Chapter Text
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Bellara seemed to deflate as their group exited the dark hallway.
This particular entrance to the Grand Necropolis was formed by a great wide staircase. Dozens of people went up and down; families visiting ancestral tombs, servants traveling to and from their masters’ manors, Mourn Watch and other Mortalitasi on assignment. On either side were tall black columns stretching high above, covered in intricately carved designs accented by gold detailing. The distant stone ceiling broke in regular intervals to reveal the light of midday.
“We could go back down and wait for the lift to be fixed.” Emmrich suggested. Rook looked back at her with pity, foot already on the next step up, while Manfred hissed inquisically at her. He had forgotten many things in his absence from the city, the incredible knee-grinding staircases being just one of them.
“No. No.” She replied with tired, breathy conviction. She straightened up from where she’d been bent over, clenching her fists. “I can do this! It’s just-- it’s just another league until we’re there, right?”
“Three.” Rook smiled at her. Her face fell before scrunching up at him.
“No it’s not! You said that an hour ago!”
He could only grin, before moving to begin climbing. She groaned and followed, arms swinging.
The climb was slow going. Manfred could not help but stop to hiss at every odd-looking animal or person they passed, and Emmrich himself was waved down by several groups of students. Rook was glad to not be the center of attention for once. He took comfort in the fact that none of the Mortalitasi seemed to recognize him. It felt… normal. Safe. He felt himself smile again seeing his loved ones engaging in the mundane.
After some time, they reached the mouth of the stairway and stepped into the unfiltered sun. Bellara promptly collapsed on a bench, and was soon joined by Manfred, mimicking her. The two Watchers stood, much more accustomed to the climb.
“We should take lunch at the Royal Rose. Nothing like a couple of sandwiches to boost one’s energy! And it’s just on the way.” Emmrich suggested, clasping his hands together. Rook smiled at his pleased expression, before cringing as he remembered a less-than-fun fact.
“We… may have to pick somewhere else. Their matron doesn’t like me very much.” He looked down and away.
“Mrs. Hurst? But she’s so delightful!” Emmrich replied.
“Not her, really. Her son. We butted heads a lot during Intermediate Fade Harmonics. He dropped down a grade because we failed a group assignment together. And she told me not to come back.”
Rook could feel himself shrinking back. Discussing one of his academic failures with his academically-excellent lover felt like exposing a wound. Even after all they’d been through together in the past year.
When he looked back out from behind his frizz of hair, Emmrich met his gaze with a tenderness he wasn’t wholly expecting.
“I believe I should be able to vouch for you, Darling. Or, if you would prefer, I can take our orders to go?”
He felt silly. Not for admitting an academic failure, but for struggling against it at all. He had just saved the world a month ago, why should something like this cause him trouble?
“No, we can go. It’ll be nice to eat out again.”
Emmrich smiled. “Of course.”
The two of them turned to look down at the still-collapsed Bellara. Manfred was sat beside her, kicking his feet in the air, gloved hands folded in his lap politely.
“Maybe another minute.”
---
Not a long walk from the Necropolis entrance was a dormitory complex. While primarily utilized by students of the university, it was also available for Mortalitasi who were otherwise in need of living space.
Rook had lived here for the vast majority of his adult life. And during the last year of his stay (up until his unceremonious ejection) he had been rooming with a younger grad student, Charlotte Flesichman. Charlotte was an altogether fine person. Rook had a hard time articulating anything negative to say about her, but something had always rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps it was the probing questions she had levied him with once he’d started transitioning. Or maybe it was how she’d always seemed to use his dishware before her own.
On the face she was nice, and he felt unfair for admitting to himself that he preferred to avoid her, so he decided to chalk it up to his own personal biases.
Unfortunately for Rook, he would have to face Charlotte today. The reason for their visit was a missive he had received from her recently. She was soon going to move out of the dorms, and would be unable to house the furniture and other things he had left behind during his absence. He was here to arrange for the lot of it to be moved down into the Necropolis, so they could get it through the eluvian.
Aside from that, they were also going to give Bellara a tour of the campus and make a brief visit to Emmrich’s apartment in the necropolis. These things Rook was much more eager for. He yearned to reconnect with the halls of his academic life, and he was extremely curious about Emmrich’s home.
