn't considered the other man's refractory period, but with his own to contend with, this would've been the situation with almost any partner that wasn't a Warden.
"Now..." Hugh pushed himself up and started to crawl up the bed, over Emmrich, with a hungry look in his eyes. "What did you have in mi—"
A few things happened in rapid succession. First, there was a loud and insistent knock on the bedroom door. At the interruption, Hugh's lips pulled back in an irritated snarl that showed sharpened teeth. With a rushed apology to Emmrich, Hugh rolled off the bed and hurriedly stepped into his trousers as the knocking continued, and Hugh began swearing under his breath. Hugh bounced on his heels a moment to work out some of his, ah, renewed excitement before crossing the room and throwing open the door.
"What?" Hugh hadn't even attempted to inject civility into his tone and demeanor.
With the way the room was angled, the bed would be out of view to anyone peering in. Likewise, all Emmrich would witness is Hugh's back and the sound of another voice—male and brash.
"You're a sight," The male voice crowed with a whistle. "Poached one of those girls from the town for the night again?"
"Mind your own, Tomlinson," Hugh said, already exacerbated. What is it? We're not due for inspection, so I assume the Commander didn't drop in to yell at us for not running drills."
The man laughed again, "Thank the Maker, no. A raven come up from the docks this morning, Seems the harbormaster has a stick up his ass and is scrambling to get the bound for Nevarra before nightfall. That's you, right?"
Hugh made a noise that confirmed before the man followed up with,
"My sympathies. Saw the mage they sent — old, skinny too. You might starve, yeah?"
Hugh made another noise, this one closer to a growl. "That's enough."
"What? You hate those rich noble sorts. Broke the nose of that one chevalier last winter for calling us a bunch of dogs. Don't tell me you've gone s-"
"Jog on, Tomlinson," Hugh sighed, halfway to closing the door. "I've got a job to pack for."
"Right, right. Just don't break that one. That spooky bastard could be trouble with Nevarra. Oil and water, us and them."
The door closed harder then it needed to, Hugh turned and leaned against it as he let out a loud sigh. He ran his hand through his hair as his eyes fell back on the bed.
"Sorry about that," Hugh looked awkward, frowning and his face reddened. "The other Wardens are...well, we can be a bit of a boys club. Don't think too poorly of us."
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The conversation wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, but in the context it was discouraging. He was old and skinny, and spooky to boot. The fact that he wasn't a noble or a bastard didn't change that he was rich now, either. After Tomlinson's words it was so much more clear that he was everything a warden usually would absolutely avoid. Everything Hugh would usually absolutely avoid. He would be broken by this. But he wouldn't blame Hugh for it, and it wouldn't hurt the Wardens. That much at least he could be sure of.
Emmrich managed a weak smile once the door was closed. He knew a toddler could see through it, but he had to try.
"Well. He wasn't too far off, was he. I am what I am." Apparently not even to Hugh's usual type, too, which was also the opposite of promising. He shrugged to try to make it seem like not such a big deal. "Perhaps I should gather my stuff so we can make sure to get to the docks on time."
He got out of bed and had a realization. "...I don't suppose you know where my smalls landed last night?"
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Ordinarily, that would have been it. His fellow Wardens way out here all shared a dim view of nobility and the like, but Emmrich didn't seem to have any title beyond professor within the Mortalitassi. He dressed and spoke well, but that didn't so much as denote nobility as it did good standing within his order. Nevarrans were magpies with their jewelry, if memory served—some sort of cultural thing.
Still, Tomlinson's words had gotten under Emmrich's skin, and he wasn't alone in that. Thanks to that large mouth of his, Tomlinson inadvertently revealed Hugh's occasional loose nature. He doubted Emmrich was the sort to look down his nose, but it rattled him to think Emmrich would think less of him now.
"If he had accused you of being kind-hearted and likely the most tolerant person in the North to take meeting his first vampire with an open hand rather than a stake he would have been on the money," Hugh offered a small smile, "But like I said, Tomlinson's an ass."
