#is like my dear corvo i have another gift for you

[toomanyassassins]

absolutely beside myself that we could have had this as part of the dishonored ui. incredible. perfect. no notes. why was i not allowed to stop in the middle of gameplay to pull out a dead rat that's got my inventory strapped to it? what was i supposed to be doing again?? hold on let me get out my rat real quick and check my objectives.

imagine you're a city guard fighting corvo attano and in the middle of battle he reaches into his pocket to bring out this rat corpse strapped to a bit of driftwood, staring at it intensely before suddenly blasting you with a new power he's just learned. we could have had levels of rat dad previously unknown to gameplay. we could have had everything.

[jaskierswolf]

My dearest darling Wolfie, I saw your idea for game gerlion friends to lovers in @thewitcherbog horny chat and I am here to ask you to write the fic. Pls 💜😘

Tada!! I can't remember if this was exactly what I had planned... but it's what we're getting. Lovingly beta'd by @comfyswitcherblanketfort.

CW: probably rated M? Briefly mentioned masturbation more horny than smutty.

____

A retirement at Corvo Bianco had never been what Geralt expected of his life. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told a young Dandelion that witcher’s never retire, but in recent years between looting caves and haggling for contracts, he’d managed to save quite a bit of coin. He was, objectively, rich. He had the best armour on the Continent, the most deadly swords and crossbow bolts, and thanks to B.B., his house was beautifully decorated, with the exception of the rather garish portrait of his most loyal friend. Yet, he was still gaining more money than he knew what to do with. He’d started investing in merchants and refusing payment but the vineyard brought in a steady income and Geralt had to admit that his life was pretty luxurious these days.

So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when Dandelion had turned up, in fine, brightly coloured silks and the elegantly decorated elven lute from so many years ago. Geralt sometimes wondered whether Toruviel had enchanted her lute. There was barely a scratch and Geralt couldn’t even recall Dandelion ever having to change the lute strings in all the years he’d known the bard. Geralt was no expert but he was pretty sure that you were supposed to change the lute strings.

The sun was shining over the fields of Corvo Bianco, and Geralt felt at peace. Perhaps that was why he was feeling so nostalgic, pondering over the events that had led him to this moment. His life had always been so busy, but with Ciri off touring the multiverse, and Yennefer doing whatever Yennefer did these days now the Djinn wish had been broken, he was… well… bored? He had every Gwent card currently made, and no one would play him. It was just him and the bard, living the bachelor’s life in Touissant.

So was it any wonder that Geralt had started to develop feelings for his friend? Perhaps they’d always been there, clouded by the wish that tied him to Yennefer, or perhaps their newfound domesticity had awoken something in Geralt that he had never expected. Dandelion spent a lot of time in the makeshift study, working on his latest book, but they always ate together and sometimes the bard would even accompany Geralt on his contracts in the fields, for old times sake. After long nights of drinking too much wine or vodka, it wasn’t unusual for the pair of them to fall asleep together, curled up in one bed just like they used to in their youth. Those were Geralt’s favourite nights, because despite his protests of being better alone, he enjoyed the familiar warmth of another body pressed against his, and Dandelion had always been a cuddler.

And as if on cue, the bard burst through the doors onto the patio where Geralt was watching the world go by.

“Ah, Geralt, old friend, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Dandelion announced with a flick of his wrist. “I was just in town.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt groaned. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Dear Henrietta will forgive me in time, my friend,” Dandelion winked, his tongue flicking out between his lips, “and until then I have plenty of friends who will offer me shelter if the guards are around.”

“You look like a man sized peacock,” Geralt scoffed. “How the hell does no one see you?”

“Ah, dear witcher, you forget that I used to be a spy,” Dandelion laughed, putting one hand on his hips. “Now, stop interrupting, Geralt, or do you not care about the gift I picked out for you in town today?”

Geralt hummed, knowing that it didn’t really matter whether he cared or not. Nothing would stop Dandelion once he was in the middle of a story. Some things just never changed. “Go on.”

Dandelion beamed, and from behind his back he produced a wooden box. The poet cocked his head as he opened the lid, revealing a set of tiny vials neatly lined up. Geralt almost choked, his breath catching in his throat.

“Oil?” he spluttered. A man such as Dandelion had to know of the more promiscuous uses of oil. Whilst Dandelion had never explicitly said as such, the way he talked of his lovers had always led Geralt to believe that he was rather flexible in his tastes, much like Geralt himself.

The poet blushed as he pulled a single vial from the box, his long lutist fingers wrapping around the glass. “Bath oils, Geralt.”

“Oh, of course,” Geralt cursed internally. Dandelion had bought all sorts of expensive oils and lotions when they had been on the path together, neither of them were shy with their bathing habits and the poet was a highly skilled masseur.

Which was not helping Geralt’s sudden rush of arousal as he remembered the feel of the poet’s hands on his skin. They’d laughed off awkward erections in the past, it was just a thing that happened… but Geralt was starting to wonder what would happen if, for once, they let it happen.

“This one will probably be a bit much for your witcher senses, my friend, but I rather like it,” Dandelion continued, oblivious to Geralt's inner turmoil. “This one,” another vial was plucked from the box, “however, I think you will like, and I managed to buy this,” Dandelion pulled a scroll from his pocket, “from a local mage. It’s supposed to move the water around the tub, like a massage!”

“And you’re telling me this, why?” Geralt sighed, rolling his eyes. As much as he adored his old friend, the man could take his sweet time getting to the point. It was even worse when the poet and Regis got together, Geralt honestly thought he might never know peace again.

“Because, Geralt, I am treating my dearest friend to an extravagant bath time experience!” Dandelion exclaimed with wide arms, almost knocking off his own hat in his enthusiasm. “Friendship and love, art and wine, Geralt. What more could you want in life?”

Love.