But first, they would have to take care of his old stuff. The group of them approached the complex via the promenade. A now-recovered Bellara snacked on a small pastry – a gift from Mrs. Hurst, and an apology for her son’s behavior during class with him. (It turns out that the young man had been slacking off in more ways than one, and had received a minor academic injunction in regards to his actions somewhat recently.) – while Emmrich explained the history behind the statues they passed.
“The Pentaghasts have quite the expansive bloodline.” He said as they passed yet another statue with the familiar surname emblazoned on the plaque. This one showcased a figure stood upon the skull of a dragon. “And quite the reputation.”
Rook let Emmrich’s voice fade into the background as he followed along. He looked out to the north, where the chantry building rose, peeking out above the other dark buildings of the city. Not far from it was the Minanter river. There would be some shops set up along the riverbank at this time of the year, but not as many as in festival season. In a few months, it might become cold enough to freeze, and they could go ice skating. Could Emmrich skate? Would he let Rook teach him?
The idea of going skating together… He imagined the two of them, hand in hand upon the river. Lights from the riverbank would give them something to see by as the sky darkened and their breaths froze in the air. But the warmth of Emmrich’s hand, and of his gaze, would be enough to make Rook want to stay there forever.
The image enthralled Rook until they came upon the dormitory complex, and he promptly took point to lead the group to his old place.
They passed through a modest garden courtyard, passing by several buildings before reaching the proper entrance. Bellara read the plaque -- “Mathias Kronecker Memorial Dormitory” – as they passed.
“Everything in this city is some kind of memorial, isn’t it?” She remarked as they entered the lobby. “The buildings, the statues, the benches... I think I saw a food stand.”
“Our very lives are memorial, dear.” Emmrich replied. “We live because the people before us lived. And the things we have are had only because of the innovation and labor of our ancestors for generations past. We Nevarrans simply make note of this more often than others.” His voice took on that breathy, distant tone that it did when he made a statement straight from the heart. Rook couldn’t help but smile.
Across the decorated tile flooring of the lobby there sat several large pieces of furniture, and a few boxes of things. He approached the familiar futon, wobbly desk, and squeaky chair with a sense of nostalgia. He’d been sick of these things when he’d actually lived with them, but now he suddenly missed them more than anything.
“Oh! Hey, Ingellvar!” He heard Charlotte before he saw her coming down the stairs. Or, rather, he saw the boxes of stuff she carried, stacked too high to see her face. She stumbled on the last step, and he rushed forward to keep the stack from toppling. Together they placed the stack with the rest.
She looked different than he had last seen her. She wore more gold upon her wrists, her ginger hair was cut and slicked back – a far cry from the bird’s nest he remembered – and her previous pair of glasses had been replaced with a set of pince-nez. (They were in a familiar style. Rook realized he used to own an identical pair.) She seemed to have really done well for herself since he’d left.
“You look older.” Charlotte remarked, before looking over his shoulder and gasping. “Professor Volkarin? What are you doing here?” She stepped forward to shake Emmrich’s hand, lightly shoulder checking Rook in the process.
“Just-- helping a colleague, Ms…?”
“Havek! Charlotte Havek!” She grinned at him with perfect teeth.
“Hello!” Manfred greeted her.
“You’ve-- gotten married?” Rook asked, with more incredulity than he’d intended. He’d remembered Charlotte going through exes like wet tissue paper. They’d never lasted more than a few weeks, before.
“Are you surprised?” She dropped Emmrich’s hand. “I’m to be moving in with my husband at his countryside manor. You should have seen the wedding.” She sighed, wistfully. “We themed it around roses and rubies. He’s such a romantic. And so rich…”
“Wow!” Bellara looked wide-eyed into the distance as she imagined the scene.
“Oh, congratulations, Mrs. Havek.” Emmrich smiled brightly at her. Rook couldn’t help but find their joy infectious, and smiled as well. He was happy for her. “Would you like us to help with moving things out onto the street?”
“That would be wonderful, Professor!” She replied. “And-- Ingellvar, I’ll need your help upstairs. There’s some stuff, and I’m not sure if it’s yours or mine.”
“Yeah, okay.” He replied. “I’ll assume you haven’t reached out to a moving service yet.”
“Of course not, that’s on your coin.” She said, leading him up the stairwell.
When they reached his old room on the third landing, she unlocked the door and held it open to let him in first.
