Welcome to The Fade!

Even a brief glance into his beloved's eyes melted him. He was still so young! Rook was barely a young adult; he had his whole life ahead of him. Emmrich didn't doubt the sincerity of his feelings in the slightest—and yet Rook not only accepted his plan—he had even encouraged him not to give up on his lifelong dream. For no one's sake, neither for himself, nor for Manfred, nor for anyone else close to him. What spark from the other side had so steeled Rook's soul with courage? There was more to it than just a sentimental impulse to flatter him. In the past days and hours, he hadn't let a single hint of doubt surface. He was emotional and excited, no question about it, but by no means hesitant. It was pure, sincere conviction with which Rook morally supported him. In his conviction, he seemed as unyielding as the stone from which the gravestones in the Necropolis garden had been hewn. Marked, imperishable, yet speaking so much despite their silence, they lined the path along which Rook and Emmrich walked hand in hand. It was the last day, yet they were in no hurry. Despite the hours slipping away with breathless speed, there was no urge to quicken their pace. Rook and he had come to revel in the here and now. This was where it had begun for them. Their shared care for the graves and the spirits, the shared recitation of the ritual verses of the Mournwatch —and the getting to know each other in the process—had brought them together. It was only fitting that they had chosen this place to bid farewell to Emmrich's life. There it was, the subtle, barely perceptible hint of regret for his own mortality, stirring within Emmrich. Rook had sensed it immediately. That subtle change in the way he held his hand. The warmth and the mortal strength within it would fade, but what would remain forever was the gesture of love that bound them together. Rook stopped and turned to Emmrich, gazing up at him, into those beautiful, sincere eyes, brown and green, which had become the epitome of tenderness to him. "I'm with you," he said, placing his right hand against Emmrich's chest. Even there, he could feel the heartbeat. Beneath the fabric of dyed burial silk, carefully stitched with intricate gold-threaded borders, he felt the warmth of his beloved's body.

"You sensed my thoughts and feelings, didn't you?" Emmrich's frown accentuated the lines of age on his face. Rook loved every single millimeter of them. "Not only that, I share them too. If only I could do more than that. I want to be by your side. Until the very last moment." He took a deep breath. "And after that, too." They pressed themselves intimately against one another. Rook's lips and the tip of his nose touched the hollow of Emmrich's neck; there was a pleasing difference in their sizes, and Rook felt once again an euphoric tingling in his body and soul. It was infatuation that seemed to pull him in every direction, intoxicating him in a way that even the profound rituals of his order and his immersion in the mystical depths of magic could not evoke in him. As if of its own accord, his body reacted, drawn to the one he desired so intensely. His lips made contact, gliding gently over his skin. As he exhaled, a fragile sigh, his breath mingled with the fine pores, allowing the remaining traces of Emmrich's captivating perfume to rise to his nose. This aroma alone seduced him anew, effortlessly overcoming the barrier of his reason, as if an athlete had cleared three steps in perfect superiority. “Oh, my Darling!” Emmrich whispered, wrapping his arms around the chest of him, his hands searching for a place to claw into, letting himself fall down the spiral of never-ending instinct to hold, to own, to possess the one and only man his love had grown into. Like a beautiful plant would have been buried deep into the soil of existence, just to break to the surface, shine in its growth, becoming stronger with every day of rain or sunshine, leaning against the harsh winds of life. Until it became a force of its own, its blossoms the very essence of beauty itself.