No, friendship. Geralt needed to focus on that. How many times had Dandelion called him his friend? Too many to count.

“Assuming you have wine, what’s the art?” Geralt smirked, enjoying the offended noises Dandelion made.

“Geralt, I’ll have you know that-”

“Relax, Dandelion. I’m teasing. So how about this bath then?”

The two men made their way upstairs, peeling off their outer clothes as they strolled past Geralt’s bedroom, and picking up a robe each. Dandelion had filled the room with candles, and there was a soft floral scent hanging in the air, roses, the oil vial that Dandelion had initially held up.

“I thought this one was too much for my ‘witcher senses’?” Geralt scoffed, peering at the magically bubbling water.

“Well, yes, but I did also say I liked this one, and I’ll admit that I got a little carried away. You don’t mind, do you Geralt?”

Geralt shook his head as he stripped off his final layer of clothing and settled into the tub. Dandelion sat in a chair, still wrapped in his robe, and picked up his lute. He plucked idly at the strings until he was seemingly happy that they were in tune, and then he began to sing. Geralt sighed as he sank deeper into the hot water, the enchantment really did feel like a sort of massage as jets of water pulsed against his skin, but he couldn’t help but wonder. The oils, the candles, the romantic ballad…

Was his friend trying to tell him something?

It was time for Geralt to test the waters as it was. He trod the water with his hand, gently splashing to the beat of Dandelion’s song. Normally, he would close his eyes and let the poet’s music fill the room, but instead he was mesmerised by the way Dandelion’s finger caressed the lute strings. Geralt could feel his cock harden as he pondered what other uses his friend’s delicate hands could have, the way they found their mark with such precision. The poet could make any instrument sing to the gods in his hands, Geralt was sure that he was no exception.

“Practicing your fingering?” he asked Dandelion with a tilt of his head.

The strings twanged unpleasantly, making Geralt grimace as the sound reverberated in his head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Geralt smirked. “On your lute.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Dandelion muttered. “I’m just trying to figure out the next verse. I could use a hand, or an ear if you’d be willing to help.”

“I have a hand you could use, or two,” Geralt muttered not really intending for Dandelion to hear him but the poet had sharp ears and he spluttered incoherently as he set down his lute.

Geralt hummed and let his hand drop beneath the water, stroking his cock lazily. He wasn’t really chasing any real pleasure, but it was a good feeling, sending warmth across his skin. The bath, the candles, the song, they had to mean something even in Dandelion’s subconsciousness. The man was an insatiable flirt, and yet never seemed to notice when others’ affections were cast upon him, not unless it was blunt in its honesty.

So Geralt would be blunt.

He closed his eyes as he continued to stroke the length of his cock, the motion causing the water to ripple slightly, but not yet enough to draw Dandelion’s attention. The poet was too busy wittering on about his rhymes, only noticing when Geralt’s breath hitched as he cupped his balls.

“Geralt?”

“Dandelion,” Geralt grunted softly, his pleasure beginning to build from a warm ember to a roaring blaze that burned through him. The poet’s cornflower blue eyes were on him, dark and hungry. His cheeks were flushed rosy, and it seemed his dear friend was finally catching onto what was happening.

“I- I can leave, my friend, if you would prefer…”

“Stay,” Geralt insisted. “This not what you had in mind?”

“Well,” Dandelion laughed. “I had hoped, but I never thought it would actually happen, and well, really I thought it might take a little more convincing. Who knew all I needed all along were a few cheap candles?”

“Just get in the bath, Dandelion,” Geralt growled.

“Okay, okay,” Dandelion said with a roll of his eyes but shrugged out of his robe, allowing Geralt to admire his slender form. The poet’s cock remained soft as he stepped into the water. “So… how long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have I been more than just a friend to you, Geralt?” Dandelion asked, settling into the water with a soft moan. His hands resting on Geralt’s thighs, fingers drawing patterns on Geralt’s skin under the water.

It wasn’t an easy question to answer. Could he even pin it down? Geralt wasn’t sure.

“Hard to tell, our friendship has never exactly been normal, Dandelion,” Geralt admitted.

Dandelion laughed, leaning forward in the tub, his hands stroking up Geralt’s thigh, the movement forcing the air from Geralt’s lungs. “You know, you’re right, and I think we should celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Mhmm, and how about we start with a kiss?” Dandelion winked, before falling into Geralt embrace with a splash.

[vaguely-concerned]

I played Death of the Outsider finally and I have some Feelings about it

and most of them not very positive. nice stuff first tho!

THINGS I LIKED:

- billie is such a good character. still new to her old self and slightly tender from coming out of the protective shell of lies that was meagan foster, full of old scars and doubts and bitterness but trying for something better, something kinder even though she still doesn’t quite understand what she’s walking towards -- the genuine care and tenderness in her voice when she talks to daud or thinks about deidre. I love her.

all that and she effortlessly IS also the queer disabled woc the gamer bros refuse to believe could possibly exist. exquisite. 

- the idea of ‘killing’ the outsider is compelling, but it’s the sort of idea that needs a full length game to support it and its implications. cool idea, completely wrong execution.

- saying that: I love that the injustice of the outsider’s creation being righted is only made possible by a long unbroken line of mercy and kindness. daud saved billie from the streets, corvo spared daud, daud saved emily and spared billie after her betrayal, billie tried to save aramis stilton and became entangled in the void, emily spared billie, billie took this job in the first place partly because she loves her dad daud and wants him to find peace. that idea is so beautiful that I wish the rest of the narrative was strong enough to hold it up lol.

there’s also something going on here with other people holding on to the important pieces of you -- that billie is ‘all that is left’ of daud after he’s dead. once he saved a child from true loneliness and gave her a purpose, made her feel seen again, gave her the closest thing she had to a home, and when he’s completely lost himself in the void... that kindness is still alive in billie, and she helps him find his way. again that is really touching and thoughtful and plays wonderfully into the chaos system in these games thematically! too bad about all the stilted dialogue and characterization messes and uh. everything else. 

