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It had been a lovely, grab-it-yourself dinner at the Lighthouse, and Emmrich was lingering with the last of the pureed eggplant and a flatbread he had agreed to share with Bellara. Rook approached, an apple from the fruit bowl in hand, and leaned in next to his ear.
“Emmrich, darling,” they spoke softly, cheek millimetres from his hairline, keeping their words private, “if you're free this evening, I'd like to see you naked.”
Well. That was quite something to retain one's composure about at the dining table.
“Whatever's prompted that, my dear?” he asked, tearing off another small portion of bread. Rook sat back against the edge of the table and bit into the apple, looking him up and down.
“Nice food, Nevarra's finest…”
Emmrich felt his lips purse as he flashed them his Marilys, stop teasing stare. Rook grinned. The expression nearly always drew that reaction. They stayed seated and ate more of their fruit, rubbing the high shaft of one of their maroon leather boots against his calf. What could Emmrich do except keep eating, too? For all his fingers tingled in anticipation of what else they might say, taste nullified on his tongue. It was a while before they were alone, or at least until Bellara had finished eating across the table and begun to ferry dishes to be washed. Rook stood again and tossed their apple core into the food waste bucket several feet away, with the same precision with which they threw their alchemical grenades. They stepped forward to Emmrich and placed a hand on his shoulder, finding the seam and thumbing it.
“...and I've spent pretty much the entire meal calculating exactly how many buttons I'd have to undo to achieve that. Unless you were planning on loving me fully clothed from here to eternity?”
Emmrich swallowed. Hard. It was certainly true that Rook’s exposure to his body had been limited. The base of his throat when he had loosened his collar; enough stomach as was required to untuck his shirt, to run their hands over the flat expanse of his chest; they had never mentioned his scars. But the rest he had kept under wraps until now. It wasn’t through lack of self-appreciation, not quite. Emmrich had become, with time, proud of his body. He took time and care over it, through light physical exercise, diet, careful application of products from the pomade in his hair to the talc on his toes. His nightly routine of tonics and tinctures could be passed off as part of that, the vanity of an ageing man - but there was more to it. The potions that Rook had once taken were what he sipped every day alongside his camomile tea. His manhood carefully crafted not just in appearance but in substance as well. What made him a man was, well, Emmrich himself. He hadn’t been born with this body or blessed under that name, and for all that Rook had been open about their own identity, their struggles with dysphoria and the peace they’d found… No. He hadn’t told them, yet. Whether the alchemy was just better these days or he’d never had the physiology for it, his private anatomy had barely shown an inch of the growth that theirs had. What rested in his pants, that exuded warmth and rigidity as Rook ground against it, just like a ‘real’ cock was anything but. A fabrication, enchanted, to bulk out a good trouser line and - visually - hide the disappointment that still lay beneath. Rook was asking him to show them… that. He wasn’t fully aware of their romantic experience, but he sincerely doubted that a middle-aged, cockless freak was among their number. But they’d never said those words, had they? Others might have done (had done) over the years, but not Rook. Not yet. Rook’s heart was a safe space, the rogue honest and… insistent. Lips feathering along his cheek towards the edge of his finely kept and well-earned moustache.
“You raise a valid point,” he acquiesced, turning his face just slightly to capture their roving lips in a light peck. He felt Bellara's gaze - light and smitten, capturing inspiration for the serial she was drafting - as she made another pass for dishes from the table. He raised one hand to Rook's jaw, aligning their eyes. The violet of their irises was just lovely, offset with matching powders in purple, lavender blue and pink. “Would you mind dreadfully if we took this… elsewhere? Outside the Lighthouse. Feign some excuse for how we both need to leave for the night-”
“People know we fuck, Emmrich.” Ah, wasn’t that true? The acknowledgement burst from his chest in a single laugh that made Rook grin. It was tempting to stay, but-
“Forgive my sentimentality, sweet one, but this strikes me as somehow more intimate. I'd much rather be somewhere-” More private, secluded, known. Somewhere where, if things should not go as planned - should Rook, sweet Marilys, decide that they no longer wanted him, once they'd seen him full exposed - they could go their separate ways with a greater distance than just a single wall between them.
“Usual place?” Rook asked.
“I'll meet you in an hour.”
