Chapter Text
Lucanis wrestled his market bags to one arm and drew the heavy brass key from his pocket. The lock was fiddly because it was old, but he had been learning its peculiarities. The tumblers turned on his second attempt and he made a mental note about keeping the pressure light when he turned the key.
"It's me," he said as he toed off his boots and started toward the kitchen.
He heard a low rumble of voices from the study and then an excited hiss that told him Emmrich had brought Manfred home with him. He set the shopping on the counter and began to unpack.
The tiny kitchen had undergone something of a transformation in the past two months. A number of superannuated ingredients had found their way to the refuse bin and the spice cabinet now held at least as many spices as teas. Everything was neatly labeled, and there was a new set of cooking knives — impeccably sharpened — in a block beside the stove.
"—and keep to corridors that are guarded." Emmrich's voice preceded him as he walked out of his study. "Go straight from here to there, do you understand?"
"Yes!" The reply was hissed in Manfred's distinctive voice, and Lucanis heard the creak of the front door opening.
"Off you go." The sendoff was affectionate, and Lucanis heard the heavy front door close.
Lucanis glanced over his shoulder. "I am late," he said with a half smile as Emmrich came into the kitchen. "I bought bread instead of baking. The rest won't take long. Do you want some wine?" He pointed with his elbow at the bottle he'd set on the counter.
"Wine would be lovely." Emmrich didn't go straight to the wine, however. Instead, he stopped behind Lucanis and dropped a kiss on his temple. "Did you have a good day, my dear?"
"A typical one." Lucanis shrugged, feeling the weight of Emmrich's hands on his shoulders. That alone had the power to make his day a good one, even if he had had to cut corners on his cooking. He pulled out a cutting board and started slicing the peppers. "The meeting with Teia ran longer than I anticipated. She likes to talk."
"Her loquaciousness is to your advantage. She generally has the best and most recent gossip." Emmrich gave him another kiss, this one at the top of his cheekbone, then pulled away.
"It's true," Lucanis agreed. And it was. Sometimes he thought Teia could start an entire side enterprise consisting purely of the buying and selling of information. He frowned, wondering if perhaps she already had, and resolved to look into it later.
He looked over and saw Emmrich rustling in a drawer. "I moved it, remember?" he said. He took the half-step over to the hutch where the wineglasses were kept and took out a corkscrew. "All of the wine things are there."
"Ah, of course." Emmrich took the corkscrew from Lucanis, their fingers brushing, and also took a kiss.
Lucanis pulled out a pan and started it heating, then watched as Emmrich poured. "Where have you sent Manfred off to?"
"Delivering a letter to Myrna." Emmrich set one glass by Lucanis's elbow then took a seat at the small dining table. "It's primarily to test whether he can be a reliable delivery being."
"'Reliable delivery being'?" Lucanis repeated. He flicked a few drops of water into the pan and listened for them to sizzle. "Don't tell me you're going to start hiring him out?"
"Maybe I should." Amusement was audible in Emmrich's voice. "Manfred has lately decided that he wants his own pocket money so that he may buy treats as the other novices do. Without my oversight." He sighed, affection tangled in the sound. "I suppose that I must accept that he is maturing and he no longer needs me to monitor his purchases."
One of Emmrich's rings clinked against the base of the wineglass — a nervous tell Lucanis had come to recognize. "Something is on your mind," he said. It was not a question.
"I did have something serious about which I would like to speak with you. It concerns a project that I have been tasked to lead. Do you recall the Basalt Hypogeum? It was a part of the Necropolis which Johanna violently relocated as part of her deplorable plans."
"That doesn't sound promising." He finished assembling the sauce and set a pot of water on to boil. "What do they want you to do?"
"Reattach it, not to put too fine a point on it." Emmrich shifted in his seat, his slippers scuffing against the floor. "This venture will require traveling to Blackthorne Manor to access the Hypogeum, then staying there while the connections to the manor are severed and then remade with the Necropolis. My very preliminary research leads me to believe this will take two or three months."