- most of all I love how clear it is that billie and daud love each other. it’s a quiet love that has nothing to prove anymore, it’s survived all the blood and the ugliness and everything they’ve done to each other and to the world, a love with no demands left. it’s not the sort of love you usually see, in all its unsentimentality, but it’s real. when daud tells her he’s proud of her and trusts her no matter what she chooses to do, you feel how much he means it. (making his insistence on trying to make her choice for her all the weirder -- see my long rant of lamentation about his characterization in doto below lol)

there’s something about daud’s undramatic yet complete acceptance of and respect for billie that... I didn’t know I needed this, but it was a nice gift nonetheless haha, thank you. (it’s similar to how good it feels in D2 when you realize corvo just likes emily a lot as a person, even aside from her being his daughter. a good series for father & daughter stories)

- this carries over from D2, but I think the journal/log entries are better written and more insightful than the stuff out in the world.  

- it cannot be overstated how much the gameplay loop of these games is just... pure crack cocaine for my brain haha, very few things give me this specific kind of brain tingle. I love the sound of looting and I love the art style and ambiance and I love planning out a strategy after finding all the options and I love never being spotted or killing anyone and I love the puzzle elements they put into exploration sections and I love the feeling of how you move through the environment. it’s one of the few games where I routinely get so into it I end up with a crick in the neck because I’ve been so focused for so long and never noticed I’ve been sitting in a way that makes my entire spine hate me. I needed something to get me through the last few days and it did deliver that, at least. karnaca is pretty enough that I didn’t even mind that most of the levels were recycled from D2 either. 

- I’m not quite sure whether I understood this right but there’s a woman standing behind daud in the void -- I wonder if that is actually his mother and he’s been so close this whole time? at first I thought maybe it was jessamine but god no I hope she’s finally at peace after All That Nonsense, she shouldn’t have to hang around there anymore. there’s also a figure near him I could swear was corvo with his mask on, but he’s not dead canonically so that would make very little sense. oh well I’ll take my feels where I can get them even if I have to make them up wholesale  

- the bankheist was cool as fuuuuuck, that and the emotional impact of daud dying was sadly the height of this game for me, after that it all went mediocre real quick     

- paul nakauchi as shan yun was, as I have said before, a blast. ‘ugh I cannot continue my throat is as raw as a plucked pheasant’ fsdkfhlsadjkhfas

- daud’s funeral is genuinely touching. she gave him the entirety of her old life for a sendoff, battered and worn and dear as they both were. someone hold me 

THINGS I  H A T E D:

- the stuff they did with daud’s characterization. I am so unreasonably angry over this haha, the more I think about it the more I hate it. I think there are paths you could go with his ACTUAL character to make this work, but this was not it. I’ve said this before, but his most iconic, most defining scene is him surrendering himself to corvo’s judgement without justifying himself or deflecting the blame for any of what he’s done. this isn’t even regression in his character, it’s just.. a different character altogether. they could have gone for the angle that delilah almost managed to end the world b/c daud showed mercy and that’s the reason he’s moved to action, I think that might be a more compelling motivation for him at least. OR have him be more conflicted about how to do things -- violence is still the only tool he knows how to use but it’s not what he wants to or even can be anymore and the conflict troubles him, ‘His hands do violence, but there is a different dream in his heart’. or even use a different character for the ‘kill kill kill’ angle, he didn’t need to be here for this dlc at all.   

also, just on a purely practical level... for all his flaws and longstanding moral shortsightedness daud is not a stupid man. why the FCK would he be so sure that killing the outsider will fix anything? if I, dumbass extraordinaire, could within half a minute wonder if maybe something even worse would take the outsider’s place if you removed him... why does that never occur to the Knife of Dunwall tm, a man about Void for like half a century or whatever?? ugh fuck this, I’m having a hard time explaining exactly why it all feels weird and wrong to me, but know that it does and that I Do Not Like It lol. I feel cheated out of something important I thought I had.  

- again, this should have been a full game. (I think it is sold as one already, but it just hm isn’t) there’s way too much shit of literal cosmic importance for the game’s universe being picked up here for something this short to cover. save this HUGE idea for a rainy day should you ever want to do another game in the series and do something else with the dlc, honestly. 

- god but the outsider is insufferable in this. I don’t know what happened, but by the end I was like ‘*thoughtfully strokes chin* maybe daud has a point billie keep that knife handy’. he’s annoying and boring, which is wild to me because he was always a lot of fun in the other games.

for real tho I don’t know if this is just my atheist-but-still-angry-at-god-somehow??? talking, but daud HAS a point. people are responsible for their own actions, but the outsider didn’t have to do any of what he did either. he could have chosen to be bored through the centuries instead of seeing what people would do if you gave them such ~*morally neutral*~ abilities as y’know summoning a bunch of rats to eat other people. the game wants me to buy the ‘but really this black eyed boy is woobie tho uwu’ so badly and no I’m not buying that give me my refund I want my chaotic neutral bastard back pls. I’d probably be more inclined to want to help him like that. where’s his salt gone, arkane. if you didn’t want him to be edgy why did you make him look like that.  

- this is the lamest possible version of the outsider’s backstory lol, it feels like the pearl clutching panic about satanic cults back in the day all over. listen if it’s this easy to make a god the thrill is sort of taken out of it, if these randos did it anyone could. also how the fuck are they just normal-ish people anyway? why do they follow modern fashions? haven’t they been hanging around for thousands of years, haven’t their culture changed in any meaningful way? (I realize these aren’t the same guys as back in the day but it’s just weird) why do they speak a language billie and the player can understand? why did anyone think ‘idk some cultists no one’s ever heard of before with no thematic significance whatsoever’ was the way to go world building wise? they’ve taken all the unknowable eldritchness out of the eldritch horror and we’re all poorer for it now haha 

relatedly the last level is... just not very good. you come down from the awesome bank heist and then there’s... whatever the fuck this was.

