Artwork by @deny-the-issue
Story by @sofiemystique
Read it Now!
Collaboration for @thefadediscordserver Anniversary Zine
Allette could have anything she desired, ask anything of him, and he was ready to sacrifice to place it in her hands. If her wish was to spend her days with a foolish old man, he would selfishly grant her this request. For he too never wanted to be anywhere but in her presence.
He was pulled on top of her, her legs wrapping around his midsection her lips refusing to break from his. One day, Emmrich hoped he would make her see there was so much new and wondrous for him to discover with her. It mattered not to Emmrich Volkarin that Allette Ingellvar was not his first romance.
It mattered only she was his last.
Ah, now that I can finally talk about it, I want to scream from the rooftops. I was part of this very lovely Zine Project hosted by @thefadediscordserver.
I was in the collab part as a writer and paired with the wonderful @lunelebard for the Archaeologist AU.
You want a Professor that is plagued by haunting memories? You want yearning? You want to read about a rag tag team trying to research the ancient Tearstone Site? Well, then this is for you.
Head here or on AO3
Unearthed
Chapter 1: Underneath
(Art by @lunelebard)
All good stories begin with something tragic." A bug crawled over bony hands.
"Ah, Do they now?" he asked, the unwanted words coming tumbling out of his mouth.
There was a smile shot at him, which spread the feeling of home around his shoulders, making him feel like he could have died on the spot and be a happy man.
"Or with a chance meeting."
Emmrich realized that he wanted to kiss her.
A chance meeting
Professor Emmrich Volkarin thought himself to have a predictable routine.
In the mornings, he would do his stretches, take his tea with a half spoonful of milk and sugar, if he felt like it, and organize his tasks for the day.
Then he would make breakfast for Manfred and get him dressed appropriately for the weather outside, which led to many compromises between needing and wanting for the young boy.
By the time he set him down at his daycare, it was already eight am. Afterwards, he would get in his old car, drive to the University campus, gaze at the carapace of an especially beautiful chafer specimen, and grab a single coffee. There he would stay to have a small talk with one of the cafeteria workers before beginning his first lecture at nine a.m. sharp.
Archeology had quite the pull. Most wanted to unveil the mysteries of the past through the field that had become popular in the eyes of the broader public. Those who buried their noses into research quickly came across his name: Professor Emmrich Volkarin, expert in mortuary practices in the Forgotten Age and anthropology.
That was, for some part, the reason why at the beginning of each semester there was a mass of shining eyes following his quick handwriting ghosting over the board, while eager ears absorbed every piece of wisdom that he could offer them. He stuffed their ears with concepts, terminology, and ethical questions that bled from his lips, until their heads overflowed, at which point Emmrich would release the bleary-eyed group into the rest of the day.
Over the first three weeks, the numbers would lessen as people realized that they would not reach the glory that they dreamed of, instead ending up in laboratories, in museums, or in contract archaeology in the field. Even if less glorious, it was not any less interesting. At least to him and the remaining students.
With those that stayed, he got to work.
It was at the end of the semester, which had dulled the initial excitement quite noticeably. It was especially evident in the halfheartedly stifled yawns and late-night emails begging for an extension of a paper. Still, Emmrich held himself with pride. No matter how exhausted his students were, they straightened their backs as soon as he walked into the lecture hall and listened attentively.
Some days, it felt like he was a broken record, going over the same concepts time and time and time again until his words felt like they had lost all meaning. But seeing the hope and passion in their eyes, he felt his resolve strengthen.
That was what he wanted to do in life. What else could he hope to wish for?
Between his lectures, he would pass over the campus, yearn to see a certain shock of auburn hue, converse with colleagues, which was mostly Myrna recently, and take a meal.
At thirteen p.m, he had one hour for open consultation.
After he wrapped up his last lecture at fifteen pm, he would pick up Manfred and come back home to his apartment.
The hours with Manfred were precious to Emmrich and he savored them as much as he could, considering the little time they had each day. Late at night, when he would tuck the child into bed, place the stuffed skeleton in the tiny, waiting arms before reading him a story, were among Emmrichs favorite.
For Manfred the day was then finished at eight pm, but for Emmrich the work had just begun. Whisking up finals that were demanding but not cruel, answering emails, speaking about details and literature for papers, and wrangling messages from several of his colleagues.
This could easily last until the the early hours of the morning - especially as they propelled close to the finals- despite him trying to wrap up his tasks before two am.
If fate had mercy on him, he managed to squeeze in an hour or two for his own research. Right now, he was in the middle of reading a paper about the idea that map making was just another type of storytelling, and thus was able to draw attention to - or away from- certain details. He found this concept not only intriguing, because he used GIS for the documentation of graveyards, much like everybody else; the immense love for storytelling was a tendency that he had observed over the course of the last two years and he tried to make room for it as much as he could.
After finishing his night routine, he would fall into bed, exhausted to the bone. If he dreamed of a golden ray of evening light breaking against a stained glass of red wine and searching gray-green eyes, he would speak no word of it.
Then he would repeat this every single day, while nothing ever changed.
Which is why, on a stormy Thursday afternoon, half an hour later than he would have wanted to leave, he was surprised to find himself at Myrna‘s desk, being proposed a rather – he was at loss for a different word- foolish idea.
Putting his elbows on top of the table, he folded his hands. The only lifeline left for him after hearing their plans. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. You want to attempt a new interpretation of the infamous Tearstone site; the one Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain researched decades ago?”
“And we want to do an exhibition about it,” the man next to Myrna said. He was a stark contrast to her proper and elegant demeanor. With his button up -unbuttoned almost halfway down- the leather jacket and his graying hair slicked back, he looked like he belonged in a punk-shack rather than an university.
But his name had gotten ahead of him. This was the infamous Varric Tethras. Shaking up the scholarly circles for over twenty years, he was more of a writer and a connector and less a researcher himself. But Varric was well versed in getting the people he wanted arranged in a team that could take on any task, no matter how.
“And we have a good team,” Varric added, dropping another piece of sugar in his pitch-black coffee. His voice was rough but kind, which Emmrich had noticed soothing the woman next to him, who was nervously tapping the tips of her fingers against her leg. “Rook over here is competent and a marvelous cartographer. She also knows how to get out of any situation.”
Emmrich tried not to look at the woman sitting next to Varric too often or too long but he could not help it, as she attracted his gaze like moth to a flame; and he was helpless against his feeling despite the nervous, almost electric, curling in his stomach. Whenever their eyes met, he felt as if struck and promptly looked away in a polite manner.
After Varric had introduced her as Rook and thus given the cue for her to speak, Emmrich had to look at her properly. I am leaving you the words.
Once again it took his breath away.
The long, symmetrical face and high cheekbones were the pale canvas that her freckles painted upon, whereas her scars were the lines that connected the dots to form a pattern of faint red and playful brown. It made Emmrich remember the paper he read and he wondered what story the map on her face would tell.
She wore a marginally oversized beige suit, which was donned with a black line art print depicting beetles, complementing the bug-eye piercing sitting on the bridge of her nose. The belt around her hip had a buckle with yet another bug, fitting to black suit trousers complementing the busy looking blazer. A blouse did not exist, Emmrich had noticed with some pleasantly surprised shock. While the blazer was modest enough and buttoned, there was only buttoned strips of fabric that imitated the button border of a blouse, with several gray fabric pieces flowing underneath the flaps of the blazer. Between those strips was only skin.