"That place?" Lucanis asked. He did not have fond memories of the crumbling mansion. "I hope they will send in a team to clean it up if you're going to have to stay there."
He salted the water and dumped in the package of dried pasta he'd purchased, adjusting the heat to bring it back to a boil. "Though I suppose you'll enjoy spending time in the library. There might even be a couple of books there you haven't read."
"I do wish we could have spent more time in that library," Emmrich said, his voice wistful. "The books were in terrible condition. Well, the manor as a whole, I suppose. It does have lovely bones. It could make a marvelous home with a bit of work."
He cleared his throat. "But that isn't quite what I meant to say. We won't be staying at the manor. At least, not longer than a few days. We'll be inside the Hypogeum and then cut off, unable to leave until connections with the Necropolis are reestablished and stabilized."
Lucanis set down his spoon and turned to look at him. "What?"
Emmrich looked back at him with a vaguely guilty air. "The reconnection requires delicately balanced and dangerous magic," he said, "so only small, inanimate items can cross the barrier without causing significant side effects. Once my team and I enter and close the door behind us, so to speak, we won't be able to leave. For two or three months."
He paused then added with possibly unwarranted optimism. "But I believe I can send and receive letters."
"You believe."
"The theory is sound." Emmrich shifted in his seat. "Though we will, of course, prepare for complications and take enough food and water to last six months. Which is a surprisingly small amount per person, all things considered."
"Six months."
Lucanis smelled his sauce burning and turned away to address it. It was the merest coincidence that it also allowed him to hide his face, which was twisted into what he suspected was an expression he would not be pleased to be seen wearing. Six months was a long time. They had only been together for two. Or, two and a little bit. He hadn't really been counting, though now he wanted to.
He turned down the sauce and gave it a stir. "Would you mind setting the table?"
"Only two months or perhaps three!" Emmrich said, ignoring the question. "Preparing for six months is only to hedge against unknown disasters, not because any of us think it will take that long."
He rose from his seat and came up behind Lucanis, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his cheek against his hair. "I'm so sorry, darling. I don't want to be gone from you for so long, not even for a month. Hardly even a week."
Lucanis sighed. "It's... fine."
He leaned back against Emmrich. The heat of his body was comforting, and his reassurances helped. Not that he had needed them, exactly. Though perhaps he could admit to himself that he had wanted them. "When will you have to leave?"
"I have a list of preparations — spell components to gather, power sources to transport, team members to select." Emmrich rubbed a hand across Lucanis's belly in long, soothing strokes. "So perhaps two weeks? The current connections have begun to degrade so we need to move quickly. Though I— well." He sighed. "I wanted time for you. For us. To make arrangements with you so that we could stay in touch. That is the most important preparation, for me."
Lucanis paused, then set down his spoon and turned in Emmrich's arms. He reached up a hand and cupped his jaw. There were things he could say, he supposed. That two weeks was enough, or too short. That three months was manageable, or dreadfully long. But the only thing that mattered to him was Emmrich, and Emmrich wanting him. So in the end, he pulled him down into a kiss that lasted a long while.
Later, when they ate, the pasta was soggy but Emmrich didn't complain.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Evening, Day Three After Closing Hypogeum Door
My darling Lucanis,
All is well here within the Hypogeum.
I wonder if I should continue to call it such. Are we even underground? We went into the manor's cellars to access it but we're in a disconnected dimension at the moment. At what point does a description become a name, and should it update with time? If this were a basalt mine which ran out of basalt, would you change the name to Exhausted Quarry? Though that name does have a ring to it. It sounds like something Viago would name one of his poisons. Perhaps I should suggest it to him.
But I digress.
All is well here. We have set up several structures for our work: something between a tent and a more permanent construct. I even have a small office where I am writing to you now. The pass-through — a temporary linkage which we have devised — leads straight to the scribe's table in the Hollow Belfry so Manfred should have no trouble retrieving my letters to you.