#
The veilfire urns in the Memorial Gardens blazed, throwing shadow and glorious light in equal measure. Marilys - as Emmrich insisted on calling Rook during their private moments - waited as usual at the base of the stairs, leaning against a pillar rather than sitting on any of the available benches. They had changed their outfit. Neither their casual Mourn Watch livery, nor their current favoured armour set. A high collared tunic in a rich, dark blue, over trousers of the same material, belted with black leather and sashed with woven gold. Not metal: it was a delicate flowering grass, whose stems resembled golden wire. It was lovely.
“Oh my,” Emmrich purred upon sighting them. “I'm afraid I didn't realise we were dressing up. You look incredibly handsome.”
Marilys beamed and presented a small bouquet of flowers from behind their back, and a single spray they tucked under Manfred's backpack straps. A sweet little gift.
“Just raising myself to the standard of the present company,” they said, accepting a kiss on the cheek which Emmrich had to lean a little down into. “What was your excuse tonight?”
“Oh, just some ‘stuffy old academic’ nonsense,” he replied with a delicate wave of the hand. Something vague enough to avoid suspicion, but which accurately described how he felt at that moment. Accompanied through the gardens by such a gorgeous, young thing. Rook wouldn't have needed an excuse - they were known for coming and going of an evening. They took Emmrich's arm and led him on a slow loop around the meditation bells. Exquisite torture when he wanted nothing more than to take them back to his apartment, to get it over with, and equally dreaded that impending actuality more with each step.
“Might we…?” he asked, motioning to a secluded pergola dripping with night-scented vines. Marilys stepped underneath it with him, while Manfred occupied himself in friendly, hissing conversation with some local wisps.
“This is making you nervous,” they surmised correctly. Emmrich stroked his moustache and summoned a very small smile.
“It's been rather a while since I brought someone back here, not least anyone as-” supple, youthful, radiant, spirited, “-special as you.”
He stroked one gloved finger down the back of Marilys’ neck, the other hand folded in their sash, pulling them close. They had even swapped their eye makeup for a subtle charcoal sheen, lined with a heavier, more pronounced wing of kohl than usual.
“Oh, gorgeous. You’ve dressed up so well for me.”
The inevitable kiss was sweet, and deep. Emmrich positively swooned every time their lips touched, though he kept his back straight. In control. Drawing in their affection as some kind of internal support, reminding himself: they like me, they desire me, they ask only that I give myself. With those thoughts in mind, and breaking apart at the sound of other visitors approaching on the gravel, it became easier to continue their walk.
Emmrich’s apartment was in the Upper Mortuary; he'd lived there for years, amongst the other senior academics and Mortalitasi. Even with lodgings now at the Lighthouse, he came back periodically. His camping trip with Harding had done nothing so much as remind him that he was a young man no longer. He liked his comforts.
“Where do- ah, did you live, prior to your adventures with Varric, dearest?” he asked out of genuine curiosity. About the only thing he knew about Marilys’ service to the Mourn Watch was how it had temporarily ended, and that they had never taken any advanced level classes - else he would have met them before now.
“Oh, Chapel of Rest Adjacent,” they said with a slightly wry smile. “I expect you haven't been down that way in a long while.”
Emmrich was blushingly embarrassed to admit that was true. Barely above the novices in their shared dormitories, as these things went. Rook certainly wouldn’t have recognised him, when he had. He turned his key in the door and let them in.
At first, he was worried that Marilys would be intimidated. There was a lot of life within these few rooms, even compared to all he had decanted to the Lighthouse. Again, more of himself on display than had been shown hitherto. The anxiety seemed baseless, however, as his new partner showed interest in his curios - especially the ones towards which Manfred directed their attention - and passed pleasant comment on his decorating style. As they moved around his space, he couldn't help but wonder what they might look like as a permanent feature. Dressed as they were, as elegant and refined as any of the drapery; as he would like to dress them, in gold and jewels if they'd let him. Undressed as he had already seen them, exposed over this piece of furniture or that. Undressed as they desired to see him. And was that something about from here to eternity they had mentioned? His mouth was dry, desire pooling in the base of his abdomen in a way he wasn’t entirely certain was healthy.
“Shall we perhaps have a drink first?” he offered as he unstoppered an Orlesian crystal decanter. A tipple of tonic wine he hoped to invigorate his spirits. Marilys’ face while they sipped it was a delight.
“Knock knock.” Myrna announced herself in words as well as taps on the woodwork, the same way she had since she was a bright young student, and maintained now as Keeper of the Seals. Smiling and well kept as ever, she greeted Manfred and Marilys both fondly. Maker - though Emmrich was always loathe to invoke that oath - but he'd known her since she was a child, and realised now that the age gap between her and his beloved, who was definitely the younger of the two… He sipped his wine through a painted smile. It didn’t bear thinking about. “One junior Watcher available for the evening ward rounds?”