While her posture was straight, holding herself as enduring as the Rook that Varric had called upon her brow, he saw her gloved hands trembling. Still, the most fascinating feature about her were her eyes. Green and gray; welcoming yet sharp, looked back at him, mirroring the strange shock of hazy recognition that haunted his insides.
As if captured by a strange spell, he kept his eyes locked on her, unable to tear his gaze away.
An emotion on her face arrived and left as quickly as a summers rain and in its shadow, her voice rose. Melodic, charming and awfully familiar. “Once upon a time, Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain unearthed the side and used it to taint the idea of that time period with their research. It is time that their backwater approach gets challenged. Quite frankly, we believe that they are very wrong about the meaning of the settlement. It’s time find out the true story.”
Through the loud pounding of his heart in his ears, he had to fish through the fractured scraps he could make sense of to understand her meaning. After this, he was, again, too baffled to speak.
Myrna cleared her throat, her eyes flicking between their guests and him and leaned forward with elegant pointedness. “They could use your help. You have expertise that most cannot dream of and are well known enough to protect their credibility.”
Emmrich nodded slowly. After many years making a name of himself, putting his name under a research project was sure to help. “An understandable thought. But I must ask, even if I would agree to this, how would I be able to take care of Manfred?”
“You can bring him, too. They have a lodging to stay at and if it’s too stressful, both me and Vorgoth are available for babysitting at any time." When Emmrich inhaled to protest, she held up her hand, making him choke on the word he wanted to form. "I wanted to take some time off anyway."
Vorgoth was an assistant at the university who had appeared a few years ago, almost as if materializing out of thin air. Noticeable about Vorgoth was that the only color on Vorgoth were the golden rings and arms and hands. Everything else was black on black, with oversized but carefully draped yet baggy clothes. No one knew where Vorgoth came from, no one knew if Vorgoth had a surname, no one knew what Vorgoth had done before, but they all only knew that Vorgoth was exceedingly good at what Vorgoth did and a few knew that Myrna and Vorgoth were dating.
Emmrich realized that he was out of viable excuses. He was not entirely sure if he truly wanted an excuse or if he was simply denying the change out of habit.
“Though we need to fly under the radar for a bit,” Varric said, grimacing. “My friend Solas rather wants to keep the site locked away, you know? Chuckles is antsy when it comes to his family and even more at the thought that we could poke the wasps’ nests, now that he is finally close to getting them to retire.”
“They won’t,” Rook said through her teeth. “They rather want to pester us until they go to their graves.”
“Probably beyond that. But Solas cannot bear to see it. He might be a powerful politician but he also is their baby brother - and a good man. He thinks putting this to rest quietly will save more people than unearthing all the damage this has done.” Varric put his elbows on the table, and looked at Emmrich. “This is why we need you."
Emmrich stilled. He had learned to look beyond outer appearances, the game of pretense that people fell so easily into, and observe what laid beyond.
Underneath Varric’s teasing attitude and rough style, were sharp eyes and an even sharper mind. The mouth that only stopped talking to listen, felt like it was already curving around his mind. Yet, there was something deeply wounded inside the man. A softness he tried to hide from the cruel talons of the world. A good man.
Then there was Rook. Her clothing was unusual - but not as unusual for a field made for specialists and their, at times, questionable fashion choice. What caught his eye was that despite the attempt to hide it as oversized, it was ill fitting and resewn several times.
Maybe that's why she held her back this straight and her head stubbornly high, with eyes that stared right back at a gaze thrown upon her, attentive and bright.
A deep look into them showed him the same thing people had seen when he was younger and less experienced at hiding behind words and gestures. Long before he had enough money to feed himself and Manfred for a week without having to bat an eye.
Understanding filled him. She had an orphan’s eyes. There was no richness, no influential family to catch her should her endeavor make her fall to the ground. If this would fail, she would simply shatter, while the rest of the world would go on. The tapping on her leg became a scurrying.
Underneath this shared truth, there lurked more. A yearning to be known and the terror at being perceived. Despite that emotion making her shiver, she conquered her fear and sat here, now to be seen and soon to be known. Despite that she went against Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Despite that she stared at him, as if he was the one to prove himself and not them.
It reminded Emmrich of childhood stories, where heroines coming from nothing and put into the world on their own would fight evil and bring the world to balance once more. But if they were the heroes and the villains where clear as day, who was he in this equation?
A smirk grew on Varric’s face and felt like his fate had been decided long ago. "What do you say?"
For some reason that he could not quite place – no matter how many hours he stared at his bedroom wall in silent horror the following days – he found himself inspired by them.
With the feeling that his participation had been decided long ago, Emmrich agreed.
That night he dreamed of a familiar voice and a conversation held in hazed wonder once again.
The Team
A few weeks later, he found himself sitting in a cramped, poorly furnished conference room, at a too small table with six other people -and one shaggy dog- none of which he knew except for Rook.
She was fidgety but looked as lovely as ever. Today, she wore a simple dress, dark green, and the same suit jacket she had worn before. The only accessories she allowed herself were her piercing and some earrings. It was a shame. The long elegant hands and slender fingers almost begged to be adorned by rings and bangles.
It was too lax to be considered fitting for the circles Emmrich had been invited to. Looking around the room, he realized that he was seemingly overdressed.
It was almost laughable that he had been anxious about his choice of wardrobe this morning - as Manfred had spilled on his trousers and he had to hastily reschedule from his three-piece suit to another choice entirely - considering the shirts and shorts around him, some stained with grime that had been hastily tried to rub away.
Twiddling with the green cardigan that he had chosen instead, sitting over his brown vest, matching green tie and light brown trousers, he found himself strangely apart.
There were five other people in the room, all but one wearing strips of tape with their name on it. Instead of dwelling on the thought, Emmrich reached for the tape and wrinkled his nose. Usually those left pesky residue on fabric, which would take a deep cleaning to get out. Suddenly he was grateful to not have worn his most expensive suit.
He was in the process of writing his name down neatly on the strip, which proved to be quite difficult, as a woman barged in. In her arms, she tried to balance several coffee cups, various books, snacks, and the strap of her bag which stubbornly slipped down from her shoulder. Her face was tattooed in the traditional Dalish way curving around her cheeks and forehead, framing alert brown eyes now blinking in shock.
“Am I too late? Wait, no. We are only starting in two minutes. I mean that’s what I think or did I get the wrong time again?”
“Easy, Bellara,” Rook said, pointing to the only empty chair left, which was situated between Emmrich and an elegantly dressed woman with a fascinator pinned to her hair, obscuring some of her face. “You are right on time. There is a place left next to Neve and Emmrich.”
Her eyes fell on his half-written name tag and Emmrich held out his hand.
"Professor Emmrich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch."
“Oh, hello Professor--" she gasped and grabbed his hand tightly. "You are the Professor I am emailing with?! Professor Volkarin? Oh, I am so glad to finally meet you. I am Bellara Lutare, we have been writing, but you already know that.”
The name did ring a bell. While he had never spoken in person to her before, they had often exchanged emails, after Miss Lutare’s -who was a historian and IT-specialist- first inquiry about his knowledge on the Forgotten Age.