I can't be certain that the recharge cycle for the runes which power the pass-through will remain at a consistent twelve hours, so I have tasked one of the initiates with tracking it. They seemed terribly excited for the assignment; I can only attribute it to the enthusiasms of youth.
It is rather exciting to be here amid my peers and fellow Watchers, all of us working toward a common goal. It's a heady feeling to be leading such an effort. I must remember to ask Rook if he ever felt like that while we were hunting the Evanuris.
How is Manfred taking my absence? I know that he has his studies and classmates to keep him busy but he does get into trouble if he becomes bored. Speaking of trouble, don't forget that Johanna needs to go to her sessions with Myrna on the 4th and 18th of the month.
Most important of all, how are you doing, my dearest? It has only been two days and yet I feel your absence keenly. My sleep is restless without you pressed warm and firm against my side. I slept alone for many years and yet now I cannot fathom how to do so. All I want is the scent of your skin on my sheets and the dent in my pillows left by your head.
Yours,
Emmrich
P.S. My second, Elke Ackermann, asked me to pass along her thanks. I'm not quite sure why but she assured me that you would understand.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Morning, Day Four
Dear Emmrich,
I know you told me several times that you were sure the letter pass-through would work but I have found that when someone feels the need to say a thing several times it is best to have suspicions. So I am glad to have proof in hand.
Myrna will probably also be pleased not to see my face at the Necropolis every twelve hours. I know you arranged for Manfred to pick up your letters, but it was not so very far out of my way. Besides, you weren't sure when there would be word, and I wanted to be there to see for myself.
We can probably let Manfred make the deliveries from here on.
You said you are restless. Are you sleeping on the same cots they had at the camp outside the manor? You are probably just not used to them yet. I was comfortable on mine in the Lighthouse, though it is important to have good head support. I used a wool blanket, rolled tight. You could try it.
Since you asked about Elke, she is responsible for our last night together. Well— not the best parts of it. That was up to us. But she is the one who asked that I remove you from the camp outside the Manor. She said that everything was in readiness and your continued preparations were making it less so.
You did seem rather frantic, at least until I had you alone.
As for news, there is little. I saw Myrna this morning when I dropped by to check for the letter. She said to tell you that Manfred is behaving himself. Rook is also well, and is not yet buried in unattended filing. The rest at the Lighthouse also seem to be going on as usual. That screaming skull of yours is well, assuming that is what her continued screaming means.
I am well also, now that I have your letter. I read it several times. Especially the last bit.
Yours,
Lucanis
~~~~~*~~~~~
Evening, Day Four
My dearest,
I am so pleased to hear from you. It sounds as if you have been keeping occupied, though I can't recommend hovering around the Hollow Belfry without a clear objective. Someone — possibly Myrna, potentially Vorgoth — would commandeer your time for a 'deeper purpose'. (Don't believe Vorgoth if they say that; it is a trap to lure the unwary in to view their paintings, as they have had difficulty obtaining a repeat audience.)
Were you worried for me? I am torn between offering reassurances that you won't believe and platitudes that you would find condescending. Neither of those options sounds ideal. Instead, I will say that I'm also relieved that the pass-through worked and happy that you were comfortable enough to linger in the Necropolis.
I shan't hold Elke's trickery against her. It worked out well for all of us. It worked out especially well for me. I still have a few bruises on my inner thighs from your grip. I press my fingers into it and the ache reminds me of you. I shall be sad to have them go, to no longer have a tangible reminder of you on my skin.
Tell me about your day, darling. Tell me as if I were sitting with you in front of the fire, drinking a glass of wine. How is Caterina? How is the planning going for the luncheon she and Teia are arranging? And how is Illario? Is he still bemoaning the retirement of his third favorite tailor?
Have you been sleeping at the villa, or have you returned to my lodgings? You know you are always welcome there. I like to picture you cooking in your kitchen and sleeping in our bed. I like to linger on how you look curled up in the bedding, warm and safe. It's a memory that I treasure.
