Chapter Text
Grace wakes again, less groggy, more centered in herself this time, to find Emmrich quietly reading at a chair by her bedside. He’s back to his pristine self, a clean new shirt, buttoned up and pinned, rings and bracelets back on his wrists, his green waistcoat swapped out for another in patterned grey silk, chain fastenings clipped into place. She wonders how long he’s been waiting for her, steadily flicking through the tome in his hands.
It takes three glasses of water, one after the other, and not an inconsiderable amount of touching Emmrich every time he leans over to check on her, for Grace to finally pull her errant thoughts together into action.
“Could you help me stand up?” she asks him, still sceptical of how well her legs are working.
“Are you sure?” he says, hesitating. “I would recommend further rest. We cannot underestimate the toll forming a new body may have taken on you.”
“I can’t just lie about in your bed for days,” Grace says, smiling. “Where will you sleep?” Personally, she has a number of ideas, all of them involving his bed, but she’s pretty sure his delicate sensibilities wouldn’t survive the suggestion right now.
“Oh, please don’t let that concern you,” Emmrich assures her. “Manfred has been most kind to set up a rather comfortable little cot for me, right outside the door. You needn’t worry on my behalf.”
“Emmrich, I’m going to have to try and get up at some point. And it’s better now than in a few hours after all those glasses of water. Please…”
“Yes, of course,” he says, rising to his feet. “I’m sorry. I should have realised.” He pulls back the bedsheets, and Grace looks down to see herself wrapped up in a long silk dressing gown, dark maroon in colour, tied with about her waist.
“Is this yours?” she asks, letting her fingers slip down the fabric, brush along her legs. It feels even softer and smoother than she remembers silk to be.
“Ah, yes.” Emmrich clears his throat as he watches her stroke the fabric. “We, ah, weren’t prepared. I hope you don’t mind. Rook was kind enough to help you into it.”
“It’s nice,” she says, tracing the edge of the tie around her waist.
“Consider it yours,” he replies. “For however long you wish, my dear. I have others, if you think they might be more suitable?”
“I’m not going to take all your clothes,” Grace laughs. “As well as your bed. You’ll have nothing left.”
“Everything I own is at your disposal. Though I have asked the other ladies if they might look out some more suitable garments for you, in the time being, until a wardrobe can be purchased. With a little more foresight I might have-”
“Emmrich,” Grace says, scooting to the edge of the bed. “You’ve done more than enough. Really. Thank you.”
He clears his throat again, eyes turning to the ceiling as Grace has to tug the ruffled-up edges of the dressing gown down over her thighs. Emmrich holds out his hand to her, and Grace takes it, grateful, lets him pull her onto wobbly legs as she rests her free hand on his shoulder for balance.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “If you become faint-”
“I’m okay,” Grace says, trying to find her balance, toes splayed out on the rough wool rug. Emmrich leads her back, carefully, his feet matching hers as she takes one step and then another, listing a little before correcting herself. “I feel like a drunk toddler.”
“Why would a toddler-”
“Oh!” Grace’s right knee dips out from under her, and Emmrich grasps her firmly about the waist.
“I have you,” he says. “Careful now. Alright?”
“Yup,” Grace says, straightening up. “Who knew walking would be so hard?”
“Well, technically, this is the first time you’ve tried it with these legs. Take your time.”
“It looks like we’re dancing,” she says after another few steps, noting her hand clasped in his, her other on his shoulder as he grips around her waist. “Really badly.”
“I think you are making excellent progress,” Emmrich says with a chuckle. “Do you need to sit down now or…?”
“I want to go to the bathroom,” Grace replies. “I want to see what I look like.”
Emmrich leads her there, the rug turning to a wooden floor under her feet, and as she walks it all starts to come back to her, slowly, and she doesn’t need to lean so hard against him for support. They pass into the dressing room, with its racks of clothing hanging neatly in an open closet, the vanity set on the other side, a wide mirror hanging above.