- while I do like billie finding daud in the void and him remembering her I hate that he goes out still full of self loathing and rage when you talk him into the nonlethal option, that he can’t forgive himself or find any sliver of hope or peace. I wish there had been a few more moments for the two of them to come to peace with themselves before he gave the outsider back his name, some real catharsis. as it is I was annoyed when the outsider ‘woke up’ or whatever b/c it felt like he was stealing attention from what I was actually emotionally invested in and not done with.    

they had  n o t  built up billie’s or my sympathy for the outsider well enough either. again this is something I think they could have done if they’d structured things differently, if they’d been more deliberate in making you understand he was basically a child and letting you dwell on it. because there is a parallell there between him and billie, and billie and daud, but I, how do I put this, did not give a fuck  

in short this was really similar to my experience with D2 in that there’s enough good there that it’s all the more painful when it fails to deliver on it again and again, and it ruined things I already liked about this story from the first game (daud’s arc and everything to do with the outsider, mostly). give me some months of denial and hard core headcanon work and I’ll probably be able to live with it

[fandom-necromancer]

023. I just really miss talking to you

Fandom: Dishonored | Ship: Corvosider

Corvo enjoyed tranquil nights like these: The sky over the Wrenhaven river was clear – a rare occasion with all the dirty grey smoke from the factories and the clouds covering up and drowning out the little shimmering lights within the deep darkness. The moon shone next to the clocktower and for once seemed to win the fight, colouring the water a glittering silver with only the few silhouettes of whaling ships disturbing it. It seemed all of Dunwall decided to show its beauty these past weeks.

It had been roughly a year since he had rescued Emily and brought her back where she belonged: The empress of the isles. A young one. Not more than a child in Corvo’s eyes still, but she was learning fast. She would grow up to be a just woman, he knew it every time he looked at her in this too big throne in this enormous room. He found so much of Jessamin in her although he tried not to. Sometimes when he wandered the halls in the evening, he still saw the dead empress out of the corner of his eyes, sitting there and smiling at him. But when he looked directly at it, she was gone like a leaf in the late autumn wind. Every room screamed of her. There were just too many memories. When he had seen her die, he had no time to mourn. He had to move, to run, to fight. Just to get his daughter back safely. Now that he had the chance, he found himself not being able to. She was gone. Simply as that. Gone. And there were no other feelings than sadness and longing.

Corvo sat at the windowsill of his room, still looking out on the river, eyes somehow finding their way to his left hand. It was rarely bare now that he was in the centre of the public’s attention again. But he missed seeing the Outsider’s mark when he covered it up with bandages or a glove. It gave him some sense of power, some sense of determination or purpose. When he really thought about it, he also missed the strangeness of the void. He dreamed of that confusing place only rarely now and he always was alone there. Just as lonely as he was in this tower full of people who had gone back to normal so fast. The empress was dead, but the new one sat on the throne and made pleasant decisions. Jessamine’s death would only be remembered as yet another day of political interest. Corvo had no one. The only one he could possibly talk to was Emily, but he was supposed to be strong for her. No point in dragging her down with him.

He absent-mindedly brushed over the mark with his other hand, tracing the lines and circles. Sometimes he wondered if there was a meaning behind it. Everything the Outsider said had had a meaning of some kind. He was cryptic and illusive in his ways but still: everything had been true. It had helped knowing someone was watching him. The god wouldn’t help except for his comments. He gave Corvo the meanings to do something but if and how he did it was his personal decision. Together with some encouraging words… Corvo was sure he missed the entity too. He was simply fascinating. Was he too alone? He had only ever seen a whale – the only living creature in the void it seemed despite the man.

Before he could think of any better, he let himself fall out of the window and blinked over to a near roof. It was worth a try and he couldn’t sleep anyways in that empty bed, shared only with a warm memory and the shadow of a man he really was under all these sheets of false pretence. It took him far too long to find a shrine, but Corvo was determined once he got far enough from the tower to at least try and make this journey not completely pointless. He found a few dusty ones not cared after in years and obviously deserted. Corvo wanted to at least find something worth cleaning up. He ended up in the attic of a house which’s roof had given in. But the part with the shrine was still standing, ivy having conquered the ruin.

Corvo knelt down in front of the shrine, dusting off the stand as best as he could before lighting up the lanterns around it until the little attic-corner was filled by a soft purple light. Corvo carefully laid down some trinkets. The tooth of a whale wrapped in copper wire and a piece of violet fabric laced with golden flowers. He had never tried to contact the outsider, maybe what he was doing was a pointless effort. But he had always found something left at the shrines when he had been given the gifts of the Outsider. It couldn’t hurt to try and if it was just for some beggar to find and sell it later. He sat down in front of the shrine and waited. He didn’t know when it had started, but eventually he heard the familiar whispered song emanating around him, slowly dragging him down against the shrine to close his eyes.

Maybe he had fallen asleep, maybe his plea had been heard, but as Corvo opened his eyes again, the void was clear as day. His dreams had always been blurred or smudged, as dreams tended to be, but this felt like the real world. It felt just like it had back then. Corvo let out a deep breath he hadn’t known he had held. The strange reality around him was enough already to feel at home in some way. It was something familiar that for once didn’t remind him of Jessamine and just as tranquil and relaxing as his windowsill had been. He leaned against a floating wall that solidified in his back and took another deep breath of what could be air or something entirely different. Maybe it was air just because he wanted it to be. And it smelled of… distant waves or soil after the first droplets of rain.

