Chapter Text
There was fire and smoke everywhere.
She had somehow found herself trapped underneath a heavy set Antaam. Hard and jagged metal cutting into her. Still half dazed she heaved the load off of her and slid herself free. Her battle dress torn and bloody.
The explosion was immense.
Where is he?
They were stood side by side, hand in hand when the eruption happened. She looked around, her vision swimming.
Only death lay all around her. Dark spawn starting to crumble to ash, blighted tendrils withering away and the sound of final groans and gasps rang out across the battlefield. Yet despite it all, she was relatively intact. She imaged the large Antaam she was half buried under had shielded her from most of the blast.
She scanned the destruction around her again trying to call out his name, but only coming out as a rasp.
Where is he?
She staggered over the uneven ground, her voice slowly growing stronger, but hoarse. Then she saw a glint of gold, a beacon of hope against the grime and decay. His grave gold reflecting the flames burning lazily around him, in patches.
Equal parts relief and dread filled her as she propelled herself forwards, desperate to reach him. She then tripped and plummeted to the ground. His staff. The skull adorning it was broken with small green wisps sputtering into the ether. She clutched it close to her and scrambled the rest of the distance before throwing herself, inelegantly at him.
“Emmrich!” She gasped as she turned him over and dragged him onto her lap. He looked broken, beaten and bloody. He had obviously taken the full brunt of the explosion. For a moment she thought he was dead.
But he couldn’t be…
“My love, please open your eyes,” she whimpered and with a shaky hand, cradled his face and kissed him tenderly.
She felt his gasp against her lips and she choked a sob pulling back to see his hazel eyes gazing glassily at her.
“Emlygil…dearest…” he tried to reach a hand to her face, but didn’t have the strength, so he held onto her hand that was still grasping his face.
“You did it, it’s over, you did it!” She was babbling, tears streaming, making clear tracks through the dust and dirt splattered on her face.
“We…” he gave a weak smile, his thumb stroking over her knuckles, over the ring he gave her.
“I’m so proud of you,” she kissed him again, but this time she could taste the coppery tang of blood. She tried not to flinch and pulled back to smooth out his hair, for all the good that would do. “We need to get you cleaned up.”
“Em…” he breathed. Only he could get away with calling her that. He looked…heartbroken.
For her. For him. For them.
“Can you stand?” She asked, knowing the answer.
“Emma lath,” (my love) he said soothingly, like he was helping her come to terms with what they both knew. He was dying.
They were dying.
Fresh sobs came, she was shaking violently and so overwhelmed she was gasping for air.
“I wish we had more time,” she hiccuped in between breaths.
“I know, darling, I do too,” Emmrich used the last of his strength to reach one hand up and tuck her hair behind her Elven ears. Cradling her head, as she did his, feeling her nuzzle and plant a kiss to the heel of his hand. Then in very broken elvish he said:
“Ma ghilana mir din'an.” (guide me into death)
In another life, another timeline, she would have playfully scolded him on his mispronunciation, and smiled fondly as he furiously scribbled notes and practiced again.
But in this life, as he lay dying in her arms, she could only let out a broken gasp of a laugh and intertwine their fingers.
“You are the bravest, kindest, most incredible person I have ever known. You have shown me and given me so much. You have seen and loved me like no one ever has and I will spend the next eternity of death trying to prove that I was worthy of such a love.”
Emmrich gave a whimper of pain and lost the remaining strength left in his body. She cradled his limp body close to her and she kissed his forehead, nose and mouth with such reverence, repeating the same words she said, what felt like a lifetime ago.
“My heart. My love. My life.”
She pulled back one last time, knowing what she would see. She called out his name. Once. Twice. Before letting out a wail that could have split the battleground into a thousand fractured pieces.
Then she felt it. Her own strength and life ebbing away. Just as was promised.
When one life ends, so must the other.
She shifted her position so she could lay her head over his heart, and pressed his cold, dead hand laced with hers to her lips, whispering into his skin:
“I’m coming my love, wait for me, in the garden of eternity.”