Grace stops in front of it, letting go of Emmrich so she can lean on the table, fingers gripping the lacquered wood edge. The first glimpse of her face is a shock.
It’s her…but it also isn’t? There’s sconces illuminating the panelled wood walls, and Grace has to lean in close to properly make out her features, limbs trembling as she takes in the face staring back at her. The eyes are right, she thinks. The shape and colour. She watches her reflection as they flicker down, tracing over her nose, her mouth and jaw, up to where her hairline sprouts a fall of soft brown hair. It’s her, but like one of those composite sketches made of criminals, close but not quite the same. Wasn’t her jaw a little wider? Nose more pronounced? There’s the scar she’d gotten from a bad fall as a child, slashing up through the hairline on her left temple, but it seems bigger now, more noticeable, when she was sure time had faded it much more as she’d aged. Her cupid’s bow, which had always been pronounced, seems to stand out more, fuller. In her right eye, she’d always had a small fleck of brown, just below the pupil, an interruption in the smooth blue iris, but now it was glaring, far more obvious than she ever remembered it being. It was like every notable feature had been pulled to the forefront, and the others shifted back, more general and indistinct. A face drawn from imperfect memory, with only the obvious points to latch onto.
“Well?” Emmrich asks, watching her as she watches herself.
“It’s me…but, different? I don’t know-” Grace says, shaking her head, feeling her hair swish around her shoulders. She hasn’t worn it so long since she was in her twenties, falling down past her breasts. “I want to see the rest,” she says, tugging at the tie about her waist.
“Oh,” Emmrich quickly swivels around, back to her, as she lets the dressing gown fall open.
She’s wearing nothing underneath. Her breasts look…right. Maybe a little smaller, like they’d been when she was young. Her waist, though, is the one she’d grown into, thicker and not as dipped in as it had been, leading down to hips that are familiar but also different. Hadn’t she had a few spidering white lines of stretch marks over her hipbones, the result of a puberty that felt like it had struck overnight? Now they were gone. Her thighs were full, solid. Those were the same, built from an enjoyment of walking to get her out of the house and away from long stretches at the piano. The scar on her left knee, the one she’d gained from the same accident that had marred her forehead, stood out raised and white and bigger than it was. Her body was a mix of old and new, the freckle high on her thigh still there, but the other little marks of age and time faded, replaced now with unblemished skin. Her hands, though, they were exact down to every detail, which shouldn’t be a surprise - Grace had spent her life, built her living, from watching those hands trail over keys. They were the one thing she’d gotten spot on.
“You shouldn’t be surprised if not everything is the same,” Emmrich says, face still pointedly looking back out into the bedroom. “To try and recreate yourself solely from memory, it’s quite the feat. You should be proud that you accomplished it at all. I hope…you aren’t disappointed?”
Was she disappointed? Grace can’t make out her shifting feelings. It’s still her, just not exactly as she remembers. But after everything…
“It’s better than being a ghost,” Grace says, watching her mouth shift as she speaks, fascinated. She takes her time tying her gown closed as she thinks. “I’d have been happy with anything, I think, if it meant I could feel things again. It’ll just…take time, to get used to.”
“Well, you’ll have all the time you need, Grace.”
“I’m decent now,” Grace says, watching the corner of her mouth quirk up in the mirror. Emmrich turns very slowly around to look at her. There’s a slight flush of colour again, high on his cheeks. “Do I look like you imagined?” she asks, curious.
“I honestly couldn’t say,” he says, eyes tracing her face. “At first, I had assumed you were simply a Spirit who had formed an image from the features of the people you had observed - and then, well, I had wondered, perhaps, about the colour of your hair, the shade of your eyes…”
“I hope you’re not disappointed?” Grace says, and though it comes out lighthearted, she’s suddenly struck with the fear that he actually could be a little disappointed with how she looks - that whatever image of her he’d formed in his head now wouldn’t nearly match the reality of her.