Yours,
Emmrich
~~~~~*~~~~~
Morning, Day Five
Dear Emmrich,
I am no good at chatty letters. You told me to write as if we were sitting together in front of the parlor with wine — that is what I am doing. You do most of the talking on those occasions, if you recall. I say two words to your twenty.
I am not complaining. I love to hear you talk.
I have been staying at the Villa for the most part, which means I do no cooking. I miss it. I like being in your little kitchen with something on the stove. I like knowing that you watch me while I work, and I like to watch you while you eat.
This is getting ridiculously sentimental. I am going to have to keep these letters under lock and key lest Illario snoop and find them.
Which reminds me — if you are going to write to me about your thighs, I wish you would seal your letters more securely than just a ribbon. I don't know if I could face Myrna if I thought she had read that. Mierda.
Yours,
Lucanis
~~~~~*~~~~~
Evening, Day Five
My darling,
I will, of course, give you whatever you ask for but bruises on my thighs are the least suggestive subject about which I could write to you. Did you blush when you read it? Did you squirm in your chair like the time I sucked on the nape of your neck as you attempted to read your book of Rivaini poetry? That is a memory which carries me through the cold nights in my lonely bed.
I miss you, too. I miss watching you cook. I miss watching you work. I miss listening to you negotiate with Spite. I miss watching you plan with Teia or even bicker with Illario. Though it hasn't even been a week, I miss you like I would miss my eyes or my tongue or my hands — the essential parts of me.
I miss your hands the most. Watching them write or chop or stab. Feeling them on my skin. I love standing still while you remove each piece of clothing from me and each piece of gold — knowing what your hands can do, how strong they are, and yet trusting as they touch me so carefully, so reverently.
If nothing else, your absence is driving me to work harder, to complete the bindings sooner so that we may be reunited. Until then, when you go back to my lodgings, you might want to check the bedroom. You may find an item or two I've left for you there.
Ever yours,
Emmrich
~~~~~*~~~~~
Morning, Day Six
Dear Emmrich,
Manfred brought your letter to the villa just after dinner. The sensible thing to do would have been to write a reply and then stop in at your lodgings in the morning.
I have not done the sensible thing.
It is now shortly before dawn, and I am sitting at the desk in your small study trying to finish this letter to send with the morning exchange. Perhaps you recognize the paper. Also, I think you need a new quill. This one scratches.
I found the bracelet you left for me to wear. It fits me, though barely — my hands are broader than yours. You said the engravings are heliotrope. We have them in the Villa gardens, and in summer their scent rises up to me when I sit on the balcony outside my room.
Now, the scent will make me think of you.
I hope you know that I need no physical reminder to spark thoughts of you. Those come of their own accord, at all hours. They kept me awake last night, here in your bed.
Yours,
Lucanis
~~~~~*~~~~~
Evening, Day Six
My Lucanis,
It gladdens my heart to know that you are sleeping in my bed and writing letters at my desk. I like to imagine you moving through those shared spaces, missing me as I miss you. I hope the bracelet relieves some of that ache, that you can touch it and know that I am with you even now.
It occurs to me that you have had little opportunity to write love letters. Perhaps we can look upon this time apart as a gift, a serendipitous event wherein we can explore the pleasures of delayed satisfaction, a chance to express our yearning for deepening intimacy.
Would you like that, darling? Would you like to play with me?
I could start by saying that there is little so gratifying as your trust. When we curl together in bed with my knees tucked behind yours and your body sheltered in the curve of mine, I would do anything to stay a safe harbor for you. I want your body pliant against mine, relaxed as you are so rarely. I want to cradle your cock in my hand — that vulnerable and tender part of you — and hold you like that throughout the night, keeping you warm and adored.
But my hands are sometimes cold. Perhaps you would not like that. Perhaps you would like something else.
I would kneel for you, my sweet sun. I would make space for myself between your thighs as you sit on my sofa and I would take you in my mouth and hold you like that, soft on my tongue. I would keep you warm as you read, sheltering you as you would me — your knees bracketing my shoulders, your palm covering my neck — knowing that I was safe at your feet.
