veilward | THIS THE EMMROOK VARIETY HOUR NOW

"Considering I don't know the specifics of magic I found out about all of four hours ago, you're free to enlighten me."

An argument that wasn't so much an argument as it was a lure to get Emmrich talking about one of his passions. Hugh greatly enjoyed it when Emmrich got out of his own head and started sharing what went on up there. Even if he grasped half of what was being said, Hugh never found it boring.

Hugh hovered back and waited, awkward there was nothing really he could do to help right now. He had the suspicion if he tried to help set the table some salad fork would go where the dessert spoon or whatever was supposed to, and he'd just be getting underfoot.

"As long as the peas snap without biting, then I'm happy," Hugh said as they seated. Feeling more than a little absurd to be sitting here at a table that wouldn't be out of place in a lord's manor holding real silverware. Without a shirt on.

"It's lovely. My compliments to the skeletons," Hugh remarked on dinner as he adjusted in the chair once, then twice again. "I will likely have to get dressed and run my letters to your rookery or whoever handles delivery. Will that be doable?"

His eyes crinkled happily at the clear invitation to speak more, though getting into dinner was the foremost object on the agenda. Hugh's constant shifting around made Emmrich wonder what was still wrong.

"Getting the letters to the rookery will be very easy. I'll drop mine off along the way as well." He could use candlehops, which were faster than birds. But groups that weren't as open to magic as Tevinter or the Dalish would need the slower option.

"So corpse whispering requires a corpse, which a tombstone is not," he teased, "and the corpse must be of a person. What I do is speak with the remnants within the corpse, whatever is left of the person who once occupied it. Sometimes they feel like talking, and sometimes they do not. I cannot force a corpse to speak. If they do not want to talk to a mage, or a human, or they were simply a grumpy person they may refuse. I also cannot influence what language they reply in. But much of the time they have something left to say. Very few die without having something they still wish to say."

People want to be heard, the world over. Beings did in general. He was glad to be able to help when he could.

It was apparent that Emmrich noticed the near-constant movement from Hugh, from how he changed how he sat half a dozen times to how his leg bounced under the table. Only Emmrich could have shouted his observations to him, and Hugh doubted it would have stopped him. Nothing ever seemed to when all his thoughts started tumbling over themselves. These...habits of his could never be reasoned with. Not when he rocked on his heels when he was supposed to be standing at parade rest, asked too many questions, or when he started talking faster to the point of repetition.

Everyone Hugh had known either couldn't stand it or at least only vaguely tolerated them. Not Emmrich, though. At worst, he seemed curiously worried, but often, the more verbal run-ons and endless questions delighted the man. It stroked Hugh's frenetic, noisy thoughts if not to stillness then at least being held in with rapt attention.

"There goes all my hopes of finding out why the dearly departed grumpy, old warhound interred at the fortress was always stealing my socks." Hugh teased right back. The rest was interesting, very much so, but also a little bittersweet. Hugh's thoughts inevitably drifted to how quiet places that burned their dead would be, and by comparison, what a crowded din of last words the mass Warden grave that was the Deep Roads would be.

"When did you learn you could do that? It seems inherent, not learned like fireballs or what have you." Hugh asked between bites as he ate his vegetables with his dessert fork and rice with his soup spoon.

"That's assuming animals have any reasons for doing anything other than 'because they can,'" Emmrich replied.

The man didn't sound as restless as he looked. It could simply be the shirtlessness, or perhaps it was the chair. Emmrich found them comfortable and supportive, but their builds were different. He would wait to see.

"It is inherent, but it still came with my magic. I... I found it when the spirits found me." That was a complicated story. He sincerely doubted Hugh would look down on him for his origins, but even now the assumption that he was born into money helped when he dealt with mortalitasi and nobles.

"There are two spirits that ventured out from the Necropolis the day my magic manifested. Keepsake and Curio. They could feel that gift as it woke within me, somehow, and came to find me. It was an incredibly strange day."

"Mabari do," Hugh reorted, sitting up straighter. "The only reason they don't talk is because they know better. Did you know mages bred them? Bit ironic when you think about it."