Manfred was delighted to leave. Emmrich swirled his wine around the small glass, and wondered how long he could drag out the final inch of liquor. He supposed that Marilys must have had some hand in the invitation, or else that the wisps had been talking.
“Dare I speculate what the favour cost?” he asked.
“Dare I wonder why you're stalling?” they countered with a wicked smile. Even in the city of the dead, time was not eternal. Emmrich downed that last finger in one. Manfred would have left them well alone, if instructed. He was safe in the Necropolis. But he'd said that he wanted privacy, Marilys had arranged privacy, and now…
“Can you really blame a man?” His last ditch attempt at delay as his resolve all but crumbled. “I've-”
“Grey hairs older than me? So you keep reminding me.” Marilys stood from their chair and crossed to his. “Have I told you that I want to see every single one?”
A knee either side of his lap, one hand stroking, respecting, the combed sweep of hair from his forehead, the other tracing the fine lines that radiated from the far end of his lash line, down his cheekbone, across to his jaw and down again to hold him by the chin. Maintaining perfect eye contact as they tilted his head back to press a kiss to his softened, though slender, submentum. Every marker of age made something special under their touch. As if the years between them were the only thing which worried him. Still, the flattery and praise they cooed at him was but icing on an already sweet cake. Emmrich placed down his glass and set his hands on the top of their hips. The way that soft silk draped over what little curve there was at the side, with considerably more at the rear.
“How many buttons was it that you counted, darling?” he asked, hoping that the way his breath shuddered in his chest did not translate to his words. Marilys kissed their way up to murmur the answer into his ear. Close, but… “Perhaps you ought to count them again.”
#
Emmrich stood with Marilys still on his lap, their legs wrapping around his waist just perfectly. He nuzzled against their ear, enjoying the metallic tickle of their pierced dowry against his cheek.
“My dear, I do not think this old back can carry you all the way-”
“-to the bedroom? Let me lead, then.”
Dropping lightly to their feet, the rogue’s touch, they pulled Emmrich forward by the waistcoat chains. An image came to him unbidden, how he might manage to carry them in a bridal style- though that was wrong. A spousal style? Another yank on his vestments, this time one finger crooked through the placket, set him stumbling over his feet like a halla on ice - for just a second before they steadied him.
“It's the, ah, door on the left- Over there,” he stuttered, as if it wasn't flamingly obvious. It was the only door open from the combined parlour/study, a hint of a four-poster visible through the frame. Marilys led him there, as they'd said, let him through the door first then shut it behind themselves.
“Well, this is nice…”
The kisses they offered were sweet with intent. Hands at his collar pin, his waistcoat buttons, walking him ever closer - backwards - to the bed until the mattress pressed into his knees from behind.
“Oh…” It was more of a gasp than a statement, as his rear hit the counterpane and Marilys continued to advance. Kneeling over his lap once more and pushing him down until they were horizontal. Emmrich kicked off his boots and scrambled further up the bed in a most unartful fashion, hungry for more of this attention, this exploration now he had opened himself to it. Marilys bit their kiss swollen lip, still on their knees, and he wondered - oh he wondered - what they saw, what they thought of him so prone and wanting. He was an open book with them. Marilys slipped off their shoes too, then drew the curtains round the bed. Emmrich conjured a few floating illuminations to sparkle above; flattering light, he hoped, in this den of absolute privacy. Marilys crawled over and straddled him again, fingers in the buckles of their own belt.
“How about we go piece for piece?” they offered, removing the wide strip of leather and placing it on the bed. “You take a piece from me, and I take a piece from you. Would that be fair?”
“That would be delightful,” Emmrich agreed.
First he removed the golden sash, and Marilys his waistcoat. One no longer bound by the belt, the other already unbuttoned. Just that single layer less of fabric between their bodies was… potent. Next, he found the rope ties of their tunic, hidden in the wrap fold, pulling on each one properly, fully. The soft fabric fell apart, revealing such smooth and tender skin. All but unmarked despite their close-combat fighting style and the wounds he'd known them endure. More alchemy at work. Marilys set her fingers to his cummerbund, and there Emmrich tensed a little. A lot. It was stylish, correct for the attire, but also served a purpose. Even with proper physical conditioning, there was a certain… slackness that came to one's skin with age. It was vain, but he liked the extra support, the girding, the woven sash provided. A slimmer, firmer line. An extra barrier between the world and the contents of his trousers. Before, Marilys had only edged it as far out of the way as was required to untuck his shirt. Now… They undid it, unwound it sensually. Folded it neatly and placed it to one side, on top of the shimmering pile that was their sash. Emmrich tried not to get romantic about the mingling of the fabric, but Marilys did not make it easy, rolling up his shirt, lowering him back to the bed from where he had risen to sitting, kissing and thumbing and… loving along all the skin thus far exposed. That was what it felt like. Lips turning the soft flesh to jelly, fingertips fluttering at the top of a tight trail of hair which started a little south of his belly button.