Yuriel nestled close to Emmrich, feeling his breath quicken. This wasn't an embrace to find peace. Quite the opposite; the mere fact that they clung to each other was enough to intoxicate them both. Why did this consuming desire refuse to subside for even a single second? "Look at us, my love. We're like two swans who never want to leave their pond." "A swan?" Yuriel asked, his hand slid through Emmrich's hair, down his elegantly shaped neck, and finally resting on his back. Emmrich nodded, caressing Yuriel's neck, his slightly moist lips sliding up his throat until they reached his mouth. It moved Emmrich to feel that Yuriel's lips were still throbbing and swollen in a strangely beautiful way, from all the unspeakably wonderful things he had done to him during the past night. "So faithful and graceful, destined for each other—and beautiful, swan-like." He kissed him, whispering his poetic words to his beloved. Yuriel blushed at the tender flattery. Emmrich seemed completely unaware that these words amounted to seduction. "You do things to me I never even dreamed of. My capacity for affection has always been limited. And now… as if you hadn't just taken my hand to explore the world, but as if you had lifted me up to the stars." For a moment they paused, looked into each other's eyes, and what they found was deep, unconditional love. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had found each other in the midst of such terrible times. Their feelings for one another were so evident that no words were needed to say.

There could be no stronger agreement than this. For all that would inevitably follow. Emmrich moved first. He grasped Yuriel by the upper arms and pressed him with demanding determination against the monument with the intricately crafted skeletal couple, carved in stone, who would love each other for all eternity in the necropolis. Right here, Emmrich and Yuriel had kissed for the first time. Here they did it again, right in this fateful moment. Probably for the last time as two living lovers. Yuriel wanted it just as much, yet he was overcome by the raw desire with which Emmrich pushed him against the base of the monument. His lips demanded as much as his hands, greedily searching for the most intimate parts of Yuriel's trembling body. "By all good spirits…" Yuriel gasped, willingly opening his legs and lips to everything Emmrich hoped to find on and inside him. He didn't doubt for a heartbeat that he would get it all—and that he deserved it. Even more, Yuriel wished he could give him more than just his body. "Will you take me again?" he whispered against Emmrich's cheek, still frantically trying to untie the loops of his trousers. Apparently, Emmrich's hands were too shaky to work effectively. "As often as I can," Emmrich replied conspiratorially, then bit him playfully and greedily just above the collarbone, ensuring that Yuriel wouldn't end the day without seeing marks in the mirror. Yuriel was seized by fervor as he felt the suction on his sensitive skin; it aroused him in the best possible way, finally awakening the bestial desire within him.

With a swift movement, he grasped Emmrich's hips and executed a sweeping half-turn, almost painfully slamming him against the wall that had just moments before supported himself. He grasped his wrists and pressed them against the silent stone as well, but could only extend them far enough so that Emmrich's arms were bent over his head; he was simply much taller than Yuriel. Nothing about this, however, lessened the vehemence with which the elf declared him his prey, right here and now. "I think it's my turn this time," he grinned provocatively at him. Emmrich's eyes betrayed incredible excitement in response to this love-starved counterattack from his much younger lover. "Oh, really?" he teased him, quite deliberately. “Oh! YES!” replied Yuriel. “You can’t get involved with a young, wild stallion and then expect to ride a mare every day.” Yuriel proved that he possessed more muscle than his slender frame would suggest by pressing himself belly to belly against Emmrich, pinning him against the rock. Yuriel’s half-open trousers slipped down a little further. Emmrich found this burning desire highly pleasurable. He feigned resistance with little conviction; it merely served to further spur him on—and thus himself. "Still wild and untamed," he whispered to him. "And wild with desire." "I can feel it," Emmrich smirked, and returned the thrust from his navel downwards. They were both exceptionally hard and throbbing. Devoid of any rational thought, with aimless fumbling they managed to push Emmrich's trousers down far enough that Yuriel had the free angle he needed to press against Emmrich's opening. They still stood belly to belly at the base of the statue, their eyes fixed on each other. Yuriel grasped Emmrich's wrists once more and pressed his arms against the stone. The strength of his grip and his rigid physique spoke volumes about the state of his bursting lust for Emmrich. It was intoxicating.