“What?” Emmrich says, taken aback. “No, of course not. Grace, I could never-”
Grace’s stomach suddenly tightens, a loud gurgling sound reverberating through it, interrupting them entirely as Grace shoots her hand down over her abdomen, feels it roil against her palm. Another bubbling rumble churns through her.
“Are you alright?” Emmrich asks, reaching out towards her. “Do you feel ill? Oh dear, here, sit a moment on the chair-”
“I think I’m…hungry?” she says, and her stomach burbles again as if in answer. “Actually, I think I’m starving.”
“I hadn’t thought-” Emmrich replies, then suddenly springs into action. “Of course. Of course you would be. Come, let us return you to bed. I’ll ask Manfred if he can go down to the kitchen, fetch you up some food.”
“Can’t I go down myself?” Grace asks, as Emmrich gently ushers her out of the dressing room.
“In only a gown?” Emmrich replies, shocked.
“I’m sure the others have seen me in a lot less,” Grace says, focusing on each step. She only needs one hand on Emmrich’s shoulder now, for balance. It’s progress at least.
“Well, yes, but…you don’t have any shoes! I couldn’t conscience you walking around barefoot outside.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive,” Grace laughs, coming out into the bedroom. “It’s not far, and I could use the practice.”
“But your feet!”
“Well,” a voice rings out. “Would you look at that? Up and about already. And here Emmrich was insisting you’d need the week in bed.”
“Rook!” Grace says, raising her head from watching each step to see the Elven woman leaning against one of the bedposts, arms crossed, smile wide on her face.
“How are those new legs treating you?” Rook asks.
“I believe Grace compared herself to ah, what was it? A drunken toddler?” Emmrich says.
“That good?”
“I’m getting better,” Grace says. “I only feel like I’m going to fall over every three steps now.”
“You’ll be up and doing cartwheels in no time.”
“Rook, I must ask you to intervene as the voice of reason,” Emmrich continues. “Grace is insisting on walking down to the kitchen.”
“Already setting goals?” Rook says. “I like the determination.”
“Barefoot, and still in her dressing gown!” Emmrich exclaims. “Please help me reason with her.”
“No shoes?” Rook says, looking down at Grace’s feet. “Well, that can be easily sorted. Here, take mine. I can grab another pair from my quarters.” Rook shifts to sit down on the bed, unbuckling her high boots before kicking them off. “They might not be an exact fit, but they’ll do you for now. We should get you to Treviso when we can. The Crows have a few tailors and cobblers that supply us, we can get you kitted up properly.”
“This isn’t what I meant by-” Emmrich starts.
“Thanks,” Grace says, pushing off from Emmrich to take a few more steps towards where Rook is sitting, flopping down beside her. “You don’t mind?”
“Eh, I need new ones anyway. I’ve been going through more boots these past few months than I have in years.”
Grace spends a few moments marvelling over the texture of the leather in her hands. The outside is scuffed and worn, but the leather itself is buttery soft and finely stitched, the soles made from thicker, stiffer leather, reinforced and waxed. It’s not too hard to get them over her feet, but the buckles are complicated, eluding her stumbling fingers.
“Allow me,” Emmrich says, kneeling down in front of her, slim fingers making quick work of the clasps. Grace has to sit on her hands to stop herself from running her fingers through his hair. His bowed head is right there, and she still hasn’t felt the texture of it yet, seen how long the strands are when they’re mussed up and carded through. Her bare legs prickle with awareness of how close he is, just a few inches up and those hands would be brushing over her skin, temptingly close to the swell of her thighs still hidden by her robe.
“So,” Rook says, clearing her throat, bringing Grace’s attention back from her wandering thoughts. When Grace turns to her, Rook’s sporting a knowing smile. “What’s it like having a new body?”
“Confusing,” Grace admits. “It’s strange, but familiar too. There’s a lot of…feelings to get a handle on.”
“I’ll bet,” Rook says, her smile turning into a full-blown grin. “I’m sure Emmrich will be happy to help you work through those.”