The lighting in the entryway was dimmed, and the same was true in the living room. The lamps had been removed with the rest of the furniture. But he could still identify the grey-green wallpaper, and see the divots left in the carpet from everything since taken. He walked out into the center of the room. The same drafty bay window looked out upon the street below. The only thing he noticed left behind was a small hand-held mirror perched upon the windowsill.
He let himself breathe in the scent of his old home before asking, “So, what was it you wanted to—”
A sharp pain burst through the back of his head. He was aware of the floor rising to meet him, and then nothing.
---
“I’m not sure where, But I’m sure I’ve heard of the Havek family before.” Emmrich wondered aloud as he and Bellara passed each other in the entrance to the building. They were starting with the smaller boxes, as Emmrich didn’t trust his back against the larger pieces. They would have to wait until Rook or Charlotte returned for that.
“Former students?” Bellara asked when they passed each other again. “Colleagues?”
“Colleagues seems more likely, but I can’t recall any specifics.” He stood with his hand on his chin beside the growing pile outside. Manfred kicked his feet from where he sat upon one of the larger boxes.
Bellara placed a box down, then jumped when she heard a distinctive crack from inside.
“Oh! Oh no….” She cried out. She braced herself before gingerly opening the top of the box. “I’m so sorry, Rook…” Emmrich joined her to assess the damage, squinting at what he saw.
Within were a variety of completely different kinds of objects. Several large books, a roll of canvas, a vase, and several broken teacups. None of the fragile objects had any kind of protection against the large and heavy objects they were inappropriately packed alongside. Not a single ounce of tissue paper or cloth to be seen. It was likely that most of the damage to the teacups had already been done when they were initially packed.
“That’s messed up.” Bellara remarked, gingerly lifting a broken shard of ceramic out of the container. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting the hand painted detail. Manfred chittered at it.
“Those are quite old.” Emmrich said with clear undercurrent of distaste and protectiveness in his voice. “Are the rest of these packed the same?”
They turned together to begin opening boxes. It seemed that everything had been thrown in haphazardly. Nothing was treated with care. The three of them found multiple broken, bent, and ruined objects within.
“I believe,” Emmrich started as he shut a box firmly, turning to walk back up the stairs. “It is time to lodge a complaint.”
“Complaint!” Manfred marched closely behind him, and Bellara followed.
They soon crested the third floor landing, and saw that a doorway down the hall had been left ajar.
“Mrs. Havek?” Emmrich asked as he entered. “I believe your packing skills leave much to be desired.”
He did not see either her or Rook immediately within the living room, so moved to look through the other rooms.
“Mrs. Havek? Rook?”
“I… think something is wrong, Emmrich.” Bellara’s voice quivered slightly. She looked out the bay window and down to the street below. Just across the way, a horse-drawn carriage’s back doors were being shut. More than half a dozen people lingered about, dressed in dark clothing. The coachman tugged the reins.
“Blood?”
That was Manfred. Bellara’s head snapped around, and Emmrich appeared suddenly from a doorway. The skeleton was bent over a mace left on the floor near the entryway. There was a splash of dark blood upon the metal head.
Emmrich swore with venom, launching himself toward the door and out into the hall.
“I think that’s them!” Bellara yelled, running after him. “Outside, on the street! I saw a carriage! And some people!”
It wasn’t long before they tumbled out of the building’s back stairwell. The group of intimidating figures didn’t leave their intentions unknown for long, as they drew their weapons as soon as Bellara and Emmrich appeared.
“Back, heathens!” Emmrich drew his staff, immediately volleying several shots at the instigators. Bellara, lacking her bow, began running for the end of the street after the carriage itself. But she found herself clotheslined by the forearm of one of the figures, the air knocked straight out of her.
She wheezed, reaching for the carriage as it turned a distant corner, before she was promptly shoved to the ground.
Luckier than her, however, was Manfred.
“Rook!” He yelled. The skeleton hurdled down the street, skittering successfully around an enemy leg which sought to trip him. Soon he disappeared around the corner.
A henchman who sought to follow Manfred was knocked flat by one of Emmrich’s attacks. If they wanted to stall him, then they would do so at the cost of their lives.
Elsewhere, fruit and vegetable sellers ducked as Manfred vaulted over their carts and tables, cutting through a farmer’s market to try and shorten the distance between himself and the carriage. One poor cabbage seller’s stand was knocked over, and Manfred barked back a “Sorry!” over his shoulder.
It was this that caused the coachman to look over his shoulder and realize he was being pursued. He whipped the reigns once, twice.