A chance look at his feet then gave Hugh an idea on how to salvage the situation. He bent down, and when he stood, a pair of blue silken smalls hung on the end of Hugh's crooked fingers. Hugh didn't move, instead holding out Emmrich's small clothes, inviting—well, teasing- the other to get them.
"These?"
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"Those do appear to be them," he said. Emmrich crossed to the Warden, but he didn't take the garment. Instead he slipped his arms around Hugh's waist. He had been intending to see to Hugh before the interruption, after all.
Emmrich kissed Hugh's mouth hungrily, sucking on the man's lower lip. His hands traveled over Hugh's backside before he stuck his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and tugged downward. Pressing close like this let Emmrich feel Hugh's not-too-diminished erection against his thigh and he smiled into the kiss before breaking it. He met Hugh's gaze, held it, and dropped to his knees to press light kisses along Hugh's thighs, teasing right back.
"We won't make him wait too long," Emmrich said. "But you shouldn't be left waiting either." He took Hugh's cock in hand and ran his tongue along the side of it, nice and slow, wondering how patient the man was (or wasn't.)
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Hugh liked to believe he had said the right things here. The 'old' comment from Tomlinson went ignored because Hugh didn't know what to say. Yes, Emmrich was older than him, even if he didn't know by how much, but that hadn't factored into his decision. He detested people who spoke out of both sides of their mouth and was only honest himself—unless it was a game of cards. Bringing up the disparity in their ages now just seemed like rubbing salt in the wound. It didn't concern him, so he wouldn't let it weigh on Emmrich if he could help it.
Then, Emmrich was pressed against him, and a hot tongue sliding between his lips, and Hugh stopped thinking altogether. His reaction was immediate. He moaned into Emmrich's mouth as his hips bucked the taller man to find some friction. Hugh only had a moment to run his hands up Emmrich's lithe body before Emmrich was sinking to his knees.
"How thoughtful..." Hugh exhaled, eyes blown wide, fang poking over his lip where he started to bite down in anticipation.
"Oh, Emmrich—" There was a gasp and dull thud as Hugh's head struck the door as he arched into the clever tongue ran slick up his cock. Impatient didn't do Hugh's need for Emmrich justice. The moment he felt Emmrich's lips pass over his cockhead, Hugh fisted Emmrich's soft, salt and pepper hair and brought that tremendous, wonderful warm down on his erection.
"Please...please...fuck— incredible," Another low moan, Hugh fucking into Emmrich's mouth as his vision blurred, stumbling over pleas and praise.
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Later, if he can find a way to phrase it, he'll have to tell Hugh how cute he was with one little fang showing. Much later.
Emmrich moaned as he was steered how Hugh wanted him, breathing steadily through his nose. Hugh began thrusting and Emmrich relaxed, letting himself be used and glad of it. One of his hands rested on Hugh's thighs to keep himself steady, and with the other he gently fondled the man's balls. The heavy pressure against his tongue, insistent against the back of his throat, was bliss, and he could taste Hugh getting closer.
Even if he was just a passing bit of fun for Hugh, poached from responsibilities for a few nights during the mission, he would still be memorable. He would do his best to not be easy to leave, because he's already so lost.
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—Maker, phrased like that, it dawned on Hugh he was hardly a step above a street cur for his antics. Emmrich would be more than forgiven when he inevitably lost his tolerance for a sharp-edged bastard like him.
A shame, because Emmrich wasn't the sort of company Hugh had before but damned if Emmrich wasn't exactly what he needed. Everything about Emmrich was soft, well-cared for, and that didn't factor in his calm disposition and apparent experience. The phrase 'in good hands' did the man no credit.
"Fuck—!"
Fingers twisted in Emmrich's hair, another gasp and a final thrust of his hips and Hugh was spent. The back of his head struck hard on the doorframe, but he neither noticed nor cared as he rode the last waves of pleasure before he could see straight again. Urgency overrode gentleness as Hugh hauled Emmrich up by his arms and pulled him into a bruising kiss. He groaned as he devoured the taste of himself and Emmrich on his tongue until he found a note of something metallic in the mix.