“You… really don't mind, do you?” he breathed, close enough to the Watcher calming pace as to count as meditation. Marilys smiled against his skin.
“Mind? Emmrich, I'm over the moons.” They definitely sounded it.
Something came over the necromancer then, a wave of confidence from their words. He sat up and brought them with him, forcing their kisses up over the fabric of his shirt; they retaliated by tonguing his buttons, and met him at the top in an admittedly lustful kiss. Age, gender, at this point had nothing to do with it. His blood pumped the same as it always had. In this kiss he could have been Marilys’ peer, their union snatched and greedy between classes, several storeys down below. He put his thumbs in the gathered waistband of their loose trousers, no fastenings as such, and pulled. They ceased straddling him to remove them entirely, then made short work of his, too.
“Oh?” Marilys’ voice was a mix of surprise and admiration. One palm gripped each of his thighs, twisting and turning as they traced the words of the Mourn Watch, in intricate, embellished Nevarran script, banded permanently in ink.
“I had a phase,” he dismissed with a casual wave of his hand that nonetheless made Marilys flush with interest. Emmrich's cheeks were warm too. If they stopped here, with him still in his fine-weave boxers, his piece still in place, he might pretend… But Marilys only hummed a note of approval and tipped his knees out wide, surely able to tell-
“Oh, darling…”
There was nothing but admiration in those words. Marilys worked their way up his body, littering kisses and cooing praises as they went. Undoing buttons and his concentration with soft, soothing words. He pressed a hand to his forehead like some easily overcome maiden. He couldn't take this. They had been so close, about to discover-
“Would it be easier on you if I got straight to it?” Marilys asked from right near his nipple, the nub of flesh and fabric soon between their teeth. He sighed, a breathy, exasperated edge to the sound which even he found erotic.
“Whichever way you do it, I'm afraid I’m-” His entire shirt was open now, every inch of his torso on display. Every curled grey hair that Marilys sought, peppered here and there with the original black. They traced the whorls across the vertical line of his sternum.
“Gorgeous? Beautiful? A work of art?” they proffered as endings to the sentence which had faded on his lips. A small laugh erupted from the spot beneath their fingertips. Now, those were words Emmrich hadn't heard in quite some time - not that he'd had a relationship for a few years. Not since the last had fizzled out. There were works of art in his likeness, from his younger years. He might even own a few, out of vanity. But, no, the words wielded as flattery were normally much less… physical. Distinguished was the one he heard most, these days. It did not have quite the same ring, more about how he acted, how he made his partner feel than who he was. He grabbed Marilys’ hand and stilled it against his chest.
“Darling. Do you truly think I'm… Hot?” He cringed; he knew his expression, if he could see it, would be pathetic. Marilys, in the enchanted light, fluttered those smoky eyes at him, an indulgent smile spreading across lips he'd long kissed clean of stain. Was that even the word in use these days, by anyone their age?
“Consider me a candle, because I melt in your presence,” they whispered right against his ear, with exactly the same florid, lustful cadence he'd employed on them more than once. It worked. Their support band came off readily - a charming, utilitarian style they favoured over anything feminine or frilly - and from there it was nothing but several moments of mutual nipple play and well-breathed arousal. Calming himself in the taste and touch of their skin. “We all have our own insecurities, Emmrich. I know I do - but however I see myself, I have no doubt about how you see me. Will you let me love on you this way?”
Emmrich's heart skipped a beat. The first time the L word had crossed Marilys’ lips as something they wished to lavish on him, even if it wasn't a direct admission of being in love itself. The things he saw as flaws? Those were who he was. If this was how he was meant to be loved; the age he was meant to be loved at… This darling creature could lavish it on him any which way they chose. Marilys had wanted to see him nude, and now he felt bared. Bold. He drew them down into a luxurious kiss, delighting in their warm, full-body weight atop him. Undulating with pleasure.
“Oh, Marilys. My sweet one.”