One horse could only go so fast, but so could only one skeleton. The chase continued around corners, through alleys, down lanes, and across turnpikes, until it reached the river. Manfred was beginning to tire, and the distance between him and his quarry had slowly increased. In the distance he saw the carriage reach the other side of a drawbridge. Something shiny was tossed from the coachman into the window of the roadside operator’s room.
A moment later, the half-dozen skeletons stationed on either side of the bridge awoke. They began to obediently pull the chains which disappeared into mechanisms below the road. The drawbridge began to raise open.
Desperately, Manfred turned every last remaining bit of his strength into speed. Once he reached the bridge, he began to scale the increasing incline, but it was already so steep. About halfway up, he began to scramble for purchase, and then to slide backward.
He tumbled, hitting the ground hard. The bridge now a cruel and imposing wall.
Slowly, Manfred uncrumpled himself. He sat on his knees and thudded his boney forehead against the bridge. He balled up a fist and punched it, too, for good measure. Then he let out a forlorn rattle.
---
Rook had the sense of being moved. Nausea and confusion flipped somersaults in his gut. He remembered being jostled around, the familiar bumpiness of wheels on cobble then dirt, in between swathes of blackness. His head pounded, and his vision swirled and danced even against the inside of his eyelids. He tasted iron. His limbs tingled numb. His ears rang louder than anything he had ever heard. Blackness.
He awoke to cold. The air smelt stale. His whole body thrummed with each beat of his heart, from his toes to the crown of his battered head. His ears continued to ring. He took a deep breath in and coughed, whimpering despite himself at the shock of pain that sent through his head. With as much strength as he could muster, he managed to open his eyes to slits.
Stone. Uneven and gray. It was dark, but a flickering light somewhere else cast long, horizontal shadows across the floor he lay against.
Where was he? What happened? He struggled to remember what he had been doing. The Necropolis… then Nevarra City… Nausea swelled again as visions of the Gods swam across his mind. No. They were dead. They were definitely dead. Then, who…?
He moved his limbs, trying to stand, but found that he couldn’t. His wrists were bound together tightly behind his back. His ankles were bound as well, but with a bit of slack about the length of his foot. So he could walk. Barely.
Sitting up was a struggle anew. He had to avoid pressing into his head, or the pain threatened to overwhelm him. He gingerly rolled onto his back and pushed himself up using his arms.
He saw the bars next. Heavy, thick iron. He was in a cell. A torch flickered dimly on the distant wall behind the bars, casting the long shadows and illuminating two dark figures. He heard a murmur, or maybe a conversation – his ears continued to ring – and one of them walked out of sight. As he focused his vision on the remaining figure, he began to make out a familiar silhouette, and, eventually, a shallow V-shaped mesh hole in the mask.
Venatori.
The guard remained silent, so he turned to assess his surroundings instead. The cell was empty, save for a pair of manacles dangling from the back wall. No windows, no interesting patterns on the ceiling or floor. Likely a dungeon basement.
He felt his logical brain coming back to him. He figured it had been a day or less since he’d been taken. And he was decently sure his Nevarra City memory was recent, so he likely hadn’t been taken far from it. Unless these Venatori had access to an eluvian.
The ringing improved with his level of consciousness. It was quiet enough for him to hear the opening of a distant door and two sets of footsteps descending a staircase.
The Venatori from before (he assumed. The uniforms made them functionally identical.) entered, alongside a well-dressed man. He was tall, pale, and bald, yet had an impressively quaffed mustache and beard. He carried a stick — no. Rook squinted into the darkness. A hammer.
The man squinted down at him with bloodshot, piercing eyes. Rook expected him to say something. To start monologing or peppering him with questions. But that didn’t seem to happen. He just stared.
“Um, Hello?” Rook asked. The taste of iron remained in his mouth.
“PFFAH.” The man spat suddenly, enraged. “Do you know how much you’ve fucked everything up? Gods-damned repugnant, impertinent knife-ear!” He put down the hammer, letting the handle of it rest against his calf as he unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves.
“Door.” He barked at one of the Venatori. They moved to open it. Metal ground against stone, and the man entered.
“Can I… help you?” Rook said with strain and urgency in his voice. What kind of an interrogation was this? Or was he being used as hostage bait?
“You can help by dying. Slowly. Painfully. And loudly.” The man raised his hammer high.
The first blow cracked at least two ribs.