There was more focus there, once Hugh could speak from a place where he had some knowledge. He wasn't shifting in his chair now, but his leg continued to bounce, if at a less strenuous pace. However, when Emmrich went into greater detail with his upbringing, Hugh finally went still. Alerts of besiegement couldn't stop Hugh from eating, but that got him to put his fork down.

"Found you?" The question was largely rhetorical because the picture the wording painted was already clear.

Hugh has his suspicions that Emmrich was established in his senority within the Mourn Watch but was relatively new to his affluence. That all but confirmed it. Privately, as naive as he was about spirits, he was glad it was them that found Emmrich and not the templars. He didn't know what it was like in Nevarra before the Circles were broken, but even if it seemed better, that didn't mean it would have been a walk in the park either.

The follow-up question was less rhetorical: "How old were you?"

A smile played on his lips as Hugh defended mabari so quickly. Thankfully he was only Fereldan in the way he spoke of dogs, and not mages.

"Why is it ironic that mages bred them?" Was there a stereotype of mages hating dogs that he was unaware of, or was it just that it was another case of mages giving so much for a population that hated them?

The follow-up questions got a little hesitation as Emmrich took another bite of his dinner.

"I was twelve," he said quietly. "I was hiding and trying to convince myself that what had just occurred had not, in fact, occurred." Emmrich pushed another snap pea onto his fork, gaze focused on his plate. "Someone had attempted to grab me and then suddenly he seemed to have been pushed away. We were both quite startled. I was in that alley for perhaps half an hour before Keepsake and Curio appeared."

"That my country, of all countries, centered our entire identity around something the mages gave us," Hugh answered, unaware that he was in line with Emmrich's latter assessment of his remark that it was, indeed, ironic.

Hugh noted the hesitation and proceeded with caution.

"I'm glad you were found," He said gently.

Mages within the Wardens were almost always from the Circles, with rare exceptions to Dalish who had been Blights and take the Joining over dying of the taint. Hugh could only go off their perspective to form his own—his world in Ferelden had only been his tiny village. He never hated anything or anyone that wasn't a hurlock trying to skewer him.

He looked down and idly started to separate the vegetables in his stirfry. He hesitated speaking about his home with others, sometimes. Worried the thought 'backwater bigot' would have been cemented in their impression of him the moment his accent slipped. Emmrich would have been kinder than that, but he would have had grounds to be wary.

"I was twelve when my talents presented themselves." Hugh looked up, smiling like he just thought of a good joke he was eager to share. "Well, in my case it wasn't spirits but a surly harbourmaster in Wycome that just watched me put one of his workers on his ass in a street brawl. Was big for my age, and he hired me on the spot, thinking I was sixteen."

"That is ironic." So their thoughts were parallel there. He appreciated that, and also the gentleness with which Hugh responded. Emmrich looked up and gave him a small smile.

"I'm glad they were the ones that found me. I... I do not think I would have done well in a Circle." He knows he wouldn't have done well. While he'd been resilient enough to survive on the streets, it had helped that he was seen as a street kid and not a threat the way mages were. He wasn't seen as deserving of abuse. He hadn't been locked up, or treated like a thing. "The Necropolis was the only place I could have thrived."

He blinked as Hugh shifted the topic, and gave the statement a quiet laugh. "I've always been tall and fast, far from a brawler. He hired you as a fighter?"

"Same, I guess in how lilies only grow in full sunlight in the right soil," Hugh commented without thinking—it just crossed his mind how much he liked the particular flower when he thought of conditions something could thrive. He stabbed his fork into his meal and chewed around the follow-up of, "You're never going to get anything demanding something to grow where it can't."

Emmrich reminded him a bit of flowers, particular the ones in greenhouses charmed to stay temperate all year round. Something that could survive in the wild but would have never really blossomed without the right climate. The Necropolis was a bit like a greenhouse in that sense, Hugh thought.

"Hmm?" Hugh swallowed and canted his head at the question before laughing mildly. "Oh, no, I was a dockhand. A boy strong enough to level a man is strong enough to unload crates off trading ships, or so I was told. It was steady work and a means to work your way up to a sailing career, anyway."

Emmrich blinked at him, a little surprised but also touched by the comparison. He didn't generally like to think of himself being as delicate as a flower, but he'd needed the gentler circumstances of the Necropolis. He'd needed the opportunities found through it. Also interesting was Hugh knowing what lilies took to grow.