The email itself had arrived at four am, while he had worked on grading papers on the possible recreation and meaning of funerary rites, leaving him with a horrified look toward the clock as soon as he heard the ping. After his response, the correspondence had not stopped as new questions from both sides arose. Seeing the brilliant upcoming researcher now was a pleasant surprise.
She shook his hand two moments too long, while Emmrich anxiously watched the heap of cups that was at risk to spill over him. When she noticed this with a quick turn of her head, she unceremoniously let go and dropped everything on the table, shoving the coffee in the middle of it.
"This is for everyone. I didn't know what you all would drink, so I just got what I saw."
Something in her face shifted and she turned to her other seat neighbor, who elegantly offered her a gloved hand.
“Gallus. Detective and nuisance to local politicians.” Her voice was raspy, sounding as if she smoked regularly, but warm.
“Ah, great. Wait- Neve Gallus? Oh, my gods. This is such an honor. We have a detective? Why do we need a detective?” Bellara shook the offered hand enthusiastically, while her head swung between Detective Gallus and Rook.
While Emmrich wondered the same thing, he noted Rooks scurrying hands again and cleared his throat. At his subtle nod to Rook, Bellara straightened.
Rook’s eyes flicked to the clock that was hanging above them and Bellara followed her gaze. “Oh, yes, um, sorry.”
With that she dropped on the chair between Neve and Emmrich and began typing on her laptop only mere seconds later. Swinging between amusement and utter bewilderment, Emmrich was not sure how to feel exactly. This group certainly seemed to be a lively one but did it truly have the potential to deal with the "elven gods"?
As Rook opened up a power point, standing at the little makeshift podium, a cup of coffee was passed to him by the smaller red-haired woman on his left. He thanked her and waited for Rook to begin.
“Hello, you can call me Rook and I am in charge while Varric is… hindered.”
Ah, yes. Emmrich had heard about Varric’s car accident. The poor soul had been taken from the world of the living far too soon.
“Varric wanted me to let you know that he believes in us. This is why we will venture on. I want to give more insight of our plan and for you all to get introduced. It’s important to know that…”'She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Anyone who wants out, can leave after the briefing but once you’re in, you’re in. You have to know that this could be dangerous. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are not to be underestimated.”
The word danger hung heavy around the group. Usually, the most dangerous thing in archeology was a misplaced ladder or an inattentive driver moving the excavator. Or angering the excavation leader. Yet all issues, no matter how dangerous they could be, were by no means worth a secret meeting and the suspected need to leave.
Rook pressed a button and the first slide started. It was a Title.
The Veilguard Project.
“We will be what Varric has coined the Veilguard and, as most of you already know, we are tasked to reevaluate the meaning of the Tearstone site. Both the settlement and the burial part. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, both coming from a well-connected and influential family, have dug the place fourty years before under...” Her mouth twitched sharply. Once, twice. Then she continued, “Questionable working conditions. The local workers were barely paid and many suffered injuries, which, of course, were quickly brushed under the rug.”
Slides with old pictures of two well-dressed people were shown. They stood in the foreground in each picture and what Emmrich saw made them shiver.
The first was a slender and tall woman who was elegantly dressed. With her pinned updo and the fine silks she was dressed in, she looked as if she did not belong on an excavation. It was only because of the maniacal, cruel glint in her eyes, that Emmich suspected her to be more involved than anyone would anticipate at first glance. For some reason, he felt as if he was due for a vivisection, only that she would look as if she would probe him alive.
She was leaning on the other man, who was well groomed and richly dressed. Standing upright, with broad shoulders, he was above average height but still half a head shorter than the woman. The man had the aura of someone you wanted to listen to, someone that made the rules that everyone would heed, until they realized he had asked them to tie a noose around their own neck.
Such people were dangerous as they were calculated, cruel, and self-righteous.
The cold ice in their eyes made Emmrich’s stomach turn, even with the distortion of time and a camera lens guarding him from them. Thankfully, Rook turned over to a different slide, which depicted several sketches and reconstructional drawings of Tearstone.
"We have evidence of ancient texts that claim Tearstone was a place of trade, of contact between the cultures. For years, it stood unchallenged as one of the greatest places of all time. With several ports, market places, ritual sites, and graveyards it could host up to 4000 people. We do not know what made the place collapse. The texts speak of a sudden destruction of the side that felt almost unexplainable."
Rook took a sip of her drink before continuing. The next slide were several newspaper headlines.
"After Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain excavated, they had a exhibition claiming the solution to be one singular ritualistic dagger. They said it was an isolated, highly militaristic settlement killing and enslaving everything in sight, brought to its end as war ravaged the country. This gave trajectory to their idea that the past has been only violence and death and that the present cannot be anything else."
Now there was a picture of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain again. This time they stood with a bald man, with a cooler aura surrounding him and several other politicians. Emmrich sneered. Of those he recognized, many have had an unwelcome impact Housing, equality and the finance of education. What shocked him the most was not their company, it was the fact that they carried the ancient ritual dagger with them as if it was a mere cake knife.
"They used this to further narratives that shape our history today. Granted, they are only two archaeologists and do not change the course of modern politics. But they have used their connections well and tried to change the perception of the past into the direction they favored, contributing to a lot of misinformation, hate and, frankly, bad research."
"Did no one ask questions?" Neve said, resting her chin on folded hands.
Rook beamed at her. "This is the right question, Neve Gallus. Why do two archaeologists have so much of an impact and why should we all in this room care about them?" A new slide opened. It consisted mostly of newspaper cut outs. Mystery accident left four people injured. Cursed Burial Site Strikes Again- When Will The Horror End? "Whenever people question them? There are injuries and most recently… people that vanish."
A gasp filled the room. Bellara leaned forward. "Like… in a real crime?"
"Yes. Neve herself brought this to Varric’s attention."
"Especially because their brother Solas wants to hide it so bad," Neve added. "Took me a while to figure out who was trying to get away from underneath my nose."
"Now, we have two or rather three objectives," Rook said, lifting a finger. "Firstly, we out the truth because it matters historically and archaeologically. We use our combined skills and reevaluate the site. Then, we will have an exhibition at the Veil Jumper Museum."
Emmrich perked up. One of his former lovers, Strife, was the new curator of the new museum. The last he heard he and his protégé, Irelin, were focusing on ancient elven culture. A feat that had been most warmly welcomed and was well deserved.
"Second objective. We find out the truth about these crimes via detective work and bring the "elven gods" to justice. Last but not least, when they are due for their retirement party in a few months, we will have the exhibition ready and all of our evidence collected so that we can keep them from retiring in peace. Now, I have spoken a lot. Any questions?"
"Are there still some areas left untouched?" Emmrich said, intrigue building under his skin.
"Another good question." She cocked her head at him. "Varric, Harding, and I did quick, legal surveys - in the middle of the night- and found they only touched the ritual site and small parts around it. We estimated two-thirds, of the whole site to be unknown."
At her words, he inhaled sharply. To come to such a controversial conclusion after inspecting only a fraction of a site was more than short-sighted. It was arrogant and, if he was honest to himself, also bad research. Knowing their reputation, he should have expected such behavior.
A person at the other side of the table gave what could be described as both a scoff and a laugh. They were broad shouldered, with several piercings and a long braid with shaved sides. On their left shoulder, a wrinkled strip with a messily scribbled “Taash. They/them or fuck off” was stuck on their shirt.
