Chapter Text
Leaning forward, Emmrich took a deep inhale. The floral scent of the bouquet of Shroud's kiss brought back pleasant memories of a lifetime long ago but not forgotten. Despite no longer having a proper sense of smell. Pleased to know that the ancient flower survived all this years.
Satisfied with his observation and trek down memory lane, he stood up and moved to continue his leisurely stroll through the make shift market. A small event that popped up in down town Nevarra city for the weekend. Emmrich had been looking forward to spending the day walking the grounds and possibly purchasing something unique.
As he turned passed a stall he stopped dead. If he still had a heart to beat, it would have stopped. Palms felt clammy when he could no longer sweat, and the air he no long breathed caught in his chest.
There she was, honey kissed skin. Long, wavy curls of copper tinted hair. The top she wore, a simple black graphic t-shirt, showed just a sliver of her plush stomach as it hugged neatly around her ample bosom. Black jeans that accentuated her hips and thighs.
When she finally turned her head, he gasped. She wasn't looking at him, yet he could see those violet-blue eyes he adored staring into. She even had the same scars across her face as his late beloved. He couldn't pull himself away, his body moved own its own towards her.
Finally noticing him, their eyes locked. The bright smile she wore, not meant for him, caused a prickling sensation in the back of his eyes. Her face shifted from joy to concern as he felt the first tear cascade down his cheek.
"Maker, are you alright?" Dammit all, this copy even sounded like his beloved.
Clearing his throat, he could think of nothing proper to say except, "I…I'm sorry. You just look so much like my late wife. Down to the cadence of your voice. Apologies." He didn't wait for her reply before swiftly turning away.
꧁𓆩༺✧༻𓆪꧂
The plethora of individuals Emmrich had the pleasure of meeting throughout his one thousand years, captured bits and pieces of his dear Zea. However, none were so spot on the way the woman he met was. He was not a believer of reincarnation. in fact, he found the whole idea absurd. Sure spirits can inhabit a body only after the original host has left or becomes possessed. However, to have the soul reborn as a new person with no memory of the life before in most cases; Emmrich couldn't for the life of him wrap his head around the concept.
To him it sounded like lichdom except there was no proof of it actually succeeding. Until her. Perhaps it was a trick of the mind. The anniversary of her death was approaching in two weeks, thus he surmised to be the reason he saw his late wife so vividly in the stranger.
He made his way back to his home outside the Necropolis. The home he once shared with the three people he loved most in the world. Now occupied by two.
The only ones who knew he was one the fabled lich lords of the Necropolis, besides the senior staff of the Mourn Watch, was Manfred; who over the centuries progressed splendidly. He even has his own glamor, a close resemblance to Emmrich with green eyes and about 25 years younger looking than before Emmrich transformation.
"Welcome home, dad." Manfred stood by Entrance, hands clasped in front. "You're back early."
"Ah yes." He was unsure of what to say. He could tell his dear boy the truth of the day or come up with a believable excuse. Thinking about it, he wished he had done so before he reached home. Finally deciding on a half truth. "Too many objects, each stirring recollections both pleasant and tinged with melancholy"
"I'm sorry to hear that, dad. I have nothing planned for day tomorrow, if you would like to go back, I can tag along?" Emmrich chuckled softly at Manfreds kind word.
Emmrich decided not to return to the market for the remainder of the weekend.
꧁𓆩༺✧༻𓆪꧂
The following Friday brought great relief as Emmrich was looking forward to the weekend. It had been over two hundred years since he last stepped foot in a classroom. The semester was almost over and thank the maker it was. As much as he adored teaching, he missed the students from his past. Well he missed the exceptional manners they all displayed. Even his most rebellious students held nothing compared to students he taught during the current century.
One of his favorite things to do on a Friday evening after classes, was to take a stroll around Down town Nevarra city. He went to a cafe and ordered a coffee, though he couldn't drink it, the smell always reminded him of Lucanis and the ligthouse as whole.
Siting outside on the patio, the cup of coffee to his lips as he gently inhaled the aroma, silently observed the ever growing city. Movement to left caught his attention and he stiffened where he sat. There she was again. Her copy. She wore a Grey Warden uniform. Though the Grey Warden of old are long gone, remembered only in museums, songs, movies and whatnot. They replaced the city guards in name and appearance slowly.
Another table separated him from the copy before him. He could smell the lemon tea she sipped as she focused on her phone. The connection to the fade allowed him to see her clearly. Her spirit shone brightly and intense,passionate and loyal. Very much like his late love. Without warning she looked at him and suddenly he was all to aware that he had been staring.