"If only all mages had had the opportunity to be somewhere nurturing. I was truly lucky." In that, at least. Not in losing his parents young, not in his struggle after, but he'd been given a path forward when a vast majority struggled to find any chances or options. And now he had his place, his home, and was gladly sworn to an eternal vigil in return.

"Ah! Far more reliable work than fighting, I'd imagine. There's always crates to move. And I can fully understand the appeal of a sailing career. I've no idea where I would have ended up in the long run, if I hadn't had magic, but travel did appeal. A not-insignificant portion of my youth was spent near the docks."

"We're getting there," Hugh mused. "Slow as progress is, at least. I can't speak for mages, obviously, but I owe my life to simply being afforded a chance."

He thought of the mages taken from the Circles that every year felt more like an annual culling that didn't survive the Joining. That practice had fallen out of recency what with the Circles breaking and after Adament. Likely, even Emmrich knew of that stain on the Warden's reputation. For whatever gratitude and loyalty he had for the Wardens, the bitterness always lingered.

There's always creates to move. Hugh had to suppress a shudder. Emmrich's comment was innocent enough, but it reminded Hugh how neverending the tedium of that kind of life that was to a refugee.

"It was work," he agreed mildly. Emmrich undoubtedly grew up poor, suffered as it sounded as though he had no support until he was brought to the Necropolis, and likely had to make personal sacrifices to get where he is now. A different sort of pain, and Hugh didn't want to find himself contrasting it to long days of back-breaking labor.

"Do you still think about it? Travelling, I mean." Hugh asked when he thought the mood risked taking a nosedive.

Edited 2025-04-11 04:12 (UTC)

He reached across the table to rest a hand on one of Hugh's. So many just needed one single chance, and didn't get it. It was a cruelty the world over. At least they'd gotten theirs, and made the best of them. And now they'd met, too. Much had gone wrong in his life, and it seemed likely it was the same for Hugh, especially after that neutral comment, but they were here, together, now.

"I hadn't in some time." Emmrich looked around at the rooms. "Between my duties as a Watcher and Professor there's so much that keeps me here. And I've been thinking about my extended future."

Which would be here. A lich didn't travel. For the very first time, the thought of becoming a lich felt limiting instead of freeing. Emmrich didn't know what to do with that thought. It had come close to there previously, when thinking about how much he'd feel after, but the seed of doubt was starting to sprout.

His path had been clear for years now. These several days were making it feel murky. He didn't even know how to get into it. The gardens would make it easier, he felt. Seeing what this place was would let someone else understand some of it.

"It wasn't all bad," Hugh amended so Emmrich wouldn't think he had crossed a line. "I might not have traveled out of Wycome until the Wardens, but traders from the world over would dock there. I got better with my Orlesian, learned about Antivan wines, and occasionally, the more indulgent captains would let me help with odd jobs around their ships. Once, even a ship from the Qun docked after being waylaid by a storm—I didn't go aboard, but some of the elven Qunari were amenable to conversation. Sometimes, it was like traveling all over Thedas without leaving port."

Without hesitation, Hugh turned his palm up to welcome touch. Qently squeezing his fingers around the other man's, thumb stroking along the back of Emmrich's hand. From the start, Hugh saw that Emmrich was a deeply empathetic soul. It must have been whatever Hugh might have said or how he said that provoked such a compassionate response. Hugh felt his chest tighten, happier now than ever to be here.

"Extended future, you mean like, retiring from teaching or being a Watcher?" Hugh asked, then flushed at the thought of how Emmrich might take the question. The man was only barely in his fifties, but Hugh also didn't know how long a professor might want to teach. Or how long a Mourn Watcher wanted to catalog the Necropolis and its labyrinthine depths. Both seemed rather taxing to him.

It was a relief to hear that Hugh's path hadn't all been difficult. He'd consider the relief strange if not for how aware he was already of how he felt regarding Hugh.

"So you speak Orlesian, and Trade, and I speak Nevarran, Tevene, and Trade. Between us we've most of the world." His eyes sparkled. That wasn't quite true, but it was fun to say. He also wouldn't mind learning more languages with Dalish or Rivain topping the list. Orzamarran would be interesting but he had so little contact with Dwarves it wouldn't be particularly useful.