“We are here to ruin to old people’s days?”, they asked.
The man, whose name tag just said Davrin, he/him, chuckled at that and petted the head of the huge dog that was currently drooling on his lap. “No, we are here to bring those people to justice.”
“And find out the truth!” Bellara piped in.
“Okay, but why do you care?” Taash asked.
“Ah.” Rook intervened quickly, getting the attention back to her. “This is the right question, actually. Davrin, would you tell them about Weisshaupt, please?”
Davrin grimaced. “They came to our base – I was still military back then and guarding some poor archaeologists digging on an ancient ritual site in an unsafe environment. They swept in, harassed the team, got several people fired. Total disregard for anyone’s safety. Then, they send people to work at midnight against the explicit wishes of our boss. There was an accident. They did not follow safety protocol and a wall fell down. People got hurt, one lost her arm, and Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain fled before we were able to question them. When asked, my boss claimed they were never there.”
A quiet anger rose in Emmrich chest, like a promise rising to lips. Why was it always the common people getting hurt by the actions of the few? The room was silent for a moment, as Davrin’swords hung heavy between them, a pained look spreading on his face. “I left with Assan here, as soon as I was able to. Chose to work with archaeologists and got an education as a technician. Swapped the gun for a shovel so to speak. Turns out, the boy is also really good at sniffing bones and ceramics.”
“Ceramics? Where is he when I am trying to throw a new cup?” the woman – Just Harding :) she/her - snorted.
“What, are you here for the pottery?” he answered with a smirk.
“NO. I am here for botany,” she shot back, annoyance pooling in her eyes.
“You’re an archaeologist?” Bellara asked, curiosity painting her expression. “That is so cool. Do you have a comparison field? OH. Do you have forbidden stuff there? Can I see?”
Harding rolled her eyes. “Yes, I do. But why is everyone up in my business about that? The poppy is there almost completely legally”
“Almost?” Neve said, raising an eyebrow. Emmrich marveled at the neatly manicured teal fingernails; a stark contrast to the falsely buttoned vest and purple circles under her eyes.
“Wha-Ah, no! No one bats an eye if the zoologists need to “quickly” decarnate an entire horse in their backyard, but as soon as I have some mildly -”
"It's not quick. Takes a while to decarnate entirely," Taash said and Harding scoffed.
“Just saying,” she said, holding her hands up and leaned back.
“Thank you, Harding, for your introduction,” Rook said, mirth dripping in her voice. They exchanged a friendly glance that spoke lengths about former interactions. “Now, the rest please, while we're already at it. Who are you and what is your field of expertise?"
“Oooh, can I go next?” Bellara asked and, without waiting for an answer, added: “I am Bellara Lutare, I started as a historian and then got into IT. Turns out abroad, this is a real thing, so I studied this and came back. Which leaves me doing all your data and math for you while you go do something else."
"And you can transcribe elven," Rook said.
"Yes, I mean, technically I can but …I haven't done that in a while. I can get into it again, I mean, it's fine. I'll just need a quick refresher." She looked around somewhat sheepishly and nodded uncertainly, which made Rook give her an encouraging thumbs up. With that the attention shifted towards the woman next to Bellara.
“I am Detective Neve Gallus and was asked to acquire some dirt on Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain… If you heard about my work, no you didn’t.” She looked over to Taash. “And you?”
“I’m Taash. I’m an archaeologist.”
“Nothing more?” Davrin said, shifting in his seat as Assans head seemed to become heavy on his leg. Instead of moving, the dog simply drooled and looked at the man with pleading eyes.
They scoffed, squinting at Harding. “Underwater at first. Changed my expertise. Now I'm in zoology.”
Harding shot Taash an accusatory look but they only shrugged, crossing their arms in front of their chest. Davrin shook his head and continued.
“Well, you already know I’m Davrin. I was military and am now an excavation technician. This is my boy Assan. But who is the edgy shadow in the corner?”
The man leaning at the wall scoffed. He was dressed in fine clothing which, despite being expensive looking, was easy to move in and not too flashy. Emmrich noticed that he had even darker eye-bags than Neve Gallus. There was a haunted-ness that hung around his sharp features, that made Emmrich’s heart fill with worry. He did not look beyond the age of 40 but held himself with the exhaustion of a much older person. “Lucanis Dellamorte. And there was no chair left for me, unless you want to swap.”
The room fel awfully silent at the name. The Dellamorte family was famous, or rather infamous, in several countries for being involved in the Crow network.
The Dellamorte family was a group of investors and patrons of various arts and houses, yet if you believed the rumors, this was only a front to dabble in the darkest corner of trades.
“Dellamorte?” Neve’s voice was surprisingly calm. “How are you involved?”
“I owe Rook.” While he said nothing more, the look that passed between them spoke lengths; one of a life saved and a debt that could never be settled.
By the maker, what on earth did she do that saved a Dellamorte’s life? But truth to be told, if he was in her debt, that made him a powerful ally.
“And who is the stuck up back there? Taash spoke up. It took him a moment to notice that the disdainful look was meant for him.
Everyone’s attention suddenly turned to Emmrich. “I-” He straightened himself and folded his hands on the table. His unfinished name strip sat awkwardly ruffled on the table. “I am Professor Emmrich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch University. I specialize in Mortuary Practices and Anthropology, which is why I was kindly asked by Rook and Varric to join this project.”
Harding leaned forward. "Wait… I heard your name before. Aren't you famous or something like that?"
"Some of my research broached various fields and many found it resonating with them. Nothing more, nothing less."
To his surprise Bellara shook her head. "No, he is humble. I heard about him so many times already! People love him and those that don't, well, they can't hate him."
Emmrich sighed almost inaudibly, forcing a pleasant smile upon his lips. "Thank you, Bellara."
"You're welcome!"She beamed. With the same enthusiastic energy, she ripped of his name tag from the table and offered it to him. He found himself accepting it and pressing it on his cardigan as neatly as he could, fixing the upper corner several times until it stuck tightly to the fabric.
A warm and uncomfortable feeling kept creeping into his cheeks.
"So," Davrin said now that the attention flew away from Emmrich and turned to Rook. "Why are you here, Misfit Number one?"
While Rook did chuckle at the name, there was a sadness in it that made him halt. She lifted her head up high, fierce eyes meeting the group and spoke with the tone of someone who had recounted this story several times; a lot ending in rejection. How she stood there all alone in the bright light of the projector, made Emmrich wish he could whisk her away, just to make that frown lighten.
Why was there the feeling that he knew the woman lodged in the back of his mind? It almost felt like a constant puckering, a painful ache as he fished for the memory of where he had met her before. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Why did he think of rings when he saw her slender finger?
One of those fingers rose up to scratch a scar on her cheek. “I actually wanted to do my PhD about the usage of beetles in mortuary practices of the Nevarran Storm Age. Had a scholarship mapped out for me and all that. Turns out, speaking against the wrong kind of people at the wrong time will ruin your funding and your future for you. It's easier to fall than to rise after all.”
Emmrich’s mouth turned into a thin line and he felt his stomach turn. He had seen it countless times before. Bright, young students squashed by an unforgiving system. One misstep, one wrong topic breached too early in front of the wrong person- before they gotten so high up no one dared to speak against them - and it could be over before it had begun.