"Shit-"
Hugh pulled back just in time to see the small cut on Emmrich's lower lip. He had forgotten to retract his fangs in all the excitement. Cupping Emmrich's cheek, he gingerly thumbed the kiss-swollen, reddened lower lip marred by a tiny little red gash just a hair off from the center. It would scab over within the hour, but that wasn't the point. The point was the two sharp little problems poking out of Hugh's mouth.
"I'm so sorry, dammit, do you need a cloth? Water?"
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"You're hardly the first person to bite there, Hugh, it's fine," he said in a rough voice. Emmrich re-closed the new gap so he could rest his head on Hugh's shoulder and enjoy the rest of coming down from his mouth being fucked. He ran his hands soothingly over Hugh's back. Soon enough he'd need to get dressed and they'd need to get on the move, but right now he could enjoy this.
"Unless the scent is going to bother you. But otherwise I'm entirely fine, darling." Sometimes in winter his lips split on their own, no less. This was nothing.
"You'd mentioned possibly changing the bandages on the other in the morning. Is that needed?" That, though, he could go for. That would likely be gentle and nice. But you couldn't bandage a lip.
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"Be an issue in my line of work if a little bit of blood set me off," Hugh said wrly, words muffled against Emmrich's temple.
"Right, your bandages," He sighed, still not eager to move with Emmrich's hands running up his back in a way that made him go slack against the door. Maker, the things he'd do to just roll right back into bed with those hands on him. "Let me, ah—"
They parted enough for Hugh to stuff himself back into his trousers. It was then he realized he had been white-knuckling Emmrich's smalls this entire time. Color flushed his face a third time that morning as he held them out.
"Here I'll need the panti- bangages. I'll need bandages— I will...get the bandages."
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There was no way Emmrich could resist grinning as he took his underwear back. "If you need them I have others, you know." Apparently he also couldn't resist teasing. He pulled them on and followed that up by getting his pants and pulling those back on as well before sitting down in a not-covered-by-glass-shards chair to await help with the shoulder bite. It was a tiny bit sore, but it felt like nothing worse than a small bruise and Maker knew he wound up with small bruises constantly.
"Will you need to feed like that daily?" There was no judgement in his voice. He was trying to plan ahead to make sure Hugh didn't wind up hungry, he didn't wind up dizzy from blood loss, and that there were enough places on his body to safely bite like that so as not to overlap on the same spot too often. It should be fine. He did wear long sleeves all the time, after all. But Emmrich himself might need to eat and hydrate more than usual.
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"Only every few days," Hugh explained after collecting himself as he moved to Emmrich's side to remove the bandages. Emmrich's inquisitiveness rather than dread over the arrangement was refreshing. He might not have known much about spirits, but right away, Hugh could tell why a wisp of curiosity attached itself to someone like Emmrich.
"Regular food sustains me well enough, but blood is what keeps me hale and hearty," He continued after washing the puncture marks, which had already started to close before redressing them. "Speaking of, you may want to eat a little more red meat. I can't tell much about a person from their blood, but yours...do you get headaches often, dizzy spells? Your heart beats a little too fast. Usually, I find that means a person isn't eating enough.
"You're lithe, sure, but in a good way. The kind of skinny that bends nice like supple willow branches, so I know you're eating well."
Hugh's hands stilled over the freshly bandaged shoulder, and he cleared his throat.
"Sorry, was that rude?"
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"I don't get headaches or dizzy spells often at all, but I also don't eat meat. I work with corpses and can't stomach the thought of eating flesh." He'd cut into too many people. Plus he'd adored Lucy, and valued life in general. While technically plants were alive, they didn't have personalities. They didn't seek affection, and they weren't ever cute. He could eat them with no qualms.