“Oh, please!” Emmrich exclaimed through his dry throat as he felt Yuriel inside him piece by piece, without knowing what he was actually pleading for. That moment, standing there with trembling knees, surrendering to his lover's body in the middle of the necropolis garden, made a reality of what the necromancer had often secretly dreamed of, always assuming it would remain a lustful, forbidden fantasy in his mind. Here it became reality. Their boundless love for one another made it possible, tangible, deep, and intimate. They moved as a perfectly in sync, both eager to diminish even the slightest gap between them. "My darling," Emmrich sighed at the sensation, and Yuriel responded with a blissful gasp that gradually grew louder. For the first time, it dawned on Emmrich that they might not be alone. This was a frequented spot, both for their colleagues and for visitors from out of town accompanied by a Mournwatch member. It took several more devoted movements before Emmrich had mustered enough willpower to express himself. "We could be sp…" "Let them!" Yuriel replied boldly, even before Emmrich had finished his sentence. Yuriel released Emmrich's wrists and instead clasped his shoulders. Emmrich immediately returned the affectionate embrace, covering his slightly upturned face with many scattered little kisses.

The attempt to address these thoroughly morally charged misgivings had drained every ounce of rational energy from him. It would have been more accurate to say that Emmrich was, in that moment, no longer in communion with his own intellect. A primal, instinct-driven desire had gained the upper hand. As an experienced mage, Emmrich was well aware of the risk that his intense emotions might attract a demon of lust. Even though wizards of every land commonly denied this out of self-preservation—the risk was ever-present. He, however, did not blind himself to this dangerous truth; instead, he possessed a remedy entirely his own for dealing with it: Love. His unconditional love for Yuriel would keep his desire pure and safeguard him against insidious corruption. Nevertheless, the far greater risk here was being discovered by one of the necropolis’s mortal visitors. This game was no longer uncharted territory for them. Who knew how often, by now, they had been overheard or observed during their lovemaking? It was hardly conceivable that they had gotten away with such reckless public behavior unnoticed. And the worst part of it was that they both enjoyed it. No sooner did the thought cross his mind than a tingling surge of adrenaline ignited within him even more intensely. He felt a deep, wanton sensation stir inside him and let out a loud moan. Yuriel simply couldn’t help but reward his overwhelmed reaction with "even more of that." Good heavens—that wasn't all. The elf’s slender, sinewy hands explored him, assuring themselves with gliding caresses that Emmrich’s skin—across his chest and belly—was glowing and throbbing; hot and damp, they bore witness to just how deeply his beloved was soothed by what he was doing to him.

“Is this it, my love?” Yuriel whispered, his voice taking on that wicked timbre he reserved solely for those moments when they coupled like lewd acolytes upon an altar. That tone made Emmrich bite his lower lip—though only for a moment. For as soon as Yuriel let his whispering lips wander downward from Emmrich’s ear and began to suck devotedly at his neck, Emmrich let out another involuntary gasp. In doing so, he was—as the old saying goes—loud enough to wake the dead. The irony in the making… Yuriel’s hands had crept lower down the body. His fingertips—and his carefully filed nails—glided through the trimmed, recently regrowing pubic hair in the lowest region between Emmrich’s hipbones. Yuriel toyed with it, rubbing gently—and in a bid for recognition—with his most sensitive part. The heat was remarkable. Finally, he grasped his fully engorged shaft and tended to the man’s pleasure—a task he understood perfectly through his intimate knowledge of his own body, and for which he found, with confident ease, the golden mean between forceful intensity and playful softness. What Emmrich felt, bordered on sheer bliss. He would have fiercely contested the notion that there was any room for improvement.