With a controlled movement she searched for the slide of the georeferencation of the side. “I always had a knack for QGIS and making maps in my free time. So, I worked here and there, got different qualifications, spent some time working abroad, and eventually met Varric. He entrusted me with this, said a Rook beats the king and queen if you only find the right story to tell.”
„Wait, you got here by annoying the big people?“ Neve asked, dropping an unholy amount of sugar in her coffee. Emmrich swore he could see Lucanis eye twitch in the corner.
„You could say that. I bite up and work well under pressure. Impressed Varric. But I can understand if it puts you off. As I said, you can leave now. I won’t hold it against you. If you stay, you are in for good.”
No one stirred as Rooks piercing eyes wandered over every single face, solemnly checking in on them, before finally settling on Emmrich.
Their eyes met and suddenly there was another memory: A laugh and the feeling of not being alone anymore. A name came scratching at the back of his head, taunting him, dancing through his mouth, making it taste like honeyed wine and plum until it landed on the tip of his tongue. When she looked away, the moment was over and the name stuffed itself back into his throat. To get rid of the unpleasant feeling, he cleared his throat, making the others turn towards him.
I know you, he thought but the words did not leave his mouth. As the stares of the group continued he brushed off an invisible piece of lint. Thankfully, he did always have a knack for finding the right words when being put on the spot. “It is always most important to have a leader that can work where others fail and that knows how to fight against the odds. You are better equipped to lead the team than many others."
“And we need someone who is not afraid to piss of the wrong people,” Neve added.
"Oh, and having someone good with maps is, well, good!"
They all nodded. Rook seemed more surprised than he had ever seen her.
“Wait, so you are… in?” Rook asked, leaning forward on the table. Determination called back to her from every single person in the room.
“Yes,” Harding said, a vicious glint in her eyes. “Let’s go!”
"Well, then," Rook said, an indomitable grin splitting her lips. "Let's fight some ancient tyrants."
Hi so i was in a zine for Emmrich for Dragon Age Veilguard and got a wonderful idea I had to share about a certain necromancer and vampiric elf.
You can download the whole Unexpected SplendAUr zine from @thefadediscordserver the works and art in it are amazing. I got to work with a great artist @novaobscurity for our piece called Raising the Living. You can check it out on A03 below: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72259361
Just a heads up I think this is a very rare pairing but I kind of got inspired by @andthekitchensinkao3 from her fic and just wanted to share a fun au.
My last part for the Emmrich Zine made by the lovely @thefadediscordserver
Here are Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 on tumblr or the whole thing on Ao3
Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Mentions of Graves, Mentions of Slavery, Hinted NSFW, Fluff
Unearthed
Chapter 3: Unending
Only fifteen weeks to go
After their date, which had consisted of Emmrich introducing Rook to his parents’ graves, followed by a quiet walk through the cemetery before being ushered away. It ended with a kiss, rather unceremoniously given hidden behind Rook’s parked car. Right before they wanted to go into the Lighthouse again, she had pulled him close by his tie and kissed him hard. She tasted like longing and home and stories yet to be told.
Emmrich melted. After this, they decided to date in secret, lest the others knew of their involvement with each other. There was no need to alert them to this happening yet.
Everything continued as usual. Emmrich and Harding talked about botany, with Rook joining now and again. When Neve needed some help with attaining some files, Emmrich let some of his contacts come into play. If he needed to ask Rook for a quick break to get them when a message would have sufficed, nobody questioned it.
Bellara kept him on his toes whenever they had down time - lately also while he worked - asking as many questions as she could. The conversation was always enlightening and quickly needed him to do his own research as they bounced off of each other. In the quiet hours of the night, when he did some additional reading, Rook curled up next to him, her own book nestled on her propped-up thighs.
He got to know Lucanis better, who turned out to have a dry humor that often caught Emmrich off-guard. To his befuddlement, Lucanis kept insisting to bring Rook into every joke and only smiled knowingly at his inquiry as to know why.
One evening, while Rook took Manfred out to see something beyond the Lighthouse, he even joined Davrin and Taash for a workout, which he regretted the next day as he was barely able to lift his arms.
Book club kept going on. Rook kept being lovely. Emmrich kept falling asleep over his work.
At first, it was a blanket that was thrown over his shoulders, then a mug full of cooling tea that sat in front of him. Lastly, it was Rook who was curled up to him while being fast asleep and drooling on his shoulder.
Some nights they stayed awake to mull over the implications of the graves. There were unusual collections of grave goods in many of the graves which addled his brain. Not only in the structuring of them but also in the organic remains. In the pottery, there were so many residues left, that Harding had a problem to get behind the ever growing bulk of them. He just had the feeling that there was a hidden truth to be discovered in them.
Everything started to look great.
The Setback
Devastation. That was the word which felt most fitting. Both to describe what his eyes saw on the site and what he felt flowing out from the others around him.
The excavation site looked as if a storm had gone through it. Equipment laid around; bent and broken like in ritualistic weapon sacrifice, molded into something unusable. Soil was ripped out of the earth in several places and mixed together in one big heap, preventing any identification of where it had been from originally and contaminating the soil profiles. A singular piece of broken elven pottery stood out of the pile of dirt.
"What happened?" Rook stammered, eyes opened wide.
"They came at night, wearing masks" Evka, one of Davrin’s Warden that had volunteered to help them, said, pressing a cool pack to a bruise swelling on her cheek, while her husband Antoine kept fiddling with a lock of her hair. "Hit me in the face, threatened to hurt Antoine if I called for help. Fuckers got us good."
"I tried to get Ghilan'ain… but I failed," Lucanis murmured, an empty look in his eyes. "Mierda, I know it was her but now I cannot prove it."
"She was masked?" Neve said, kneeling next to a piece of metal, opening a plastic bag.
Lucanis nodded. "Yes, but for a moment the mask slipped down. I saw it. It was her, but no Elgar'nan until the car door opened. He called her back. If I only could have stopped their car."
"Even if you would have managed to reach her, it would have been of no use. They are too influential, too well connected. They would have slipped out of the noose easily," Emmrich said solemnly, trying to soothe some of the grief the man felt.
"But it would have been a start!" Lucanis snapped at him, eyes dark.
"I should have been there with you all," Davrin said, a whining Assan to his feet. "It was my duty to stand guard."
"You literally pulled a muscle, Davrin," Harding muttered under her breath.
"Stop," Rook whispered and looked at them, brave and bold even in the face of utter despair. "This does not matter. We can still do this. We can."
Lucanis, who had just inhaled to speak, snapped his mouth shut.
"This is a setback. Not the end. Harding, how many samples do you think you have from which quadrants?"
"Twenty-seven from the cuts two and three, which consists of all the quadrants save for F because of that damn stone."
"And Taash, how is it with the animal bones?"
"I have all of the ones we unearthed cleaned and halfway identified in the Lighthouse."
The group shot them a bewildered look. "Already?"
"Yeah?” Taash shrugged as if this had not been a feat of brilliance and diligence. "Asked for help with the ones I couldn't figure out. Isabela and some LoFs are really good with fish."
"Fantastic. Both from the waste side in the settlement and the ones from the graves?"
Taash smiled proudly. "Yeah."
"Emmrich, how many graves have you and your contacts documented?"