"And it's never rude to say I bend well," Emmrich said, smirk returning. "I can work on eating more," for the duration, he thinks but doesn't say because that's his own private pain, "and that won't be difficult as the Necropolis was poised to provide nearly anything. All we knew was that the main price was feeding you. The assumption was that you'd be as demanding as a noble so we'd need to be prepared to source any number of things we don't usually have in our kitchens."
He shifted his shoulder, testing the bandage, and nodded before standing and picking up his shirt to start tugging it on. He gathered the rest of his clothing and toiletries.
"Let's prepare to leave, I think, and then perhaps hit the library on the way out? I'd love to see if you do have someone residing there."
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Once Emmrich's shoulder was seen, Hugh started to pick up the clothes scattered around from the night before. Emmrich's nightgown was laid neatly over the back of the chair while his own were either tossed in a corner or put back on after passing the cursory sniff test.
"Hah!" Hugh barked a laugh as Emmrich explained the situation in the Necropolis. "Would have loved to see them scramble over a menu thinking my price was—I don't know, what do fancy people eat? Cavier on gold plates? They weren't so far off the mark—I am picky. Too much lyrium in the blood gives me one fuck of a headache and any potent tinctures hit me like rampaging bull."
He then looked at Emmrich and winked as he threw on a shirt.
"I can tell when someone has a sweet tooth, too. Right, library. Anything I should do? Hate for you to find a spirit only to find out it's one of my old commanding officers I've pissed of."
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He chuckled at the question, shaking his head. "Some of the things that get served at the fancier parties are... certainly something. And it's all tiny portions that say someone spent way too much time and caused excessive food waste so that someone could eat only what's deemed fashionable." Sometimes he was required to go to those events, and while he did quite well for himself in a crowd, he also found a lot of the pretension and artificiality exhausting.
Once Hugh was ready headed out toward Emmrich's room so he could gather the rest of his things. "I hope you don't mind my sweet tooth," Emmrich said as he switched into a clean shirt and started pulling the rest back on, vest, sleeve garters, jacket, new socks, and his boots. "I can cut back if need be, but Manfred does sometimes get so engrossed in the way sugar dissolves that the tea he serves becomes more sugar than anything else, and I hate to discourage him by not consuming it." He can't say drinking it. It doesn't count as drinking that that point.
"And you shouldn't worry about it being one of your commanding officers. They may have left an imprint upon a spirit, if one is there, but it's rare for a person to linger." That being said, there's always a chance. He finishes repacking, making sure the books are on top so they'll be easy to access, and gestures toward the hall.
"If you don't mind leading the way." He'd like to take Hugh's arm again, but Tomlinson and potentially others might see and he doesn't want to risk shaming Hugh. He'll only reach out if Hugh offers.
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Once they were dressed, Hugh looked over and noted Emmrich's hesitance. He might have schooled his expression, but his accelerated heart rate and perspiration gave him away. Even an excellent card cheat wearing a mask couldn't hide those little giveaways. Emmrich wanted something, or at least was expecting it, but hesitated. Then it struck him, and Hugh's expression turned to a subdued, rather touched smile.
"You know," Hugh began as he sidled up next to Emmrich and held out his arm. "I'd doubt we'd run into the likes of Tomlinson on the walk over. The hardheaded oaf is more illiterate than I am."
The walk would be shorter in the daylight, and the library was closer than the dining hall from the officer's wing of the fortress. The library itself was a wide tower with three levels of winding stone staircases with tomes of varying states filling a cramped maze of shelves. Beyond that there were only a few desks on the first and second level all covered in a thin film of dust and sand.
"It's uh..." Hughed cleared his throat, "Nothing to brag about, I'll admit. If you do end up summoning a spirit that starts dressing me down for my 'insubordination' or improper uniform maintenance, well, do be a love and banish the bugger, yeah?"
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But he, apparently, was fairly easy to know because already Hugh seemed to read him like a book. Emmrich took Hugh's arm with an equally soft smile as his heart leapt in joy. Perhaps the risk of running into others was low, but even then this gesture said that Hugh wasn't ashamed of last night at least.