While they writhed, Emmrich removed his grave dowry, casting the gold haphazardly towards the head of the bed. The shirt and his stave-glove could not come off without it, and whilst he might usually take much better care… Now, it didn’t seem to matter at all. Marilys peeled off his socks and he reached for the waistband of their underwear - a tighter cut than usual, he noticed. They froze.
“Oh! Ah. Leave them on tonight, please,” they flustered, a sudden dark cast to their smitten features. “It's not a good… time of the month, for me.”
Ah. It had been a long time since Emmrich had had to factor that into his lovemaking, whether through his partner’s age or anatomy, or in his own life at all. He was ashamed not to have considered whether Marilys… But here. Here was a good point to-
“If you have need of any supplies, I may - ah - have some yet. Still lingering. Personal experience of it, and all…”
He wasn’t sure of the best way to proceed. Should he be the one to reveal himself, or let them discover… In the end, he sighed.
“I’m afraid, my dear, that I haven’t been as honest with you as you have with me. This body you desire, it’s, well, fake. All for show.” Together. Trembling like a wisp, he took their hand and placed it over his package. Let them feel the warmth and strength of it, near rock hard at this point, then slipped both of their hands inside. Guided their fingers around the bulk of it to show that that was all there was. “Remove that and you’ll find what I was born with, I’m afraid. Much like your own, except honestly less impressive.”
This was it. This was the moment where they would draw back, in disgust and disapproval, either at what they’d learned or the lie of their desire. Marilys' expression, still clouded from the betrayal of their own biology, shifted. It… softened. Their lips met his and drew back in the shape of a very dirty smile.
“Emm,” the first time they'd used a shortened version of his name, and he was… quite okay with it. The thing a sentence in its own right. “I came here tonight because I wanted to see you. If that’s you, then… May I?”
Emmrich swallowed. Vulnerable and yet entirely safe under their touch. He nodded. Was this how they had felt, that first time in his lab? By all the spirits, he had found them beautiful, and Marilys… Marilys removed his cock and rolled down his boxers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Teasing their fingers through the tight, dark thatch of his pubic hair so his hips shuddered. Keeping physical distance but not out of fear, or disgust. Out of respect, and- Oh. Their lips were slicked and parted, a silent question in their eyes as they lowered themselves towards it.
“Please, Marilys…” he begged, and they answered. A response that was all tongue and fingertips, gentle and explorative. A slow, deep tease as they mapped him; two words he wished he'd never said to them that way, as they took to them like a Mourn Watcher to ritual. Their mouth, their love, was warm and wet; the bedroom air cool by contrast when they broke away.
“Thank you,” they whispered, as if the pleasure was all theirs. Dipping once more to lavish attention on his bud, his - factually - clitoris with fine, detailed tonguework and extra light teeth. He wanted more. He needed more, but…
“Sweet one, would you mind terribly if I loved myself, tonight? You can… watch.”
It wasn't a rebuttal of their affection. They'd asked for this, once. To see how he did it, and, now he'd warmed to the general idea of the evening, he wanted to show off. He wanted to remind himself how good it felt, doing this and thinking of them. No need for guilt, or worry. Drenched in their kiss and his own desire. Marilys repositioned themselves against the pillows, first picking up the discarded gold with reverence, placing it with care on the folded cummerbund. Emmrich wanted all of a sudden to see them wearing it, but he accepted being lowered back against their body in a supported cuddle of a lean. Nuzzled and surrounded by a partner who was clearly, clearly enraptured.
“Is this what you imagined? What you wanted?” he asked, working his fingers first lightly then firmly along and around his folds, spreading the affection.
“It's what I want.” There was a throatiness to the response that he knew meant Marilys was very turned on. That drop in pitch that sent his pulse through the roof. He was throbbing for them, and yet his hand was not quite providing what he needed, after the warmth and wetness of their mouth.
“Oh, do excuse a man his comforts…” he muttered as he rolled onto his side, reaching under the curtains and into the bedside table for a small bottle of lubricating oil. He droppered a small amount onto the peak of his mound and returned it to the drawer, letting it drip before smoothing it down, using the glide to slip one, two fingers inside.