The question drew him back from fancies and meant maybe he had to discuss this now. Emmrich gave Hugh's hand a gentle squeeze, wondering if he'd keep getting the light reassurance of Hugh's thumb once he explained.

"There is a ritual that I have been," planning felt too certain, even though it was accurate. He didn't want to scare Hugh off, especially not now that he was having doubts, "contemplating, and preparing for in case. I... I have a fear of death."

His voice had gone very quiet, and his gaze rested on their hands. "Not the simple fear that most have, but a deep, agonizing anxiety of it that crops up at the worst of times, unpredictable and suffocating. It can strike in broad daylight in a marketplace or the dead of night, and either way it is paralyzing." It wasn't merely fear. It was terror. He figured Hugh could surmise as much from his words.

"The ritual would render me immortal and in eternal service to the Necropolis... or it would not. And I would end, then and there, rather than at an unpredictable time and place." Emmrich chewed his bottom lip when he stopped talking, daring only the briefest glance up at Hugh's face.

Edited 2025-04-11 19:31 (UTC)

"What an international pair we make, huh?" Hugh huffed a laugh that was nothing short of fond. Then, however, his smile waned a little.

"My mother insisted we learn growing up and no one cared what the yokels were speaking. The way my mother told it is when she was very little, her mother was a lady's maid from Orlais during the occupation. Still, she and her mother were left behind when the nobles fled after the rebellion because taking the silverware but not a person made more sense to them, I guess." There was a clear note of disdain in his voice at the very idea—it had been what seeded his disdain for even the lesser, poorer nobility. "My grandmother married a fisherman in West Hill, and later so did my mother, and the rest is history."

It was then that Hugh realized that this had been the most he had talked about himself in...well, in over a decade, to anyone. Even the closest of his Warden compatriots only knew the bare bones of his life prior to the Joining. The general rule was once you were a Warden, the past belonged to a dead man, to be left forgotten. Something about Emmrich just brought that part out of him that he otherwise would have left to gather dust. Strange—to want to know and be known by someone.

Emmrich's words drew him out of his thoughts, and Hugh turned all his intention to what was being relayed.

"If your fear has such a hold on you," focusing on that first, Hugh covered Emmrich's hand with his other and gazed intently at him. "Then you're incredibly brave to be undertaking this task that let our paths cross in the first place. I mean that."

The rest, however, was a lot to unpack and rendered Hugh quiet for a very long time. When he did speak, it was after a lot of pauses where he would open his mouth to speak then close it again before finally,

"It's not...vampirism, is it?"

"I think a majority of nobles only stay in the positions they've inherited because they don't care about others. There's a lack of empathy in their raising, which is the only way one can possibly value things over people."

There was a lack of empathy the world over, but nobles were the worst of it. He was glad to learn more about Hugh's life, though. They came from such different worlds, and he wanted to understand the man before him. Only by learning more could he do so.

The reassurance got a sad half-chuckle out of Emmrich. "The fear costs me enough as it is. I can't let it stop me from doing my best to help others."

At the other he shook his head. "No. I didn't know that vampirism was real until you explained your situation. It..." Emmrich trailed off, looking into the distance. "It isn't spoken about outside the Necropolis, and only the most senior of the Mourn Watch know it's a thing. You cannot speak of it with anyone save myself, Myrna, and Vorgoth, please. It's called lichdom."

"It's the same the world over," Hugh agreed with a derisive snort. Lives were often only a matter of convenience for those in power, and it was why Hugh had never risen in the ranks of the Warden. Even his order wasn't free of that cold divide over who came from what, and it had instilled a deep mistrust of authority.

"You shouldn't let it stop you from seeing the world, either," was Hugh's retort without fully understanding what lichdom even was. The matter did seem grave—he wouldn't make that joke, least of all now. However fitting it might have been.

"This, um," Hugh coughed to clear his throat. "Seems like a conversation where I should maybe be in a shirt for."

Hugh's comments got a wry smile twisting his mouth. There was, of course, his ability to put a glamor over himself. He could perhaps disguise himself somewhat. The problem with a glamor, though, was that it was only visible. It didn't stand up to touch.

