Still seeing nothing but a solid white haze where a clear image should have been, Emmrich heard Bellara shriek.
“Rook! Oh gods, Rook!”
The elven woman flew at Miriam like a whirlwind and nearly knocked her off her feet. Weakened by her journey through the Fade, Rook barely managed to keep her balance: fragile Bellara had multiplied her slight weight by tremendous speed and almost sent her sprawling flat on her back. Acting on impulse alone, Miriam clutched at the elf’s shoulder and stroked her tangled hair with a motherly tenderness. Bellara broke into muffled sobs against Rook’s shoulder, still clinging to her.
“Gods, Rook, you’re alive… We—we…”
“Hush…” was all Miriam managed to force out before pulling the elf more tightly against her. The scent of old books and fresh ink enveloped her; she breathed it in greedily, rejoicing in what seemed like the smallest of things. After existence in the Fade, where there was no wind, no scent, no taste, Rook felt dizzy from the deafening fullness of reality.
When Bellara, not without difficulty, finally released her, Taash was the next to sweep Rook into her arms. She crushed Miriam in a bear-like grip and let her go at once.
“It’s been nothing but shit here without you…”
Lucanis embraced her with restraint, but firmly, and patted her shoulder.
“Welcome back.”
Leaning on his staff to keep his balance and avoid pitching forward, Emmrich slowly approached Rook. The necromancer devoured her with his gaze, as though trying to memorize every detail, even the smallest, and carve it before his eyes as an eternal bas-relief. The rest of the team wisely stepped aside, giving Emmrich enough space.
Miriam smiled foolishly, realizing she hardly recognized him. Her necromancer had grown a beard, black threaded with white from the grey, and had lost so much weight that his cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut rope. He was looking at her as though he had seen a ghost. She was the first to step toward him and open her arms. Emmrich dropped his staff; it fell to the ground with a dull thud. He pressed Rook to himself, letting her hide her face against his chest, and clenched his teeth, holding back a sob.
“Miriam,” he whispered into the crown of her head, “I found you after all.”
Solas suddenly turned back to her and all but thrust the lyrium dagger into her hands. Caught off guard, Miriam nearly dropped the precious weapon — but Solas was already running away from her, straight toward the archdemon.
I was inspired by the legend of Philip IV's death. The result of Jacques de Mole's curse or a stroke? They say that the reason for this was the incredible beauty of the deer, which he saw hunting before his death. Who knows...
Emmrich Week, day one.
The theme is Necropolis. To me, the Memorial Garden is a place of power, a serene and beautiful cemetery that keeps drawing me back, a place where secret meetings between Emmrich and Rook often take place.
annaxmalina
titsay