“I've done this often, thinking of you,” he confessed, with a lovesick, horny smile on his face. He was glad they were not at the Lighthouse now. The noises that soon came out of him were inelegant at best, and Taash had made their views on that matter clear. Emmrich could not have strung together a silencing spell if his life depended on it. Marilys placed their palm over his, echoing every action. Hips tilted against his body despite their personal circumstances. Moaning along with him. The way their fingers interlaced with his, how their other hand on his nipple worked with him as he went faster, slower, lighter, harder! And all the while, in between the tight breaths and the long, low, almost-growls, they murmured such sweet, hot, appreciative things… His release came shockingly fast with that encouragement. A final surge of pleasure which left him, frankly, a little dizzy. Perfect pleasure, with them alongside. When they had come in his hand, he’d honestly been a little jealous, the second perk of manhood which eluded him, but this he could do and feel nothing lacking. Only adoration, connection, gained.
“We reveal ourselves when we’re ready,” Marilys whispered against the back of his ear, teeth to the upper cartilage. “I’m glad you trusted me with that, and honestly, I- You’re a beautiful man, Emmrich Volkarin.”
They ran their tongue over the spot where their teeth had been. It made Emmrich shudder and his spent muscles twitch. A demand for more which he would not indulge. Not yet. His smile, his small laugh, was equal parts sated and curious.
“Beautiful enough to keep fucking me?” he asked. Marilys laughed too, especially as he twisted up to them with a moustache-forward kiss that never failed to make them blush.
“Beautiful enough to fuck and be fucked by each other in any which way we choose,” they said, then remembering the question he’d first asked, “Hot, Emmrich. You’re really fucking hot.”
Whatever Emmrich was expecting, it was not for Marilys to have packed a soft lilac night shirt, and to now be wearing it, tucked within his sheets. Through some miracle of speed and forward planning, or perhaps his own slow nature where grooming was involved, they had also removed their makeup, and brushed out and re-bound their hair into a single, loose braid in the time it took him to redress into his own sleepwear.
“You're not planning to return to the Lighthouse?” he asked, with a casual air which rang false even to his ears. Marilys snickered.
“Dressed like this?” they countered. “Like that will get tongues wagging any less than if we both happen to return at the same time in the morning. Unless you'd prefer to sleep here alone…”
Emmrich would not. Dressed in a plain night shirt and a floor length, navy dressing gown with matching slippers, about the only thing stopping him from diving into bed beside them was the need to take care of his ward. He belted his waist with Marilys’ gold sash, feeling a little saucy in the afterglow.
“In any case, I must check on Manfred first - see whether Myrna has brought him back yet,” he explained. “He has his own room next door, you see. He doesn't sleep, of course, but he knows not to intrude during the night. I just like to make sure he has everything he needs-”
“I'll be here,” Marilys assured him. “You know, if you were interested, they do family suites. When I was small, Vorgoth and I-”
Emmrich cut them off with a chaste, but well intended, kiss. A brief thing, on the lips, when he did not need those lips to keep coming up with propositions he found so, so attractive. Even if it wasn’t something they could achieve biologically, Marilys and Manfred and family was a bit too much for his well-sexed brain to take. Those hormones still floating around somewhere, beneath the ones he swallowed.
“I'll be back soon,” he said.
Manfred was fine, occupied with a solitaire set he'd found somewhere, and Marilys was dozing when Emmrich returned. They stirred when he climbed into bed beside them - without the heart to tell them that they were on his side - and rolled their body towards him. Night shirt to night shirt, they were fully covered anywhere private and yet it could not have felt more intimate. Emmrich had almost forgotten - had willed himself to forget - this part. Had it always felt this natural, the times he thought had ‘been it’ before? He had kept his bangles off but replaced some of his rings; Marilys traced them with their fingertips, a secret smile on their half-asleep face. Emmrich was glad that the candles were dimmed, as an ungentlemanly blush flamed his cheeks. He knew exactly what they were remembering.
“As soon as you're able, my love,” he said, “and anything you need in the meantime-”
Without really thinking it through, he pulled a simple gold band from his right pinky finger, and slipped it onto their index finger instead, curling his hand around the gift afterwards. Marilys kissed him, and he knew that whatever it had meant was accepted. There was a heaviness to their form, and Emmrich was certain he would be awake to watch them sleep all night.
“Emmrich?” Marilys whispered, when he was sure they had started to dream. “Thank you, again, for trusting me with you.”
“Oh, shush,” he said mildly, as if it hadn’t been the fright of his life, to work up to that point with someone he cared about so deeply, someone he would have hated to lose if they hadn’t… but they had. They’d seen him, and adored him, and opened the door to… He kissed them on the cheek, a whisper of Nevarran he hoped they understood. “Slightly guilty to say that the pleasure was all mine, but… I’m looking forward to showing you more.”