Then, however—interrupted only for a brief instant—Yuriel licked his own right hand and proceeded to do exactly what he had done just two seconds earlier; yet this time, it was something more. The warm fluid enveloped him completely, along with the hand that was lavishing such love upon him. It bore a striking resemblance to the sensation of actually being inside someone’s body—inside their very core. Very, very similar indeed. Without consciously directing the movement, Emmrich thrust his hips forward to meet it. Yuriel offered him precisely the resistance that he—beside himself with ecstasy as he was—needed so damn urgently in that moment. He did it so well that Emmrich wanted to beg him to pause for a moment—before it was too late. Instead, he recognized his own hoarse voice cracking as he cried out for more. Emmrich got exactly what he wanted. The exquisite rapture seized him utterly, in all its merciless bloom. Whatever contractions his body—now past fifty—was still capable of, it bestowed upon him with lavish generosity. Fortunately, Yuriel pressed him with his body against the monument, allowing Emmrich to simply let go and relax. With his eyes closed and his thoughts filled with infinite bliss, he let his chin sink onto his lover’s left shoulder. He, too, was breathing heavily, and the sticky, wet sensation covering large areas of their bodies led Emmrich to assume—with a high degree of certainty—that he was not the only one who had just found his release. It was unclear where he drew this certainty from, but in that moment, Emmrich would have sworn that Yuriel was thinking and feeling exactly the same things he was—as if, through the act, they had truly fused together, body and soul. "Let's stay like this," Emmrich breathed to him, and he saw Yuriel smile, even though he had not yet opened his eyes. He could see it without seeing. Never before had he been given such vehement proof that love was pure magic. Neither of them barely noticed how the time of this final night slipped away. Yet they would have no regrets about it, for they spent that time together in the best way possible.

As they clung to one another—belly to belly, arms entwined—voices and footsteps could be heard somewhere nearby. Faint and distant, to be sure, yet no longer to be denied. No word of coordination passed between them; instead, they glided silently and furtively downward—stealthy as secret lovers who would endure every hardship the world could inflict, just to remain undisturbed with one another for a single moment longer. They came to rest soundlessly—Emmrich on his back, Yuriel atop him. Their clothes hung haphazardly upon their bodies, anywhere but where they belonged; yet under no circumstances would they have taken measures to sever that connection at navel-level. Now, all that remained for them was to hope that visitors to the garden would not decide—of all things—to take a closer look at this particular monument—or the graves in its immediate vicinity. Emmrich returned Yuriel’s mischievous grin and tucked a tousled strand of red hair behind the long, pointed ear. They spent the time they waited for the voices and footsteps to recede exchanging lavish kisses—kisses whose intensity was befitting of the situation. When they were finally alone again, they gazed into each other’s eyes with deep affection. “What exactly are we doing here?” Emmrich asked with a chuckle, shaking his head good-naturedly. “We’ve already done all of this. Vows of love, kisses, deep gazes, dramatic farewell sex, ‘bidding-adieu-to-mortality’ sex…” Yuriel, visibly self-satisfied, basked ever more deeply in his happiness with every item Emmrich listed. “We laughed and cleared the air—just in case… We dried each other’s tears; we made love once more.”

Yuriel’s gaze grew gentle as he tenderly stroked Emmrich’s half-bared chest. “We thought we were ready,” he summarized. “But we couldn’t have been more wrong. Oh, Emmrich—how deeply I must love you to let you go to a place where I cannot follow.” “Not yet! Not… yet!” Emmrich emphasized the words strongly, gazing deep into those blue elven eyes. “But I will wait for you, my love! You possess the strength and the will to one day walk the path of the Lich yourself, and finally follow me through the gates of death.” “I will! I promise you.” “And yet…” Yuriel looked at him questioningly. "What is it?" Since Emmrich didn't answer him right away, Yuriel propped himself up on his forearms, lying on his stomach, and crawled a little closer until their faces were level with one another. "Emmrich…?" "My love…" Emmrich began hesitantly, stroking his cheek and tracing the pulse beating visibly in his neck. "You are still so young. Johanna was right about that—you are in the prime of your life. And you have—for all the love you feel for me—the right to a long, fulfilling life of your own." Yuriel regarded him with a frown. He couldn't fathom what his beloved was getting at. "I would truly wait. Yuriel, you could enjoy your full natural lifespan unhindered—and even become a father yourself. For me, those years would ultimately be but a trifle; yet for you, they could be…"

Agnes Aldwir was not sure exactly whenshe began to quietly make note of different sachets Emmrich utilized.