‘Hello, my dear Corvo.’ He opened his eyes again, to see the familiar figure of the Outsider. He was thankful to still have perfect memory of the man’s appearance, although it was nearly a year now since they last spoke. ‘I don’t usually indulge those who seek my attention, but yours was… interesting. I can’t and won’t give you new information as you don’t need it. You got everything you worked for so hard, got the best outcome and yet you are not satisfied and come to me. I clearly ask you: what is to give to a man that has all?’ ‘Would you believe me if I said I just really missed talking to you?’ The Outsider remained silent what was no surprise. The entity rarely answered when prompted. Corvo didn’t expect him to. His presence alone was soothing and even if he would send him back to the forgotten shrine in the attic right away, Corvo would be able to hold onto that feeling for a while. ‘I came to the shrine in the hopes of seeing you again, hear your voice and see this place. I don’t want your knowledge. I just seek… company.’ ‘Loss is an element of life. There is no loss without gain. Still you hold onto it. Do you expect me to change that?’ ‘It is a wound only time can heal. I don’t expect anything from you.’ ‘You are… fascinating, Corvo. You came to a place hundreds before you have pleaded at for something. For power, for luck, for change. None of them I have granted attention. You stand before a god willing to give – and you don’t ask for anything. You still amaze me, Corvo.’ ‘Don’t you ever get lonely? This vast place and no living thing. Can gods be lonely? What is your loss, what is your gain?’ Again silence. Corvo expected to wake up again. In all their conversations, he had never once spoke to the Outsider. But again, he got an answer: ‘After four thousand years of loneliness you forget what it means to have company. You learn to accept the silence and cease to be human. My loss is great, my gain is small. But those are human terms. I got to see hundreds of stories, some more boring than others, none as interesting as you. And that is enough.’ The Outsider began fading out and Corvo knew it was time to get back into his world, back to that tower full of dead memories and living shadows. But before he departed fully there still was this voice- this luring voice promising what Corvo had hoped for: ‘For your sake I hope the rest of your story will be uneventful and you won’t need my guidance. But know that I will always be watching and always be listening with great interest.’

[walkineternity]

Day 2: Explosion

(Dishonored)

Corvo’s foot slipped on the edge of the roof as his blink landed him just short of where he wanted to be. Namely, on the roof. Luckily, he managed to catch the ledge with his fingers on the way down.

“Wait! There he is!”

 Shit. He hauled himself onto the roof, but not before the overseers found him again. He could hear their shouts below and knew he had to get away quickly. He clenched his hand in preparation for another blink, power building, and looked around frantically for another rooftop.

 There! He took off at a run, trying to stay close to the rooftop so they couldn’t shoot at him, and was just about to blink away when a grenade landed close to him. He didn’t have time to react before the world went white.

 …

 …..

 He woke to pain. This wasn’t new to him. Every day for the past six months he awoke the same way. His world felt like it was on fire.

 “Oh, dear. What a terrible mess you’ve made.”

 He cracked open his eyes and looked into the young face inches from his own. They seemed to be…in a dumpster? He couldn’t make out very much.

 “I mean, a mess of yourself. That grenade almost blew you into tiny, little bits. How fortunate you were just far enough away it only knocked you off your feet and off the roof. And then fortune smiled upon you again, for the garbage and filth in this dumpster managed to break your fall.”

 Corvo did not feel very lucky at all.

 He tried to move, to sit up, before anyone found him here. Well, anyone other than the black-eyed God that was currently hovering over him.

 Tried, being the operative word. For when he moved, the sharpness of the pain stole his breath away and his mind decided to go away for a while.

 …

…..

 When he came back, the pain had dulled to a softer ache, and cool hands were running through his hair. He could feel tear tracks on his hollow cheeks. He didn’t know where his mask went.

 “Really, dear Corvo, how do you expect to save your little Empress when you can’t even take care of yourself?”

 The Outsider’s words were not comforting, but the hand in his hair was. He didn’t hear anyone outside the dumpster and the world was actually quiet for once. This did not encourage him to move.

 “Perhaps if you just rest a while, you would feel a bit better, hm? I would not think you need to move just yet.”

 Corvo squinted up at him, sure he was reading his mind. The Outsider laughed, and he almost looked…amused.

 “Well, how else am I going to have a conversation with you, my dear?”

 He pursed his lips and let his eyes wander from the Outsider’s own, and knew the whale god to be right. The hand paused in its ministrations and slowly made its way down to cup his cheek. He couldn’t help but to lean into the touch.

 Not many people touched him without the intention to harm him, these days. Well. No one did. Not a single drop of comfort in a very long time. And here he was, lying in a dumpster, after an explosion knocked him off a roof, not quite dead, but mostly there anyways, and being offered a little relief from a very old god.

 He could weep at the kindness.

 Actually, he could feel the tears welling up and willed himself not to break down then and there. He still had a job to do. He needed to find Emily. He needed out of this dumpster.

 “You won’t give up, will you? This world has shown you how cruel it can be, it has beaten and tortured you. It has taken away those you love and has twisted and corrupted those around you. I see these things happen every day, for a very long time. I see….so many things, Corvo. And yet. Here you are. Heart bursting with such fierce love, such determination. Your bones are weary, but you still pull yourself up onto the ledge, yes? You still believe you can save her.”

 Corvo looked back up into his black eyes with steely determination. Of course. He could think of no alternative.

 The Outsider’s hand slipped down and grabbed his chin, tilting his head slightly as if to get a clearer look at him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, for an eternity.

 Finally, the Outsider released him and patted him once on the chest. His voice, when he finally spoke, was filled with something akin to wonder. “You truly are a fascinating creature, my dear Corvo. Try not to find yourself in front of any more grenades, yes? It would be a pity to end your story too soon.” Here he paused to consider, “Well, your bones would make the loveliest little charms, but I can be patient. You have a lifetime ahead of you.”