"Perhaps so," Emmrich said quietly. He could see that Hugh was uncomfortable and it was unexpectedly painful. Of course the notion of someone deliberately changing themself couldn't go over well. Or maybe Emmrich was just preparing himself for things to go wrong and trying to read into matters. He didn't know. He just knew that Hugh needing to get dressed felt like a choice to actively put distance between them.

"Go ahead and dress. I will serve up dessert and set it up in the front room. Tea?" He could distract himself, perhaps.

"Tea sounds lovely," Hugh said as he rose from his chair and bent down to press a kiss to Emmrich's temple.

Hugh had sensed some disquiet in Emmrich but hesitated to mention it. Unless it was gentle teasing about noticing the older man getting amorous, Hugh didn't want Emmrich to feel exposed in any way. Being known and feeling cornered by your own emotions were two different things, and Hugh so badly wanted Emmrich to be comfortable around him. So Hugh kept his peace and would let Emmrich tell him what was the matter in his own time.

After making his way to the bedroom, Hugh rummaged in his pack for a loose cotton shirt and dressed. There, now he might be more comfortable for this impending conversation—it sounded serious.

"Smells amazing. Is that lemon?" Hugh asked when he padded into the front room and noted the citrus and sugary scent in the air. Emmrich wouldn't have known, but Hugh adored lemon. He was about to ask about the tea when a knock politely rapped on the door.

And just like that, Hugh stiffened. The hairs on the back of his neck were up, pin straight, and his eyes widened and pupils dilated. His lips curled into a snarl, and his fangs were out as a thunderous growled erupted deep from the chest that made Hugh sound more beast than man. Immediately, whatever he sensed beyond that door set him off and sent his demeanor into something vicious and war-like.

He welcomed the gentle kiss. It both helped and didn't, in that Emmrich could never have enough soft comfort, and also he was reminded of what he stood to lose. Even as new as this was, Emmrich already treasured it.

The water was just boiling on the stove when Hugh came out. Emmrich poured it into the pot, nodding and smiling. "Lemon bars. The kitchen makes the best ones I've had. I've chosen a black tea with ginger--"

There was a knock on the door before he could explain further, not that he was entirely ready to talk about how ginger soothed his stomach and nerves when he was anxious. Hugh's reaction was... troubling. Emmrich looked between him and the door before coming over and resting a careful hand on Hugh's shoulder.

"Anyone with access to this floor is trusted by someone I trust. You cannot get off the elevator here unless one of the senior members of the Mourn Watch has vouched for you or is with you." It was his turn to press a light kiss to Hugh's temple, and then he went to answer the door.

"Audric," Emmrich said warmly, trying to cover his confusion. "What can I do for you?"

"I found the book you were looking for the other week," Audric said in his raspy voice. He held it out, and Emmrich took it.

"Thank you! I'm glad it turned up. I'll take excellent care of it." There was an awkward pause then. Usually he'd invite Audric in and they'd chat. "I have a guest at the moment but I look forward to discussing it with you later."

"Oh, of course, of course," Audric said. He dipped his head and departed. Emmrich closed the door after him and came back toward Hugh.

"Audric, our librarian, is... more spirit than man. At the moment of his death a curiosity spirit who had been enchanted with him for some time rushed in, preserving much of who Audric had been but becoming a new entity that's more spirit than man." He set the ancient-looking book on the table, 'Manifestations of the Fade, explored' said the title.

"Please, dig in. I'll pour the tea." He did so, before bringing a tray out to the coffee table with filled cups, teapot, a cup of sugar cubes, and a tiny pitcher of cream, along with two large, plated lemon bars, forks, and tea spoons. "Here, darling."

Hugh stood firm as though he was anticipating whoever was on the other side of the door to attack. Then, Emmrich came up beside him, and the effect was immediate. In an instant, Hugh ceased his snarling, and his proverbial hackles went down. Fangs retracted as he absorbed what was being said, blinking owlsihly as if coming out of a trance.