But I did.

Then it was his handkerchiefs. His sashes and scarves. His cute little pill case which has an embroidered Grand Necropolis!!!!

Ahem.

I am noticing all those things and more.

Because…oh fucking hells…

Okay so here’s the thing.

Emm and I are clearly in love with each other. Smitten. Enchanted. Idiots in love, if we’re being honest.

And there’s a Fereldan custom in which you give the person you intend to marry a gift, usually something embroidered since that’s very traditional.

Hells, I need to brush up on my embroidery if I’m going to make something amazing. Something he can be proud of and show off!

Agnes smiled to herself, having located her dusty as fuck embroidery kit.

Okay, Agi.

Let’s fucking goooooooooooooooooooooooo!

***

Dear Mum,

I’ve finally decided what to make for Emmrich---drawstring bag with Shroud’s Kiss embroidered. I think he’ll love it. Do you think so?

Any advice is greatly appreciated.

Love,

Agi

***

“Uhhhh, do you need help?” Harding asked cautiously.

Blinking, Agnes looked up from her whatever the fuck embroidery. “Oh! Hey! Hi! Hello! No, I don’t help thanks. I’m just trying to brush up on my embroidery.” Shit, she’s going to ask why. “For a gift.”

Harding raised a skeptical eyebrow. “For who?”

“FOR WHOM!” An annoyed voice called from above.

Emm, for fuck’s sake.

The two Fereldans rolled their eyes.

“Sorry, love.”

“Sorry, Emmrich!” Harding returned her attention to Agnes. “Is it for…someone special?”

Play it cool. Rook face.

She shrugged. “It’s for someone certainly.”

They stared at each other for a few moments before Harding smiled. “If you want, I can ask Ma for some tips. Things she finds helpful.”

Thank fuck.

Agnes nodded and offered a warm smile. “That would lovely. Thank you so much, Harding.”

“You’re welcome! I’ll let you get back to it. See ya, Agi!”

Thank. Fuck.

“See you later!” The smile on her face slipped once Harding was out of the building, and she exhaled deeply. Maybe we can move past all this bullshit. “Right. Back to it…” She began to hum, singing softly to herself as she continued her work. “Trying not to stick myself…hmm hmm hmmmm…blood isn’t part of the design…”

“Here you go, love! A bloody Shroud’s Kiss just for you!”

Ugh.

***

In. Out. In. Out.

Practice Shroud’s Kiss is looking good!

You’re killing it, Agi!

“Agi sweetheart, what has you in such a joyous mood?” Emmrich’s voice called from the doorway of the meditation room. In a few long strides he reached the chaise and sat next to her. “Dearest! I had no idea you embroider!” Stop giving me sassy hot face when I’m trying to focus!!! “Keeping secrets, Miss Aldwir?”

Don’t tell him about the present.

Don’t tell him about the present.

Don’t tell him about the present.

Don’t—

As her cheeks burned, she laughed nervously. “No! I mean, it’s been years since I’ve done it and need practice.”

He wrapped a lithe arm around her shoulders with a smirk. “Practice for what, darling? More secrets. Tsk, tsk.” Emmrich tutted and began to caress her exposed upper arm.

Fuck. Shit. I’m gonna prick myself to death because of THIS MAN! RIGHT HERE! BEING TOO SEXY!

“You are…” Agnes bit back a chuckle as he kissed her temple. “Incredibly distracting. It’s a gift. A surprise, if you must know.”

Be funny. Play it off as nothing serious. He won’t suspect a thing.

Hopefully.