 And with that, he was gone. Corvo lay there a moment more, trying not to think that his lifetime would be a lot shorter if the overseers found him again. Then, slowly, but with that same determination as before, he sat up to take stock. He seemed to be moving okay, and with less pain. Perhaps another gift. Or perhaps courtesy of all the elixirs he’d been drinking lately.

 Ah. His mask was beside him along with any gear that might have fallen off. Sound had seemed to filter back in and he could hear a few rats scurrying outside the dumpster’s open lid and some voices in the distance. Far enough away that he wouldn’t be spotted getting out of the dumpster.

 He gathered his stuff and put his mask on. Okay. Time to carry on.

[tveckling]

334. Loved by a god

For @dreamingofketchup AO3

The first time Corvo truly felt the god's heavy gaze settle on him was when he had the High Overseer's life in his hands—and decided not to end it. It was sudden; one moment he pressed the brand into Campbell's face with nothing but satisfaction at the screams, the next a weight seemed to settle on his back. He immediately looked around, using his dark vision of course, but there was nothing, no one else. Only the pricking sensation of being watched.

The feeling stayed as he made his way back to Samuel, back to the Hound Pits and the loyalists, even as he threw his tired body on his makeshift bed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was immediately met by a pale face and two black pockets where eyes should be. The Outsider stood with crossed arms next to the bed, looming over Corvo with a small crease between his eyebrows, giving emotion to an otherwise blank face. The distance wasn't uncomfortable, had it been anyone but the god, but it was much closer than the Outsider had even gotten to him before. Corvo sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to face his visitor, and felt his eyebrows rise as the Outsider didn't move, even as their legs now almost touched. The way he stared implied that he didn't even notice. "You spared his life," the Outsider said, with a note of—something—in his otherwise monotone voice. "There were plenty of ways you could have dealt with this man, this man who brought you so much suffering, but most of them led to his death by your hand. I knew there was the chance of you sparing him, but... frankly, I didn't consider it." He tilted his head, and his eyes seemed to burn even deeper into Corvo. "Yet here we are. The High Overseer, a pariah and doomed to an existence lesser than most animals—but still alive. I wonder, how else will you surprise me from now on?" Taken aback by the Outsider's words—Corvo hadn't even thought the god was capable of regular human emotions like surprise—Corvo only shrugged in silence. The two of them looked at each other for a handful of seconds, then the Outsider's lips twitched. It might have been a smile, Corvo thought, but it was gone too quickly for him to decide. The Outsider breathed out and nodded once, more as to himself than at anything Corvo might have done. "It will be a pleasure to find out. I'll be observing you, Corvo. Very closely." That at least explained why he felt like he was being watched, Corvo thought as he opened his eyes in his real bed a breath later. Despite the very short time he had spent in the Void he had slept a long time in real life, as evidenced by the sun's rising state, and there was not a shred of exhaustion in his body. While he got out of bed—for the second time in what felt like as many minutes—he considered whether he should try to contact the Outsider again, tell him that he didn't want to be watched. Corvo was used to the shadows, used to people's eyes focusing on other people or objects rather than him; the thought of being in the focus of someone's attention was unnerving. But even if he did find a shrine, would the Outsider listen? It was unlikely, Corvo thought and walked downstairs where the Admiral already waited for him. He would just have to deal with it. ----- It wasn't easy to get used to the feeling of always being watched. After his next mission Corvo felt more worn out than he could ever remember being: he wasn't able to relax for a moment, even as he hid on top of a roof where he was positive no one could see him; he kept forgetting who was watching him, resulting in several situations where he nearly exposed himself to guards far too early in his belief that they had seen him; and he kept making silly mistakes, like misjudging jumps or missing shots he should have managed to hit in his sleep. In the end he managed to get the safe combination for Slackjaw, thereby taking care of the Pendleton twins, and rescue Emily. If only he could have had time to rest. Instead he was sent on the next mission immediately, despite the weariness weighing down his bones. He didn't complain or protest, knowing that the job needed done and he was the only one who could do it. Samuel only nodded in understanding when Corvo made himself as comfortable as possible in the boat and closed his eyes. Any rest was better than none. He must have managed to fall asleep, however, because the sounds around him changed, shifted in ways that he tried not to think about. As he took a breath he found the air at once both clearer than anything possible in Dunwall while also denser than any air Corvo had breathed. When he opened his eyes he wasn't surprised to find the unending blue of the Void around him. What caused him to raise an eyebrow was the fact that he was still in Samuel's boat, but in the place of the old man sat the Outsider, his dark eyes fastened somewhere far away. "Your mission was a success; the young Empress has been saved and the twins have been delivered a punishment for their crimes. Some might call their fate cruel, others might call it merciful. I find it fitting." The Outsider turned to Corvo, his lips tightening. For a second Corvo thought he looked unsure, but the moment passed. "You now face another challenging task, one that require much strength. I don't want to take much of your time, but I would advise you to focus. Don't think about what isn't there." The comment made Corvo snort, and he opened his mouth to tell the Outsider exactly why he had found it hard to focus during his last mission, but before he could get out any words the scenery blurred and he found himself being woken by Samuel's careful hand. The anger caught between Corvo's teeth fell away as he realized he was at full vigor again, like he hadn't spent the day exerting his physical and mental abilities. A gift, he realized with a start. Could the Outsider have realized the effect his watching had had, and was this his apology? It felt like a ridiculous thought, but still... ----- It got easier after that. At some time during the Boyle party Corvo realized the attention he got from the guests, even thought the couldn't possibly know who he was, bothered him far more than the feeling of otherworldly eyes settled on him. By the time he found himself back in the tower he had called home he found the feeling comforting; at least he wasn't alone in the moment, at least there was someone else who could see his pain and didn't judge him. When he saw Burrows, unguarded and unconcerned in his bedroom, Corvo wanted to kill him. There was nothing else he wanted more in that moment, there was pounding in his ears and  his head screamed at him to shed blood. His sword was already in his hand before he noticed it, and he prepared himself to jump down. A small push, a whisper of a ghost in his ear, got through the pounding and made him look down on his sword—his unblemished, clean sword. He had managed to get himself so far without killing anyone, whether they had deserved it or not. Emily—still so innocent, even after all she had been through—was waiting back at the Hound Pits; what would she say if she found out he had killed the man responsible for all their suffering? Would she be repulsed by Corvo's actions or would she be glad by it? The fact that he couldn't decide which scenario was worse made bile rise in his throat. He wanted what was best for Emily, no matter what it meant for him. She was the most treasured person he had left. Corvo hid on the second floor and watched the guards arrest Burrows, and the satisfaction warmed him. He still wanted to see the former spymaster's blood run, wanted to see the life leave his eyes, but this wasn't bad. All of Dunwall now knew exactly what kind of man Burrows was and what he had done, and Corvo had no doubt that he would get a fitting punishment. In the corner of his eyes he saw a dark shadow, a pale face with unending darkness for eyes. He thought there was a smile on that face, but when he turned to see more clearly the shadow was gone. Corvo huffed a chuckle and shook his head. It was annoying to get pushed out of the conversation every time he tried to say something himself, but he couldn't deny he was growing fond of the Outsider. He knew whose voice had whispered through the blood haze, and he was grateful. Maybe one day the Outsider would let him talk, and then Corvo could thank him. ----- "It... pains me to see you hurt." The Outsider frowned deeply, whether out of frustration for Corvo's sake or confusion about his own feelings, Corvo couldn't tell. He was too tired to think about it, the wound of betrayal still too painful, and he only closed his eyes. Let the Outsider's hands hold him close and ground him. A cold hand—cold, but somehow so comforting—moved across his forehead. "There were many ways the Loyalists could have acted. You, my dear Corvo, by your actions have created so many of them. I wonder if it would make you feel better to know that it could have gone so much worse. No, I guess not. But your Emily is still safe and unharmed, and there is not a thought in anyone's mind to change that, and that is only because of you. If you had acted differently... but you don't need to know about that. It's only the present and the future that matters, not the 'what if's or 'might have's." Corvo let out a weak snort and opened his eyes, looking up at the Outsider. "You like hearing yourself talk, don't you?" The Outsider didn't seem affected, only tilted his head. "Why would you think that?" "Because you talk so damn much." "Ah." The Outsider raised his eyes and looked out into the Void for some time, allowing Corvo to study him close. Finally he said, "Does that then mean you dislike your own voice, since you rarely talk?" Corvo shrugged. "Not really. Just don't have much to say." "That is a shame, since I enjoy listening to your voice." For a second Corvo wondered if he had heard correct, almost hoped he had, because he was having a hard time figuring out what to do about the fact that the Outsider, feared and terrible heretic God, liked his voice. There was too much going on, and he really didn't need one more thing to worry about, especially not this. Couldn't just one part of his life remain simple? The Outsider looked down at him and flashed a smile, an actual, proper smile that transformed his face into something warm and welcome, if so only for a moment. It wasn't like anything about dealing with a god could be considered simple, he decided when he thought about it. He would just have to deal with it later, that was all. There were other things far more important, he remembered with a pang. Emily needed him. The Outsider's hand stroked his hair again, and he mumbled softly, "There will be challenges, people who want to break you or hurt you, but I will always be watching you. You are never alone, Corvo, never again." It was comforting, more than he had thought it would be, and Corvo closed his eyes. He could rest for just a few more moments. The Outsider's hands were almost warm.