Would you like that? I think you would.
Yours always,
Emmrich
~~~~~*~~~~~
Morning, Day Seven
Emmrich,
I have started this letter four times. It is so long after midnight that I have lost track. There is not enough coffee in Antiva to sustain me if this continues.
You are right that I have never written a love letter, nor ever received one. Is that what yours was? I think I imagined they might have more poetry and maybe a little less talk of—
Mierda, how do you write such things when you know Manfred is going to carry the letters to me? It feels wrong.
I am not sure if I can write a letter to match the one you sent. To make you feel the way I felt, reading your words. I don't even know how to describe that, except that I am full of longing for you. Spite is confused because we see you every night when I dream, but when I wake you aren't there.
I miss you, Emmrich. I would so much rather show you how I feel than try to write it down. Even with my own good quill.
Yours,
Lucanis
~~~~~*~~~~~
Evening, Day Seven
My Lucanis,
Don't fret about Manfred. He knows better than to snoop and, in any event, I have started sealing the letters. If you are concerned about security, know that they are safer in Manfred's hands than in a Watcher initiate's. Or Vorgoth's, speaking of nosy.
When I am once again within your reach, I will give you armfuls of blossoms and sweet kisses to make your mouth tingle. Until then, I may only touch you with my words, with my thoughts, with my hopes and dreams.
Poetry is a skill outside my ability. I have tried and the attempts have not been well received. Instead, what I can offer you is the truth of my desires. I love to picture you reading and re-reading my words and being touched by them. Write to me about that, about what you do when you read my letters.
Tell me as if I were sitting in a chair watching you. How would you touch yourself? Would you tease? Would you go directly to your cock? Would you flush from knowing that my eyes are on you and that I want to see nothing else? Would you spread your legs wide so that I could see all of you? Would you tell me to close my eyes so that I could only hear your hitching breaths and your body writhing against the sheets?
If our roles were reversed, I would tell you to sit with your hands palms up on your knees and to not move them. If you can't touch me, you're not allowed to touch anything. I would tell you to keep your eyes on me no matter what. You're not allowed to look away, to see anything but me.
I would take off each piece of clothing and leave myself only in my gold. I would sit on the end of the bed and scrape my nails down my skin, tracing paths from my collarbones down to my hips. I would roll my nipples between my fingers, pinching and tugging. I would lick the pad of my thumb and stroke it across the aching peaks.
I would slide my fingers through the hair trailing down to my groin, tugging and twisting and making my skin burn. I would be moaning, my sweet, hunched forward and starting to breathe heavily. I would be regretting my game because your hands wouldn't be on me and there is little worse than to be so close to you but remain untouched.
But I wouldn't stop. I want you to ache as much as I do. I want you to want as much as I do. I want to hear your breathing as heavy as mine, as pained and labored.
When I finally touch my cock, my hands will be shaking. I will be leaning forward as if I could fall off the bed and into your arms and give both of us relief. Even though I won't. Neither of us get that yet.
Ever yours,
Emmrich
~~~~~*~~~~~
Morning, Day Eight
Dear Emmrich,
I do not believe for a moment you can't write poetry. I have heard you talk. If your verse wasn't well received, maybe the problem was the recipient. In any case, I will not attempt it. I can barely write letters that satisfy you, much less poetry.
At least I can at least follow directions. You asked me to talk about what I do when I receive your letters. If I am home, I take them to my rooms. You haven't seen them — not yet, not with Caterina and Illario just down the hall — but I have an armchair near my bed and I read your last letter sitting there. I was fully clothed, which I think will disappoint you, but at least you can take pleasure in my honesty.
I read it and I had to stop more than once because the things you write make my skin burn. How do you manage to get them down on paper without—
Never mind. This is a terrible letter, I am sorry. I am trying to do as you asked but I think I am only making it more clear that I am no poet. I write contracts, Emmrich. I have spent years practicing brevity and clarity. It is a difficult habit to set aside.