"A shame that there's not more access to reading," he said honestly as they walked. Everyone should have the opportunity to learn, though he knew that it was far more complicated than practical.
The library was indeed dusty and sparse. After a pat Emmrich released Hugh's arm and walked deeper in, sensing the way the magic moved through the Veil here. It was off. The Veil was thin in a way that spoke of suffering or blood magic or both, and not for the first time Emmrich wondered about the rituals around making Wardens and also vampires. One did, after all, need to consume blood to exist.
Finally there was a shifting and he followed it up a twisting staircase and into a back corner. Emmrich held out a hand and green threads drifted out, revealing to Hugh what Emmrich could already see -- a lone spirit lingering there. He was armored and bearing a massive rectangular shield.
"Protection," Emmrich named him, and inclined his head. Protection bowed back, his gaze mostly on Hugh. "Fitting, considering the duties of the Wardens."
"Though they do not value their duty as once they did," Protection said, his voice thin and weary. "Fewer come with higher goals. Even he did not."
Well that wasn't how this was supposed to go. Emmrich was fully aware of why many people joined the Wardens, but he wasn't trying to throw that in Hugh's face. "He'll be protecting now, and that's what matters. However, if you find this place wearing your nature thin, I can assist you in returning to the other side of the Veil."
Protection considered this, looking around, before shaking his head. "No. I will linger yet. I am not entirely forgotten."
Emmrich looked at Hugh with an apologetic smile. "I believe it's Protection alone here. Should we go grab something for the road and head out?"
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There was nothing practical in educating the foot soldiers, especially the ones you didn't want in polite society. Hugh's unpolished and slapshod handling of the written word wasn't surprising but another reminder of where he stood among the rank and file. He glanced sidelong at Emmrich as they moved through the library. Whatever scrap of affection from Emmrich he might have earned from one good night, he hoped it wouldn't twist towards pity.
When Emmrich seemed to catch wind of something unseen, Hugh followed. What transpired had him on edge, but he decided to trust both the process and Emmrich. Spirits were not unknown to him, but he had little experience and none of it pleasant. The spirit that manifested, Protection, was a unique sight enough that Hugh found himself returning the bow.
At the spirit's rather castigation, Hugh bristled but allowed his temper no more than a deep-set frown and hiked tension in his shoulders.
"Boys cut from the end of nooses for cutting purses to live, girls taken out of cells for killing soldiers who thought they were owed something from them on the merit of being red-blooded men with needs, and mages picked at random every couple of years don't often find much value in dying young, no.
We might all be thieves, killers, or just plain unlucky, but bit much to stare down your incoproreal nose when it's us doin' the dying to keep the world turning and just floating there." Hugh was almost challenging the spirit to argue at that point. It privately shocked him how swiftly he went on the defensive, but that was how he felt. Even knobs like Tomlinson deserved as much.
"Even the worst of you keep your oaths and hold this fort. Your camaraderie for your fellow condemned inspires my staying," The spirit said with a weary patience that was almost grandfatherly.
Hugh went quiet. And then, have a long moment.
"...Are you lonely here?" He asked.
"No, that is not a word that signifies to a spirit such as I am," Protection answered.
"Right, well," Hugh looked at Emmrich and nodded curtly. "Right then."
He then turned and walked off, down the stairs and out of the library not with great haste but in long-legged strides that more than spoke of his eagerness to depart.
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"They are simple," he finally offered up. "Single-minded, and not good at nuance. What their name is, is what they know. The waking world has a complexity they simply cannot grasp." Would that help? He didn't know. Most of Thedas did not understand spirits either, which is why they were so easily harmed and transformed.
"They require patience, until and unless they grow more complex, and that's a rare process that takes hundreds upon hundreds of years. I doubt that Protection spirit has been there that long."
Emmrich didn't want either to feel judged, but he wasn't sure that he was succeeding in that at all. At least they reached the kitchens quickly enough at this pace. A Warden looked him up and down, looking unimpressed after.
"Was there perhaps something to take to eat on the road?" Emmrich asked both the Warden and Hugh. The sooner they got out of here and into the palanquin, probably the better, at this rate.