His chest swelled with pride. Not only did he have the fortune to have brought into action some old colleagues of his, he had taken up a pattern in these graves. "One hundred. Seventy more are up for Myrna and me to look over. And there are twenty more in the old documentations that Neve brought back yesterday." It had been marvelous, when she had sauntered into his part of the Lighthouse, arms full with files. She had kept him company while he tried to make sense of the - horrendous! - handwriting and let Manfred play with her fascinator.
"And I have found a contact that might have dirt on them," Neve added, accepting Lucanis hand to get up.
"Good. Davrin how many people do you need to dig another three seven×seven cuts in the settlement part." Rook squinted against the sun.
"How deep?"
"As deep as you must."
"Ideally twenty. But a team of seven will do if need be," he said. Silent pride cut through his expression, when he saw the baffled looks on the others faces.
Lucanis shook his head. "I'll help you." At the Wardens questioning glance he only shrugged. "I am good with my hands."
Bellara raised her hand. "Oh, I have digitized most of the drawings and files we kept here already. You know when you told me to sleep and rest. Well, I didn't, but now you aren't allowed to be mad at me, because it actually helped that I stayed awake."
Emmrich shot her a worried look. He wondered when, or if,the woman ever slept.
Then something strange happened.
Everyone took a look at the site, then shifted to each other. Some of them nodded, others clapped on their neighbors’ shoulders. A sentence stood in between them, connecting them in their shared ambition, ringing heavily in their ears.
We can do this.
A helpful intervention (five weeks to go)
Through the struggle, their team indeed became better.
Instead of tearing each other down in disapproval, they started working together, finding out the ways in which they could work hand in hand. Grudges were settled and drinks shared in the quiet hours of the evening.
Neve and Bellara had unearthed a secret deep down in the archives with some help of Detective Rana. Accusations of illicit employment, money laundering, and aggravated assault -among many others- had been paid off with bloody money and hidden where they were thought to be forgotten.
Not only did Lucanis provide a flavorful culinary experience for the ravenous teams but on top of that he had pulled some strings which led to a delay to the farewell party of Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan, adding several weeks to their schedule.
He could have sworn he saw Neve press a kiss to Lucanis cheek in thanks.
Two Weeks to go
Twenty weeks to go
The book club kept going strong. Now the five of them sat in front of the fireplace, discussing the literature eagerly. Everyone felt more at ease with each other now. It almost felt like coming home to family and friends instead of after-work hours with colleagues.
One night, the baby phone in Manfred's room alerted him and he went upstairs to check on the boy. When he returned an hour later, after he had read Manfred another story about wyverns, only Rook was left. Emmrich’s heart grew soft, as he saw her sleeping on one of the couches. Her long body curled tightly together and those auburn strands of hair cascading over her face. What must she dream of?
At his light touch to her shoulder, only meant to pull a blanket over her, she awoke with a soft gasp. Bleary eyed, she blinked at him.
"Emmrich?" When he stroked her cheek, she nuzzled into it; a warm exhale caressing his tired skin.
"You should go to sleep, darling." He was contemplating if it was better to aid her in returning to her room or to simply leave her sleeping there.
"Did you know that Lucanis and Neve have a thing going?" Her voice was raspy with sleep.
A chuckle escaped his lips. "Yes, I've noticed. What makes you mention this?"
She rubbed her eyes. Frowning into her hand, she said, "They had a make out session right behind the door, right before I fell asleep. Thought I couldn't hear."
"Whatever they did, they took it somewhere else." Suddenly he was glad that Neve’s room was in a different corner of the Lighthouse, granting everyone some privacy. "Shall I help you upstairs?"
Rook nodded, gave one last kiss to his palm and let her legs swing off the couch. Her defined shoulders - she had told him she had taken dance classes since she was very young- moved under the light fabric, a testament to all the hard work she had poured into herself. Her blouse had moved, revealing freckles that dotted around white collarbones and rose up to her shoulders, where they doubled in numbers.
She wore no bra. A fact which he had tried to distract himself from the whole evening, especially as he noticed the rods sticking out from either side of it but now the swell of her left breast was exposed to the glow of the dimming fire and Emmrich felt himself breathing unevenly.
Steady. You are not a young, tempestuous man anymore.
Their hands met and he helped Rook to her feet, pulling up the hem of her blouse in a smooth action. Rocking unevenly, she seemed more asleep than awake by now and Emmrich decided to hook into her arm, as to prevent any possible accidents from happening. When they had made their way up the stairs and to the right where her room was, Emmrich felt his heartbeat quicken. How did her room look? For a moment he let his imagination run wild with ideas of highly stacked books and fantastic paintings spanning around her comfortable bed.
What he saw created an awful shock that pulled him out of his fantasies. Rook had no real room. Or rather, no real bedroom. Behind the door was a space that would have soiled words like comfort or rest if they only would have walked by it briefly.
In the low lamplight, he saw one couch; too small to sleep on without crouching, one table; which he would call hideous on a good day and several of Rook’s things scattered about. Clothes, books, belongings.
No wonder that she had not slept well since coming here. No one would have, not even Taash with their deep slumber that not even blaring loud music next to their ears broke. He remembered the morning Harding had tried and shuddered at the remembrance of the noise. He never had a taste for metal.
Emmrich’s eye twitched dangerously. That was it. He could not watch this any longer.
Turning the both of them around, he walked them toward his own door, despite Rooks small noises of protest. A strange frustration pooled in his belly. Why did she never let anyone take care of her?
"Darling?" she huffed as she realized where they were headed. In response he gently caressed her back.
"Shhh… You will take my bed. A proper one. This cannot stand, you need a full night’s sleep for once." As they arrived in front of his room, he quietly opened the door, only briefly stopping to listen for any noises coming from Manfred's room next door, before ushering them both in.
Rook took in his room as he left to pull back the covers for her. To her surprise, he had a comfortable queen-sized bed with several blankets, a big wardrobe, a marvelous window opening to the greenery outside the house, some bookshelves, an armchair, and intricately woven rugs to call his own. The first day it had taken him more than a minute to take in the richly adorned wooden furniture.
Now, he swallowed the lump in his throat at the thought of his darling in his bed. How she would look with her chest rising steadily underneath the covers, a relaxed curl of her mouth. If she wore a nightdress-
"Will you come to sleep with me?" Rook watched him with an intense look. Shifting from one foot to the other, she pulled a strand of hair behind her ear.
He dodged her stare and went for the wardrobe to give her something proper to sleep in, that was not a two days old shirt. He did not know if he could sleep knowing that he would be pressed against her. Time had shown him to be of the more affectionate kind as soon as dreams claimed him, usually finding himself wrapped around the person next to him as tightly as he could manage. Some had described it as ivy around a tree. "I thought about finishing TS 130-135 tonight."
"You look tired."
A sound came from behind him and he noticed her letting her finger wander over the wood of his bed. Temptress. Siren.
He furrowed his brow. Had her blouse been this open a minute before? Quickly, Emmrich gave her a weak smile and sorted through his stash of nightclothes, to get his mind off her exposed skin. It was quite lucky that he always had spare clothing at hand, yet he felt none was truly fitting for her. Then his heart caught in his throat when his hand grazed the box back of his drawer. "It's nothing that one of Lucanis espressos won't be able to fix. I will sleep later."
"Liar."