"I— I thought I smelled a person, but it was wrong. Empty, I don't—" The words came stumbling out of him as he looked between Emmrich and the door, not entirely convinced that Emmrich was safe opening it. In the end, trust in Emmrich won out, and Hugh relented,

This 'Audric' was just out of sight from where Hugh paced nervously. When Emmrich returned, the explanation created more questions than answers.

"So he's... possessed? A revenant?" Hugh asked as he stuck his fork into his lemon bar, ignoring the slight tremor in his hand as he ate. Emmrich was right; they were incredible. Enough that the tension Hugh carried started to calm.

"Mm. No. Neither. Possession only happens to the living, for one thing. The man who was the original Audric is dead. And revenants require twisted spirits, ones who have been corrupted from their original form, such as Rage, Sloth, Pride, and the like."

He took a seat next to Hugh and fixed his tea as he spoke. "The reason we preserve the corpses of our dead is so that spirits have a home, a safe home, when they wander over. Most of the time it's a very simple situation; the skeletons we passed on the way in are all temporary possessions for as long as the spirit, most often a wisp, wants to be in them. It also, almost always, happens after the person formerly using the corpse has been dead for at least a day. That allows the stronger portions of who the person once was to fade, leaving only the remnants that you've seen me whisper up. As Curiosity wasted no time, perhaps even trying to save Audric, the... impression, so to speak, of Audric was still fully there. The new being genuinely believed he was Audric at first, that he hadn't died, and we had to very gently help him realize that he was a blend of the two and that the original Audric was indeed deceased."

Would that answer all the questions? Probably not. It was a complicated thing. Either way, Emmrich was taking a drink of his tea before he started in on his lemon bar.

"So it's not Audric?" Hugh asked, curiosity winning out over the heart-wrending fear that had gripped him earlier. Still, he couldn't hold back the shudder that coursed through him when he thought more deeply on what Audric was, or wasn't, exactly.

"Poor bastard. I doubt there's an easy way to tell someone that they're dead. Glad that curiosity spirit had you to help, he seems uh...nice?" Hugh turned in his chair, now holding his tea, when Emmrich sat beside him so that their knees were touching.

For all the aversion he felt when he first sensed Audric, Hugh didn't want to be rude about someone Emmrich considered a friend. He was trying to keep an open mind. After all, it would be hypocritical if he hadn't after Emmrich took the discovery of his vampirism with such grace.

"So corpses...bit like bird houses but with spirits, isn't it?"

"It's not the original Audric, no, but the combination of spirit, memories, and emotions within would like to be called Audric so we respect that. There are many complicated levels of existence here in the Grand Necropolis."

Emmrich smiled at the press of their knees, gaze lingering there. "Myrna did most of the work there, actually. I took off to find out more about the original Audric's past so we could accurately identify the spirit that had entered him and know better how to help him. She's very gentle with those who do not quite count as being among the living."

It was true, and he'd also count it a bonus if the person he was falling in love with could wind up friends with his friends.

"And... Yes, the comparison could work," he said with a little amusement. "Obviously we don't paint the skeletons, but they are there to be welcoming. It's a common Nevarran belief that every time someone dies, their soul crosses the Veil and a spirit comes over, so it's only fair to make sure that there are places for the spirit to take refuge. The Necroplis is set up to facilitate things for the spirits especially, while being a place for the living to come and grieve and remember as well."

It was nice to just talk this over, actually. This was what his life was about.

"A fair point, my mistake."

Hugh nodded between sips of tea after having already inhaled his lemon bar and made a mental note not to pry if he came across Audric again. Or growl. Mostly, it would just be the latter. He was desperate to prove himself to be a good partner to Emmrich. He could get over his fear of the unknown.

"It's a lot and all a bit confusing, if I'm being honest, but the spirits are lucky to have people like you and Myrna to help them." Hugh set his tea down and put a hand on Emmrich's leg, stroking his thumb just above the knee through the silk of the older man's dressing gown.

"That's a lovely thought. Nevarrans put far more thought into what comes after than the rest of us." The hand on Emmrich's leg stilled, Hugh looking into some middle distance with a thoughtful expression. "You probably don't have any Wardens down here. If we don't kick it down in the Deep Roads, our bodies are burned on account of the Blight that's tainted us. A shame, that. I would've liked my skeleton painted."

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