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He had not spared Emmrich a glance back or any consideration for his words. That was twice now he'd revealed some terrible secret of the Wardens to a man he barely knew in a moment of heightened emotion. Part of him knew he was being cold and abrupt, but the alternative was far worse. Hugh knew himself and knew that if this persisted, he risked his temper flaring up like a hot coal catching the stray breeze that sparks a wildfire.
The Warden who greeted them in the kitchens was an elf kitted out in traveling leathers, with an inconspicuous stave bearing the head of a roaring griffon. They looked Emmrich up and down, from his gold to his own staff, before glaring at the skull carving that adorned it. Cool, they looked to Hugh as if needing a direct order to answer.
"We're bound for the docks then Nevarra, Pana," Hugh said to the other Warden, Pana, with flat affect.
"You can take my pack," Pana said, shouldering off a satchel onto the table. "Not leaving for Weisshaupt for another few days, just got word of sandstorms to the West. You're going the other way, so you might as well."
They passed Emmrich, and for the briefest moment, their hardened look in their eyes and their posture hinted they were going to check him with their shoulder before a sharp look from Hugh had them side-stepping.
"Aside from the deep stalker jerky," Hugh said, as if nothing had happened while he rummaged through the bag. "Everything here looks good for the road for us both. Where's this palanquin of yours?"
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"Um," Emmrich said, trying to process the question he'd only half-heard since he'd been more concerned with Pana's anger. "Oh. Right. Behind the stables. I saw that there was an area that looked disused back there, just large enough, and figured that would keep the skeletons out of the way. The wisps powering them haven't reported any disturbances, so it's been unbothered."
It was entirely possible, and he'd even hoped it would be the case, that the Wardens hadn't seen it there. The wisps didn't need to get distracted, the skeletons didn't need to be poked at. And with the ire he was seeing (and had heard from Tomlinson,) he didn't want the palanquin itself poked. Who knew what would happen?
"Did... Is there... There's not enmity, surely? Between Nevarra and the Wardens? Certainly we haven't interacted much, but there wasn't anything in the briefing that suggested that level of resentment."
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When he looked to Emmrich, his attention briefly locked onto the staff with its black and green skull grinning back at him. The only expression Hugh wore was curosory fascination at its design before he frowned and said,
"It's something of an unwritten rule among the Wardens that we don't ask after what brought them into our merry fold—so I couldn't tell you more. Sorry."
If Emmrich hadn't already seen the Wardens as a group of isolated paranoids, he certainly would now. Their ways were steeped in centuries of secrets and sacrifice that made them insular even in times of peace. Hugh wished that Emmrich hadn't seen the harsher side of the Order, but he knew if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.
—Speaking of horses and riding. At the mention of skeletons apparently carrying the palanquin, Hugh looked startled at this revelation.
"They've been out there all night? That can't be comfortable, can it? I— I mean I suppose skeletons or wisps or whatever don't really tire, but, surely that couldn't have been enjoyable to spend the night with the horses then carry us for seven hours."
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Emmrich's expression brightened back up at the questions. "The wisps got to zip around a new area, which they find delightful, and the skeletons are simply that. Their former occupants were all members of a family who builds the palanquins, artists, carpenters, and they volunteer their skeletons to carry their family's work when they pass. It's a matter of pride for them."
He made a gesture in the air, a wave. "They'll be getting the palanquin to the front gate now. Come, see."
When they emerge, the palanquin rested on the ground, and eight skeletons stood ready to pick it up. It was a lovely wooden-framed structure, covered in carvings of flowers and draped with lightweight purple fabric. Inside were two plush black fabric seats, with a pair of green, gold, purple, and black cushions. There was room for someone to lay down on each bench, just barely in Emmrich's case.
"Any questions?" he asked, settling in on one of the benches and leaving room for Hugh to sit next to him if he wanted. A second later he was reaching into his pack and offering up the books he'd brought. "And here. As promised."
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