He rolled his eyes. Holding on to the cardboard tightly, he considered what to do. Shortly after his first date with Rook, he had taken Manfred into the city for a doctors appointment and afterwards to a seamstress to get his favorite toy repaired. As the boy had observed each movement of the seamstress while she worked, Emmrich's eyes had been drawn to a particularly elegant nightgown. Deep purple satin that fell down the mannequins body until it almost reached the floor, parted with a slid at the back to allow movement. On top of it sat a fitting morning robe with a green brooch in form of a bug. When he drove back with Manfred, the package sat in the back of his car and then at the back of his wardrobe, too afraid of pressuring her with a too early gift.
Now it rested in his hands and he made a choice. Gently, he pulled it out and set it into her hands, all the while being careful to not inhale her fragrance. Amber, wood, lilac. It made him want to sink into her embrace even more. "Rook, I beg you. You must sleep."
"When was the last time you slept for a full night? Not taking care of any of us or Manfred? Pouring yourself over some books?"
Rather my books than pour myself all over your body and steal the little sleep you from you, he thought and motioned for her to open the box. At the wave of his hand, she gingerly sat it on the bedside and opened the lid.
She stilled as she saw the content of it and something in her softened. Surely, now she would allow herself some comfort with a little push from him.
"Rook. I can handle myself but you need to rest."
Defiantly, she turned around to face him, a strange look on her face."Emmrich, I can also handle myself."
"I know, but as the leader-"
From her mouth rose a frustrated sigh, the drumming fingers once more giving insight to her turmoil. "Why are you never letting anyone take care of you?"
For a moment too long, he did not know what to say. His mouth was hanging open at having his worries about her thrown at him.
Usually, it felt easy to have a witty answer ready and as a researcher it had become second nature to him. No matter if it came from a colleague, a rival institute, or an uppish student. But Rook was different. Around her he could not pretend and more often than not she disarmed him wholly, making words leave his mind. Word collector. Maybe she was a fairytale creature after all. Rook took his silence as an opening to attack.
Almost stomping over to him, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him; fiercely and sweet. She tasted of sleep and promises and Emmrich felt himself melt into her, despite not wanting to be too intense, despite the fear of losing her if he showed even an inch of the depth of his devotion, despite not knowing how to let anyone take care of him since his was orphaned decades ago, despite, despite…
"Come to bed," she whispered. "I wear the pretty nightdress just for you."
"Roo-" At his weakening protest, she kissed him once more.
"Come to bed," she repeated and moved to kiss his cheek. Then his temple. "Come to bed with me, Emmrich."
A pleasant shudder shot up his back, pulverizing his worries and leaving only a gentle haze behind. True to his nature, he tried one last time.
"Rook…"
"Siobhan."
"I beg your pardon?"
She kissed his nose before hovering in front of him, until her scarred skin touched his laugh lines. Where perceived imperfections met, their love sparked more brightly.
"My name is Siobhan. But honestly, I am not sure if I like Ingellvar or Volkarin more, my dear fiancé." She stilled and pursed her lips in thought. "Well, actually I think yours has a nicer ring to it. Listen: Siobhan Volkarin."
His breath hitched and it made her chuckle. His mind reeled at finally knowing her name, of her playing with his surname so easily, making his chest drum with longing. His name behind hers. A ring on their fingers. Entwined graves.
Tenderly, she pulled her left hand back to caress his cheek and Emmrich could feel himself lean into her touch, mirroring their position from a mere ten minutes ago.
"You will never be a burden to me. Never too much and never unwanted. Now come to bed with me, beloved."
With a final resolve shattering press kiss to lips, he caved.
There was little sleep that night.
The turnaround (fifteen weeks to go)
His darling had just finished preparing tea for them, as a realization hit Emmrich. The team had gathered in the common room after an exhausting day; Bellara and Lucanis in the kitchen, Davrin monitoring Assan and Manfred playing, and Taash, Harding, and Neve speaking about local cuisine, while Emmrich had taken it upon himself to sieve through the notes that Neve had brought to him once more.
Old pages with a barely legible handwriting had stared back at him, not willing to give insight to the happenings and research that had been done decades ago.
It wasn't until Davrin had taken a peek at his work and gave the needed hint. The writing, while not being one that could be considered as elegant or beautiful, was not unintelligible but a certain type of shorthand often used in the military context. He remembered that Elgar'nan often used it back in Weisshaupt and even found some of the codes he had woven into the text.
Now, Emmrich had sat with the translation page and the documents on his knees, especially when it came to the infamous grave TS 33, as it finally clicked. Shrouds Kiss. It was Shrouds Kiss.
The quite atmosphere was broken when Emmrich sat up with a sudden jolt and began collecting his notes and drawings from the couch table.
"Emmrich…?" Siobhan asked behind him, a mixture of worry and anticipation in her voice but he did not have time to explain.
When he had everything he needed in his arms, he kissed her cheek and hurried up towards the stairs to the laboratories, while calling out to Harding to come and join him.
Faintly he heard Taash speak. "Are you two official now?" With an audible amused groan as something connected with their shoulder.
There was time for that discussion later.
As Harding and he arrived in the laboratory, he put the files on the table and switched on a microscope.
"Harding, do you remember what Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain had ruled the Double grave TS33 as?"
The botanist shot him a confused look. "Isn't that the warriors’ grave?"
Emmrich beamed. "Yes. Two people buried together, one obviously being from the settlement in terms of grave good and isotope analysis. The other came from somewhere else, and was quickly deemed by their research to be of lesser status, even going so far as to call it a "ritualistic murder" of a fallen antagonist or even a slave, buried side by side to be underneath the person even in death. They said the documentation and any pictures had been lost-"
"Yeah, they basically said 'trust me, bro.' back then."
After weeks of her youthful slang, Emmrich did not even bat an eye anymore. "Indeed, dear Harding. And do you know what Elgar'nan wrote about that?"
"I think you are going to tell me anyway."
"I AM," he said excitedly as he pulled out the pages concerning the grave. The picture he held out to her wordlessly, yet he basically vibrated with anticipation. Harding glanced at it for a few seconds before her eyebrows rose to the sky.
"That is definitely not an enemy. This is how you hold Rook when both of you think no one is looking and that sure as hell ain't anything but lovey dovey." She ignored his scandalized scoff, only waving her hand dismissively at him. "So, this looks like lovers."
With warming cheeks, he nodded. "Yes, and we know of such graves from several other contexts in the same time. Now, they also wrote that they laid entangled with each other, sharing some of the same grave goods and also ones from different backgrounds but they did not pay any mind to the results of the examination from organic residues around their hands."
"It's a net?"
"And flowers. The botanic analysis said it was this, which I believe you have also found."
Harding squinted at the paper - she ignored the need for glasses entirely- and exhaled sharply. "Shrouds Kiss." Her head whipped up to look at him. "This was in so many other graves! Especially the other graves that did not match the 'gods' interpretation. And in the settlement area. "
"Especially high status ones. Rich graves from well situated and certainly most important individuals."
With a speed that almost seemed impossible, Harding pulled out her laptop and a sample of Shrouds Kiss they had collected from a grave. Switching between looking at the microscope and her notes, she almost grew two sized.
"So, this was not a slave or an enemy killed in battle but possibly a lover from outside the settlement, opposing their theory that Tearstone was a highly isolated, military basis, bla bla, destruction, war, dirty dumb people and so on. The grave goods are rich and possibly belonging to that other person too, considering the distribution."