He hummed softly. “Whomever receives this gift is a fortunate one indeed. They must mean a great deal to you, hmm?” Emm, stop being so cute and inquisitive. “That you revived a forgotten skill to create something decidedly from the heart leads me to conclude that you are incredibly fond of—”

EMM I SWEAR TO ALL THAT’S DELICIOUS AND HOLY!!!!

“They mean a lot to me! Yup! For sure! Totally! But it’s a…” Pretty sure my face is going to stuck like “KEEP ON SMILING, AGI” forever. “Surprise, love. I don’t want to spoil it!”

A warm laugh rumbled through him as he once again pressed a kiss to her temple. “Very well. As you wish, darling. I shan’t pester you further on that particular topic.” Thank fuck. “Would you prefer if I left you alone so that you may embroider in peace?”

Nooooooooooooooooooope.

The grin that tugged on the corners of her mouth was not one she could resist. Not when you’re the cause of it, handsome. “No, please stay. Only if you’re not busy of course. I don’t want to be a bother.” Inwardly, Agnes cringed. No. I’m not a bother or burden. I’m not in the way. I’m good enough. I can embroider a fucking flower.

“I’ll have you know, dear, that I was very productive earlier. Meaning…”

And I’ll have you know, ser, that your voice is as smooth and rich as butter. You know, the good stuff that you get from a nice farm.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I am yours for as long as you will it.”

It was then that Agnes turned her head to look at him, and without missing a beat, she breathed, “So, forever then?”

Not sure what the fuck noise came out of him just now, but he’s smiling and I think crying and keeps kissing me.

My man with the biggest feelings…I hope you like what I’m making.

***

I’m glad Mum is safe. I’m glad she was able to grab important things. Like Da’s urn! That’s important!

Agnes sighed.

Unfortunately, the cloth I was going to use for Emmrich’s gift was left behind. A shame. I really liked it.

Well, not just—

“Darling? Are you well? You are standing in the doorway and staring at nothing in particular.”

Oh.

He’s standing in front of me.

Confusion and concern with a bit of terror.

She covered her face with her hands and groaned. Hearing him sigh softly, she felt his arms wrap around her plush form and rub her back.

“What’s wrong, dearest?”

Don’t. Tell. Him. About. The. Surprise. Agi.

Exhaling deeply, Agnes returned his embrace. “Ugh. Nothing important.”

“If it is affecting you this much, Agi, then it must be important.”

UGH. Why do you have to be right all the time?

“The fabric I was going to use for my surprise gift didn’t make it out of Redcliffe.” She sighed. “I mean, obviously I can get something else, but I got that from a weaver in the village. I wanted a piece of home to be part of it…” Agnes trailed off, tears stinging her eyes.

No. It’s just a stupid piece of cloth. Why are you crying over it? It’s stupid. I’m stupid.

Rocking them both gently, Emmrich cooed softly, pressing kisses into her dark red curls. “Oh sweetheart, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. It must have meant a great deal to you. Hmm, did the weaver—”

She knew what he was going to ask.

“No. She didn’t make it.”

Three thousand four hundred souls in Redcliffe.

Less than five hundred escaped to Skyhold and were evacuated to Rivain, Nevarra, and Treviso.

So many people…people I knew and cared for and who saved me when—

A low hum escaped him. “May her memory be a blessing. May she rest in peace.” Sally Hart---great weaver and even better storyteller. Emmrich tilted her chin up with a ringed finger, and not for the first time, Agnes wanted to drown in those gorgeous pools of hazel. “If it pleases you, dearest, then allow me to make some inquiries on your behalf for Fereldan weavers. Fear not,” I love it when he kisses my nose. Do it again! “We shall locate a suitable replacement. In fact,” He giggled, glancing away conspiratorially. “I already have an idea…come, darling!”

Flashing a grin, Emmrich yanked me into his office and began to list every damn weaver and fabric shop in northern Thedas. I used to think Harding knows everyone, but fuck, it just might be Emm!

“Give me a week, my dear. We will have something for you soon!”