“Of course I will,” Emmrich says, clicking the last buckle into place. “These aren’t too tight, I hope?” he asks, rising back to his feet. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but Grace thinks he might be blushing a little too.
“One way to find out,” Rook says, hopping up onto her socked feet. “You’ve made a good choice of heading to the kitchen today. Lucanis is making churros - I could smell them from across the courtyard.”
Churros. Grace’s mouth floods just thinking about them, which is actually a little weird, when you think about it. She’d forgotten how leaky bodies were, fluid always wanting to rush out from everywhere. It’s kinda gross.
While Emmrich had been all gentle coaxing and careful touches, Rook hauls Grace up with a steady hand, nearly sends her staggering off her feet with a firm slap on the back. “Come on,” she says. “The others have been pestering me about you. Might as well answer those questions yourself.”
“Ugh,” Emmrich sighs. “They’ve been relentless. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had to shoo Taash away.”
“Why?” Grace asks.
“She seems to be of the belief that may have acquired ‘cool stuff,’ whatever that means,” Emmrich replies, his hand cupping her elbow as they walk out of his bedroom after Rook.
“Have you?” Rook asks, curious.
“I’ve just learned to stand about ten minutes ago,” Grace says, trying to refind her balance in Rooks boots. They're too narrow for her feet, and there’s a sizable gap at the toes, but the snug fit around her calves is supportive. Grace feels less likely to go over on her ankles with every step.
The light outside on the landing is bright, and Grace blinks her eyes as she adjusts to it. She stops at the balcony, watches a broken tower whirl past through the churning sea outside the Lighthouse. And that’s something she’ll have to talk with them about too. Grace hasn’t just gotten a body back, she’s gotten everything back, and the difference between her life before and where she finds herself now…
“Is everything alright?” Emmrich asks.
It’s a conversation for later. Now, she has a few more challenges in front of her to overcome. Like stairs.
“Take them one at a time,” Emmrich instructs. “Careful now. Hold on to the bannister.”
Is this what it was like when kids first learn to walk? It was taking all of Grace’s concentration not to go tumbling head-first to a broken neck. Maybe Emmrich would let her join in with his yoga. Her balance needed a lot of work. Plus she’d get to see him shirtless again…
“Focus,” Emmrich warns, when Grace nearly misses a step.
“Hssssrrkkk” Grace hears, hissing up to her from the bottom of the steps. She looks up to see Manfred’s green eyes glowing back up at her, his gloved hands clapping together with excitement as he bobs in place.
“Hello Manfred,” Grace says, marvelling at the sight of him. A walking skeleton - it had all seemed so natural and normal before, and even now, struck by surprise, Grace can’t help but be happy to see Manfred again. He’d helped her so much.
“Arrrkkkttt?” Manfred creaks as she reaches the foot of the stairs.
“Why can’t I understand him?” Grace asks. “I used to be able to hear him.”
“Oh,” Emmrich says. “It would be natural that some of your connection to the Fade would be dulled with your return to the living. Sensitivity to Spirits may be one such consequence. It could, however, return in time.”
“What about magic?” Rook asks. “Do you still have that?”
Grace closes her eyes, one hand still clasped tight to the bannister. There’s something there, on the cusp of her senses, but it’s not as apparent as before. The shifting threads twist and dangle, just out of reach. “I don’t know,” she says, opening her eyes. “Maybe? There’s still something there, but I don’t think it will be easy as before.”
“A task, perhaps, for when you are feeling more stable,” Emmrich says.
The second set of stairs, winding down into the sitting room, goes quicker. Grace thinks she’s getting the hang of this walking thing. Not even one tumble - yet. Outside, a gentle breeze whispers over her skin, tugs at the strands of her hair. There’s a smell of moss and dust. Assan squawks and rustles his wings as they pass, and Grace stops, stretches her hand out towards the curious twitch of his head, the gold bead of his eyes tracking her movements.
“Hello Assan,” she says. “Remember me?”