Maybe that is what I can offer you, for now. At least I know it is something I am good at and I always want to offer you my best. So here, briefly, clearly, is what I have done:
I have read your letters, each of them, dozens of times over.
I have lain awake thinking about the pleasures you described.
I have learned how inadequate my own touch is as a substitute for yours.
I have regretted never asking you to stay the night at the villa, so that I might have the memory of that.
Always yours,
Lucanis
~~~~~*~~~~~
Evening, Day Eight
My Lucanis,
Everything you write is perfect. Anything you want to share with me is what I want to be given. You are correct; I take great pleasure in your honesty. The reverse would be true; I would be greatly pained by insincerity, by 'faking it' as the young ones say these days.
I don't want to behave in a way that turns your inexperience into inadequacy or that pressures you to do something which makes you uncomfortable, something which you don't earnestly desire. I have been on the unfortunate side of that dynamic enough in my youth to know that no relationship can survive it, and I want us to last.
Are my letters too much? You have said that you do not find me to be so, and yet when I am alone on my cot, staring at the darkened fabric of my tent, I worry. You are so far from me and I can't see your face to know what you are thinking. All I have are the words that I throw at your feet like rose petals.
Yours in all ways,
Emmrich
~~~~~*~~~~~
Morning, Day Nine
Emmrich,
Something pains you and I can only hope that it is not me. Why would you think that you are too much? Is it because I struggle to tell you how I feel? You say everything I write is perfect but then a few lines later you wonder whether I am doing something I don't desire.
I desire so many things, Emmrich. I want to be in that dreadful place with you. I want to listen to you talking to your crew about things I cannot even begin to understand, just to hear the joy in your voice. I want to kiss your palms and then draw you close so I can kiss your soft mouth. I want to lie beside you, even on that terrible cot that I know you are sleeping on. I want to smell your skin, to taste it, to hear the way your breath draws in when I touch you.
I want to know who hurt you when you were younger, and how, and I want to wipe them and all their bloodline off the face of Thedas forever.
Is that too much, cuore mio?
I do not think that it is.
Yours always,
Lucanis
~~~~~*~~~~~
Evening, Day Nine
My darling,
You are never too much. How could you possibly be when I am ravenous for any piece of you? You enthrall me utterly. Thoughts of you fill my waking and sleeping hours. It feels like madness, sweet and thick and pervasive.
I have not hidden that my romantic history is, at best, injudicious. It is the ghosts of memories which pain me, never you.
I hardly know what to say about it. I am exceedingly aware of the divide between us (though I know that you don't see it that way). I didn't need your grandmother or cousin to point out my deficits over appetizers, though I understand that is typical for a first dinner with the family. I honestly didn't mind their probing; it was a sign of their love for you and you deserve to know how fiercely your family loves you.
But they aren't the only ones I attempted to impress. Perhaps it makes me ridiculous but I have tried to present myself to you as the best version of myself. The wounds of the past are long healed — mere scar tissue at this point — and I didn't want them to be the first particulars which you discovered about me.
Only and ever yours,
Emmrich
P.S. Please don't hunt down my past lovers. They are not worth a moment of your time.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Morning, Day Ten
Dear Emmrich,
I did not think that there would ever be a time when I had to work to draw words out of you. Reading your letter, I seem to see the blank spaces even more than the ink itself. Of course, I am used to looking for things that are unsaid — for the missing parts of conversations. Silences can inform every bit as much as speech.
You spoke of ghosts of memories. So will you tell me that story? A ghost story — how appropriate. I have never liked them and I suspect I may not like this one.
If it helps, know this. All Crows have scars. You have seen some of mine. Actually, you have probably seen all of them, which makes me feel... something. Several things. Mostly pleasant, I think.
But what I wanted to say is that telling the story of a scar is something every Crow learns how to do. Some do it better than others, and there might be more than one version of the story depending on who you are telling it to. But we all have them.
I want to hear you tell me this story. Please.
Always yours,
Lucanis