Three days.

That man’s a miracle worker.

And he’s all mine!

***

“Is that your surprise gift?” Emmrich asked as he glanced at Agnes, who was embroidering next to him in bed as he read, glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

She blinked. “Ah. No, actually. This is something for Mum. Just a little hankie.” Using the same cloth as Emm’s drawstring bag. Waste not good materials or something. “I’m going to hopefully embroider a sunflower.”

A soft sound escaped him. “How incredibly sweet of you, dearest. Luci will treasure it, of that I am certain.”

“Less certain, however, is…well, something that’s been on my mind lately.” Agnes sighed. “When this is all over, assuming we save the world blah blah blah, what should I do?” She dropped her embroidery and looked at him. “Should I take adventuring jobs? What are professors’ wives supposed to be like? Am I expected to---oh, I don’t know---host fancy dinner parties? Because I don’t know how to do that! I’m just Agi from Redcliffe.”

Oh. That all kinda…spilled out, huh?

Fuck.

Having slid a fine floral lilac bookmark into his book, he closed it and clasped his hands together. “Yes. You are Agi from Redcliffe.” Time for a downpour on Emm’s face. “And what a woman she is---utterly remarkable in every way.” Aw, love. “My darling heart, you may do whatever you wish. You are free to indulge every whim. Money and distance are certainly not impediments when it comes to you.” Oh. Oh shit, he’s serious. O-oh okay. “And if you do not desire to ‘take jobs’ as it were—”

Be honest.

It’ll be alright.

Don’t be scared.

“No, I don’t. I…I really don’t.” She quickly placed her embroidery on her night table before returning her attention to Emmrich, snuggling against his shoulder as he embraced her. “I knew when I got home. After Strife kicked me out. The prospect of starting over again scared the shit out of me.” Agnes let out a humorless chuckle. “I was thinking of going over to The Gull and Lantern and seeing if I could pull pints. At least I can keep ‘em cold, you know?” She briefly blew ice magic for comedic effect!

A hearty chuckle rumbled through him as she smiled. I’m so happy he thinks I’m funny. Because I know for sure the others think I’m definitely not funny sometimes. “We should explore that enchanting fantasy at a later date, my dear.” OH. OH WOW. YAY?! “Back to the matter at hand, what you decide to do or, alternatively, not to do is ultimately up to you. I would be as pleased if you baked to your heart’s content in your pajamas all day or took your vows as a Watcher.” One of those things is going to happen, Emm, and it’s not the one you’re hoping for. “Your happiness means the world to me. Were you not aware, my love?”

As he laughed, she rolled her eyes playfully. “Extremely.”

I love you so much.

“As far as ‘fancy dinner parties,’ leave those to me. I take a great deal of pride in every detail that goes into a successful dinner party.” Why am I not surprised? “You needn’t worry so, my darling. I have you.”

His lips peppered kisses on her head as she sighed, blinking back her own tears. “It’s nice to be had.”

Everything will be okay.

As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.

***

Blinking her eyes open, Agnes glanced at the snoozing handsome, beautiful man next to her and smiled as she brushed hair out of his face.

Then her brown eyes widened.

Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

THE BAG!

FUCK MY LIFE! I GOT SO CAUGHT UP WITH THE ANKLET AND FUCK! FUCKING FUCK TWAT!

She let out a frustrated noise and practically fell out of bed, scrambling towards her to-go bag.

Fucking fuck!

TITS!!!

FUCK!!

I know I put it in here—

“Dearest? What on earth has gotten into you?”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

HERE!

Agnes lifted the tissue paper wrapped gift and scrambled back into bed, barely covering herself with the sheet before practically shoving it in Emmrich’s face. “Hey! So…you probably figured it out by now, but the surprise present is for you! The worst kept secret in Thedas!” She laughed as he unwrapped.