[souldiertotheend]

Cradlesong (Post-DH2, Corvo & Emily)

Summary: The conspirators have disappeared, Delilah has been defeated, and the throne is once again occupied by its rightful empress. So why does Emily refuse to look him in the eye?

Basically I wanted to write post game hurt/comfort. The word count is about 5k. You can also read it on ao3 if you wish.

Life in Dunwall chugged drearily along. In Delilah’s brief but tumultuous reign, she had directly and indirectly caused the death of at least a quarter of the city’s population. She had gleefully destroyed the infrastructure and let the Tower fall into incredible decay. It was a lot of work to rebuild an empire.

Amazingly enough, the empress didn't complain once. While after five hours of her imperial duties she would get fussy and escape to the rooftops, Emily now instead spent days in her office crafting decrees, or directly ordering the City Watch to help with rebuilding or chase the Hatters back into the dark corners of the city. She didn't appear to be sleeping and the dark shadows under her eyes complimented the new lines on her face. In those short months she had aged, bone tired and world weary.

When she revived Corvo, she helped him settle on the steps before her throne, his body too stiff and exhausted to be of any use. She told him how after the coup, a ship captain named Meagan Foster helped her escape the city, and that they headed to Serkonos to plan their next steps. She told him how she rescued Sokolov from the genius inventor Kirin Jindosh, and how she managed to eliminate Delilah’s allies without spilling their blood. She told him how she managed to trick Delilah and trap the witch into her own painting, oblivious to the fact that Jessamine’s child had outwitted her.

But Emily couldn't exactly meet his eyes and even now, with the danger gone, she avoided him. Maybe it was the trauma of losing everyone at once all over again. Maybe it was the fear that she nearly lost another parent. If Corvo was anyone else, he might have accepted that. But he was the Royal Spymaster, and her Royal Protector. He knew she was hiding something from him.

Corvo wondered where his daughter went.

At the empress’s request he led a group of City Watch into the Rudshore Financial District, to get rid of Hatter remnants and document the damage suffered. They imprisoned gang members with ease and searched condemned buildings.