"Yes."
"This is great! Didn't you say there is an Nevarran folklore attached to the plant?"
He smiled warmly. "It is said to speak of love beyond the grave and was used in wedding traditions."
Seven Weeks to go
With those new leads the team began to work even harder. When Emmrich was not too busy rotating with the team in the laboratory, kitchen, and on duty for Manfred, he smiled as he watched Siobhan.
She was divine. Keeping the morale up, solving interpersonal issues, and keeping in touch with important contacts. In her downtime, she would work on the cartography section; lines and dots building a pattern as if weaving a story together. The soil was different here, a differently dated artifact hidden over there, this part of the settlement stood out, let’s check here-
Every time she caught his eye, she acknowledged his attention with a blown kiss and a fond smile. Even though it made him feel childish, he always mimicked catching it and pressed it to his lips.
Her smile was worth all the gagging sounds their friends made at the gesture.
The exhibition (Five Weeks to go)
As the final deadline drew close, Siobhan, Emmrich, and Bellara had visited the museum their event was supposed to be held. Strife, Emmrich’s old flame, and Irelin, Bellara’s old flame, had gathered together with them in the café that was situated beside the gift shop. When they had inquired worriedly about the short time they had to prepare, Strife had only laughed sharply.
Sharp, brown eyes had fixated them as he said, "My team is more capable than any of those ‘archaeology gods’. We will be ready."
Bellara offered to be the communication link between the Veil Jumpers and the Veilguard in the following weeks, providing a closely knit communication line while the last preparations had to be done.
With a knowing smile, Emmrich and Rook sent her off to get more updates on the situation with Irelin. Having watched hers and Bellara’s fiddling hands and stolen glances, there would surely be done more than just any research talking.
Both smiled knowingly and went back to the car, hand in hand.
The question (four Weeks to go)
Over time he and Siobhan had developed a routine. They would meet up after Manfred had been brought to bed. Emmrich would follow his skin care routine, while Siobhan put a salve on the scar tissue on her face. They brushed their teeth, which ended up with her jesting about his oil pulling, despite his protests that it was very good for his teeth.
Then the bed would wait. Usually, they would pick one book and lie down, with one of them holding up the book, while the other would crawl into their waiting arms. After they both had settled in, they would read together. As soon as one had finished, it was their turn to tap the page and as soon as the other followed, the page would be turned.
It did not take long for them to find a rhythm and soon enough it became one of his favorite parts of the day.
After roughly half an hour, they would be too tired to continue and fall asleep. Unless he caught a whiff of her smell in his nostrils or if she gazed too long at his "immaculate" jaw line. Then their nights would be filled with explorations of a different kind until slumber claimed them.
Emmrich had wished for their nightly routine to end with just that. Peaceful sleep.
To his dismay and worry, both of them were subjected to nightly horrors. For Emmrich, this consisted of waking with a racing heart, his mouth dry and fingers numb as he gasped for air that never felt enough in his lungs. He heaved and ached at the tightness in his chest, an all-consuming fear threatening to break him. Surely enough, Siobhan woke every time and without fail, she would do everything in her power to help him. In her gentle tone she would refocus his attention and give him something to hold on to as he rode it out.
No matter if it was memories of his parents’ death or the imminent fear of the situation that sat before them. She was always there and held him until he could fall asleep once more.
Other nights, Emmrich was sleeping blissfully until he was awoken by her screaming and thrashing around. When he saw her wrapped in her blanket, frightened and panting, there was no second thought. He held her through the haze of the nightmare hanging onto her with sharp nails set underneath smooth skin. Those times, he would help her settle by holding and talking to her, until she was calm in his embrace and slept till morning arrived to kiss them on the nose.
Tonight, Siobhan’s head rested on his shoulder as they read through one of his books together; his right hand holding the right side and her left hand holding the left side.The other pair was intertwined and Emmrich caressed her knuckles gently, making her hum in content joy.
"What were you and Taash talking about? They told me to ask you about it." She didn't look at him, simply tapping the page with her thumb to signal that she was done. After reading the last paragraph, he flipped the page.
Emmrich chuckled. "About my wishes for the future. They used flavourful wording."
"Oh, color me intrigued," she said. Siobhan acted like she didn't see him shaking his head at her, but a grin danced on her lips.
"They said: 'Your future is yours and no one else. Do what you like, copulate with what others think.”
“That’s good advice, although the word copulate is certainly new for them," she said with a snort, once again tapping the corner of the page. Emmrich turned it and she added, "Well? What do you want?”
You. The corner of her mouth rose, as she read the unsaid from between the lines. Emmrich felt his foolish heart gallop him to an unseen finish line as he realized what he was about to ask her.
“I do like my field of expertise but sometimes I wish the pressure was easier on me… To have more time to spend with Manfred… maybe someone to share my life with...”
"Like a family?"
The word rose like fog between them and settled gently on his heart. "Yes." A simple truth. A yearning wish.
“That is a good thought. Now you need to figure out how to get that.” She lifted their entwined hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. Still hovering over his hand, her eyes searched his. "Or who to ask."
Emmrich thought about the ring that sat nestled in his bedside drawer. Now he pulled her hand to his lips and whispered a promise onto them. “What are your plans for after this is all over, Siobhan?”
She kissed his brow before tapping the page once again. When he turned it, he heard the smile in her voice.
“Trying out a new possible future.”
With you.
Together.
The happy ending
After months of harrowing work and many setbacks, they managed to do it- they unveiled their exhibition right on the day when Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain were supposed to be celebrated till the end of their days.
It had been hard, the last weeks had been a blur of late hours and early mornings. Slowly but surely, they had worked through their difficulties, while growing as their own people, too. New friendships had been forged and soon enough it had felt more like a family and the Lighthouse like a Lighthome, if he were to quote Harding.
Several rooms filled with a portrayal of Tearstone that had not been attempted before. One that spoke about a settlement that was one defined by trade and contact. Even though there surely had been conflict, the good and the bad wove a tapestry of a past, longing for their story to be told. While some of the threads were still hidden, and some would likely never be uncovered, it had now a chance to be seen in a new light.
In the center of it all, stood TS 33. The lovers’ grave. The one that had turned the tide on their research. It had provided the hook for their retelling of the settlements story. No warriors fortress, but a trading site, rich with culture and merchants of all trade. Yes, there was violence, visible in wounds on skulls and fortifications on the water side, but there was also peace, shown in many years of relatively undisrupted living and exchange. Most importantly. There was love.
Not only that was interesting to the public eye. Through an anonymous helper, files had been 'rediscovered' about their neglect, blackmailing, illicit employment and labor exploitation among many others. The uproar had been loud, especially as Solas came clean about how he protected and shielded their work.
In the end, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain left to be questioned by the police, their younger brother in tow.
When the press wanted a picture of the famous "Veilguard", they stood together, side by side. He noted the affections between the newly formed couples and the playfulness in which they now regarded Manfred.
With a fond smile curling on his lips, he looked at Siobhan. Reaching over, her ringed hand slid in his. After she had disclosed with him that the ring had been in a corner of her drawer, he had not hesitated a moment and gotten himself a matching one. Today, he held on tight to her.
Maybe by uncovering the past he had unearthed a future, most bright and beautiful, and beyond his wildest imagination. I he was being honest, he could not wait to see the full extent of it.