Her expression was unreadable as her eyes pierced through him.
"You look familiar. Have we met before?" His nonexistent heart's phantom fluttered in his chest at her question. Innocent and curious, untouched by the taint the way his dearly departed had been.
He cleared his throat before he placed his cup down and stood. Making the short journey to her side of the table. He stood before her, graves gold jingled gentle against his exposed forearms, sleeves rolled up on his cream button down. He extended a hand to her.
"Briefly. Last Saturday I regretfully mistaken you for my late wife. Allow me to once again apologizes if I upset you in anyway." Hand hoovered in the open hoping he wasn't to forward.
"Ah. Right." The smile she shot him struck him deep. Her smile. She finally took his hand surprisingly soft. Unlike his darling wife whose hands had hard calluses from decades of working with her hands. "Apology accepted."
Their hands grasped one another in a shake that went on longer than Emmrich had intended. Finally releasing her hand, he found himself at a loss for words. Nervousness riddled his body for the first time in decades. His brilliant mind always knew what to say, never faltered, always choosing his words carefully. Yet, here he stood, mind raced for something, anything to say that wouldn't end the encounter so soon.
"Forgive my forwardness. But you are not from Nevarra, are you?" She leaned back in her chair, a soft smile across her face as she brought her cup to her lips. The way she quickly tilted her head to the right the same way his beloved had, whenever she had no choice but to give in.
"What gave me away?" He motioned his hand towards a chair, silently requesting to sit when she nodded once. "Please, by all means."
"Well." Emmrich began as he sat across from her. The black table small enough that if he laid his hand on top and she did the same, their hands would brush against each other. "You're accent, for one, isn't Nevarren." He pointed to her work jacket that was thrown over the arm of the chair next to her. "The emblem on your jacket indicates that you are a transfer who has yet to master the language."
He hadn't seen the emblem on the jacket. In fact, he took a leap of faith on whether or not she was actually from here. Simply based on his own past. She stared at him dumbfounded, eyes wide. Looking between him and her jacket, her mouth agape until she let out the purest laugh. Her laugh. His phantom heart melted from the sound.
A sound etched into his soul, the very morrow of his undead bones.
"Sir. I have no idea how you saw that emblem but bravo on that." To his horror it dawned on him that he had not properly introduced himself.
"Oh gracious me, where are my manners." He stood once again which left her wide eyed in confusion. "Please forgive me once more as I have failed to properly introduce myself." He took a step back and said "Professor Emmrich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch." He bowed slightly
"The Mourn Watch? They're still around?"
"But of course," taking his seat once more. "There is only one guarantee in life, my dear; Death." For others, not so much. "So long as spirits and death surround us, the Mourn Watch will never cease to exist."
"How long have you been with the watch?"
"Most of my life." Give or take a few hundred years. Her violet-blue eyes lit up as the next flurry of questions poured out.
An unknown amount of time would pass, as the two talked about anything and everything. Blissfully obtuse to the setting sun. His coffee long cold and forgotten on his table that was occupied by other patrons. The ease Emmrich had speaking with her made him forget, for just moment, that the woman before him was not her.
"Oh, Maker. Is that the time?" She swiftly picked up her phone and her eyes nearly popped out. "10 missed calls, 30 text. Fuck she's gonna kill me." She whispered as she began hastily grabbing her stuff. "I am so sorry to have to leave you like this."
Emmrich stood, grabbing his coat and brief case. "Honestly, I should be on my way home as well. I shall walk you out."
Standing outside, the chill of early winter air would have warrant a light jacket could he still feel it's brisk touch.
"Well, Professor Volkarin, it was a pleasure to meet you." She pulled her jacket closed. Arms wrapped around her waist when she extended out a hand.
"The pleasure was all mine-" Oh dear.
"Zea." She said, taking his hand with a gentle shake. "Zea Thorne." Maker's breath. She even shared the same name? He swallowed hard, hoping she hadn't noticed his body stiffen.
"Well, Zea, my dear." The way her name fit on his tongue as if it was meant to be there. The name he hadn't spoken out loud as those who do speak of his late wife refer to her as Rook. "The pleasure was all mine." His eyes locked with hers as he brought her hand to his lips, never breaking contact. Her phone buzzed disrupting the enticing tension that had began to bloom.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, "I really should go. Good night, Professor." With that she turned and jogged away.
The way she said his title stirred something deep and low within him. An ache he hadn't felt between his legs in so long. He hadn't dared to ask for her number, he wasn't ready for that. If this was meant to be, he would see her again. Deep down he truly hoped he would.