Assan pushes out his beak towards her, Emmrich gasping and grabbing to draw her hand away. “Perhaps you shouldn’t…”
“It’s alright,” Grace says, giving his hand a squeeze before presenting it again. “I might not be able to fly around anymore, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right Assan?”
Another squawk, but as Assan stretches forward, he turns his head to the side, lets the feathers on his face rustle against her fingers. They’re cool and soft, stiffening near the skin as Grace let’s her nails scratch through them. Assan’s eyes close as he makes a soft, trilling noise. “You’re such a good boy,” Grace coos. “Aren’t you? Davrin doesn’t give you enough truffles.”
“Don’t let him hear you saying that,” Rook warns with a laugh.
The growl of Grace’s stomach cuts the petting short. “God, I’m so hungry.”
“Come on. We don’t want your first meal to be cold,” Rook says.
“When they enter the dining room, everyone’s already gathered around the table, the smell of fresh bread and fried dough in the air, the warm spice of cinnamon mixed with the tang of tomatoes and garlic. The table is laden with bowls, the broken crusts of bread and a nearly demolished wedge of cheese. It’s so good, her stomach clenches in anticipation.
“Grace!” Bellara cries, jumping up from her seat. “You’re awake!”
“Emmrich said we wouldn’t see you for days,” Harding says.
“Yes, well-” Emmrich starts.
“Nice robes you’ve got there,” Davrin laughs. “Goes with the boots. It’s good to see you awake.”
“How are you feeling?” Neve asks, as they cross to the table.
“Hungry,” Grace says, while Emmrich darts to pull out her seat.
“You’ve timed it well,” Lucanis says. “There’s still plenty left from lunch. Or I could make you something else?”
“Toast might be a safer option,” Emmrich gently suggests.
“Churros,” Grace says. “Lots of them. And whatever else you’ve made. I want to taste everything!”
“Have you done anything cool yet?” Taash asks, while Lucanis ladles out a bowl of gnocchi drenched in tomato sauce.
“I walked down stairs,” Grace replies, fork in hand, so focused on the food she barely knows what she’s saying. That first bite, the bright burst of flavour in her mouth, rich, acidic and slightly sweet, pungent garlic and the tang of basil. The sound Grace makes is obscene. The gnocchi is perfect; soft, chewy pillows. Grace swallows it down with a groan, immediately goes for another mouthful.
“Good to eat again, huh?” Lace asks.
“You’ve no idea,” Grace says through a full mouth. It’s terrible manners, but now that she can eat again, Grace can’t imagine stopping for even a second.
“Best to pace yourself,” Emmrich warns.
“Hey, let her enjoy it,” Taash says.
“Grace’s digestive system is entirely new,” Emmrich protests. “Who knows how it will react?”
“She seems to be doing well enough right now,” Davrin says. “She’s eating like a new Warden recruit that doesn’t know when they’ll get their next meal.”
“It’s so good,” Grace says.
“So, what was it like?” Neve asks. “Building yourself a body out of Lyrium. It looked…painful.”
“It hurt like a bitch,” she admits.
“Grace-” Emmrich remonstrates.
“What? It did. Felt like I was being set on fire."
“We could see your insides for a second. It was cool,” Taash says. “You going to find your family now? If you can, I mean?”
Grace swallows, looks down at her plate. “I don’t think I can,” she says after a long pause.
“Why not? We’ve got the Eluvians,” Davrin says. “If you know where they are, I’m sure we can take the time to find them.”
“They’re not here.”
“Oh, they’re dead?” Lace asks. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, I mean they’re not here. In this world. I’m not from this world.” This isn’t exactly how Grace had planned to broach the subject, but she supposes it’s better to get it out the way now, than to wait and build it up in her mind.
There’s a pause at the table as everyone looks at each other, puzzled.
“What do you mean, Grace?” Emmrich asks. He looks as baffled as the others.
“It’s a long story,” Grace says, pushing away her empty bowl. “How about you get me some of those churros, and I’ll tell you all about it.”