“I had assumed, darling, but didn’t want to ruin anything you had planned.” Ha, what plan? When he beheld the drawstring bag, he held it like the most precious bones or jewels or something. “This is a most marvelous gift. Thank you, Agi sweetheart.” They shared a brief kiss, and he returned his focus to the bag. He ran his fingers over the embroidery, and his eyes widened. “The fabric! That’s why you were so upset.” Emmrich put the bag in his lap and took both her hands in his. “Oh, my love!”

She shook her head with a smile. “It’s okay. Really. I love what you found, and frankly, it makes the Shroud’s Kiss pop more. It worked out, so please don’t be sad.” Agnes squeezed his hands. “I wanted…oh shit, did I even explain why I made this?”

A warm chuckle escaped him. “No, dearest.”

Oh.

Oops.

“It’s a Fereldan tradition to make a gift for the person you intend to marry, usually something embroidered since that’s very Fereldan. I wanted…” Everything is fine. He loves it. “I wanted to bring together a bit of Ferelden and a bit of Nevarra to make something…” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, not beautiful—”

Emmrich shot her a look. “Very beautiful.”

Okay, Professor Volkarin. Damn.

“Very beautiful…like how our life will be. Not perfect but ours and very beautiful.” Agnes blinked and smiled sheepishly. “At least that’s how I see our life together.”

He laid an arm around her shoulders and pressed delicate kiss to her cheek. “While nothing is perfect, walking through life together with you is as close to perfection as I shall ever reach.” As she turned her head towards him, he whispered, “Thank you, my darling girl. I will treasure it for as long as I draw breath.”

Without a second thought, Agnes blurted out, “Emm, if you don’t fucking kiss me after saying all that romantic shit, I’m gonna die.”

Her fiancée’s response was to express his own joyous laughter and peppered kisses around and on her mouth as she found herself unable to stop smiling. I love you. “You forgot,” he smirked. “Never boring, dear.”

“Anything else I forgot?” Agnes asked with an amused eyebrow raised.

He quickly deposited the gift and its wrapping on his bedside table, then whipped back around, a shit-eating grin on his sexy face. “Why, passion of course!” His other arm lifted her long, plush legs to lay in his lap, his lips colliding with hers.

Very beautiful. Not perfect. Never boring. Full of fucking passion. Ours.

"Have you seen Professor Volkarin yet? He looks like a new man."

"I'd heard he was blighted during the Minrathous battle. Why is he here? Shouldn't he be dead?"

"I heard he was involved with the Wardens that defeated the elven gods. Maybe-"

Nestled into the crook of an ornate chaise lounge, Emmrich sat with his eyes closed, chin tilted to angle his face perfectly into a beam of waning sunlight. Draped across the remaining space, her head resting on one thigh, Rhea lay in a similar state of peace, an embroidery hoop abandoned on the table nearby. She had drawn Emmrich's hand towards her after setting it aside, their fingers laced together, his palm resting on the rich fabric of her gown above her middle. Soft, even breaths were all that disturbed the warmth of the air, neither of them fully awake, nor fully asleep.

"Mamma?"

The voice that broke the quiet was a gentle one, encroaching no further than the carefully cracked door. There was only one of their children capable of being so calm in their approach. Rhea hunched her shoulders to get her elbows beneath her, sitting up just enough to set eyes on the timid intruder without disturbing her husband. True to her prediction, the child in the doorway - no longer a child, a woman grown - was Rosana. Dark curls scooped back from her craned neck, she peered around the door, glasses precariously balanced on the end of her nose.

"Come in, sweetheart. You don't have to linger." Rhea sat up fully, smoothing her skirts out as her hips creaked, protesting the movement.

Rosana did not rush to help her as she did with her father, but that was because she knew she had no need to. She slipped into the balmy orangery and took up the seat beside her mother, green eyes darting to where Emmrich continued to doze. Rhea patted her hand gently as she kissed her daughter's temple, conveying let him rest without having to say as much.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86120011