In an abandoned apartment of a deceased book merchant, he found a shrine hidden in a broom closet. He leaned back and folded his arms, glaring at the Mark painted on the wall. "What? You won't speak to me anymore?" He grumbled. "You used to never shut up."

The Outsider materialized before him with a deadpan expression, although a hint of smirk tugged at his lips. "My dear Corvo, I did not know you missed the sound of my voice."

"Delilah took my Mark."

"I saw." He paused deliberately and tilted his head towards him. "Do you want it back?"

Corvo considered it. While he had never been very fond of the Outsider and the Void, the powers he had been gifted were damn useful. They allowed him to protect Emily countless times. And while Emily was grown and clearly capable of taking care of herself, it never hurt to have an edge.

He nodded.

The familiar burning sensation started on his left hand and the Mark burst into view. He flexed his hand, feeling the power of the Void in his fingertips.

"Suppose you had an interesting show those past few months," he said. "Watching Delilah sweep in and command everything. Doing her best to destroy an Empire." He glanced back up at the Outsider in time to see him narrow his black eyes at him.

"I do not enjoy seeing Delilah take over my realm and steal my power from me, if that's what you're asking."

"She did what?" Corvo stared at him in disbelief, and only then noticed the surliness in the Outsider's countenance. "I thought she wanted to rule over the Empire."

"Not only that," the Outsider corrected. "She wanted unlimited power, and a world tailored to her desires." Then the hint of a smirk morphed into a real one, sly and amused. "Do you mean that your beloved Empress didn't tell you? How fascinating. Your sweet little girl doesn't tell you everything anymore."

Before Corvo could press for more, the Outsider disappeared, faint echoes of black laughter settling in the air. Corvo grimaced before grabbing the rune and pocketing it.

In all these years he had never told Emily of his true power. He had figured it did not matter after the Loyalist conspiracy, since she was safe from Hiram Burrows and Admiral Havelock. Besides, it was a conflict of interest. She couldn't effectively work with the Abbey, knowing her father was a practitioner of the Outsider's magic. Now, he wondered how to bring up the subject of Delilah's true goal, without giving away his source of information. He knew that by now Emily must be aware of the fact that the Outsider and the Void were real, since Delilah beheld real, forbidden magic. Though in all honesty, he had hoped Emily would be ignorant of such things. Not just because she could be accused of heresy, but because she shouldn't have to worry about dark forces beyond their control.

It was foolish. She wasn't a child anymore. She proved that when she saved her own Empire. She didn't really need him anymore.

That was a troubling thought. He should be proud that all the training paid off. But Corvo was most content when he was needed.

A week after he regained his Mark, he appeared in her quarters. Feeling like he was intruding, he asked a servant to let Her Majesty know that the Royal Protector was awaiting her in the sitting room.

Instead Wyman appeared. "Lord Protector! It is good to see you are well!"

"Wyman." Corvo stared at them in confusion. He did not hear that the noble had come back. A failing for the Royal Spymaster. "When did you arrive?"

"A few days ago." Wyman's grin quirked to the side. "The Morley government held me hostage—not literally!" they quickly added at the darkening of Corvo's facial expression. "I was worried sick for Lady Emily. If not for her reassuring letter I would have gone mad."

"You... two kept correspondence during the coup?"

"Of course." Wyman frowned. "I was one of the few who knew what the Empress was up to."

"What did she tell you?" Corvo demanded.

"Nothing, really. Just to stay in Morley and that she had a plan to fix it. That was it."

It was easy enough to examine Wyman's face for any trace of deception. They were always too open, too sincere in what they truly thought. Corvo always thought Emily chose them intentionally for that. It was exhausting to be constantly surrounded by those who curried favor through any means.

Corvo nodded curtly. "Where is she?"

"Ah, working, my lord. I'm afraid she sent me here to get rid of you. She wishes to not be disturbed." Wyman gave him an apologetic look.

Corvo merely raised an eyebrow. "Don't take this the wrong way, Wyman, but I doubt you can stop the Royal Protector from seeing his Empress." With that he neatly sidestepped the noble and walked through the doorway Wyman was blocking, hearing a meek "Yes, my lord," from behind.

At the door to Emily's office, he sharply knocked twice before letting himself in.

From behind a large, ornately decorated desk, the Empress gave him a shrewd look before returning to her work, dismissing him before he even spoke. Corvo refused to entertain the thought of how much that surprisingly hurt.

"Emily—"

"You're overstepping boundaries, Lord Protector. I said I wish to not be disturbed and instead you choose to disobey an order."

"Emily, please. You disappear for months, and when you've finally returned you push me away? I don't see you anymore. And everytime I try to ask you about it, you tell me not to worry? That the details don't matter? Clearly they do, since you've changed so drastically!"

She didn't take the bait and for some time the only sound in the room were the scratches of her pen against parchment. She had raised an impenetrable fortress around her, and seemingly had not noticed any of his attempts to break through.

"Wyman's worried about you too."

"They're always worried," she said dismissively, never tearing her eyes away from her paperwork. "Now leave me be."

"But--”

“Please, Corvo. Just go.”

He inhaled sharply. "Very well then, Your Majesty."

"And take Wyman with you. They would only distract me."

He sighed morosely and nodded, taking his leave.

Corvo spent the rest of the afternoon with Wyman, seeing that they were both kicked out of the empress's chambers. They sat at a table on a balcony overlooking the gardens, watching the workers clearing out the dead plants. Normally the view would be pleasant and charming, but now its visage helped fuel his dark mood.

Wyman was fiddling around with the teacup in their hands. "Well," they said in a purposely cheerful tone, "I'll admit this wasn't what I was expecting." They smiled sadly. "She promised she would have lunch with me."

"She's acting oddly," Corvo grumbled. "Beyond what these circumstances would justify. Keeping me at a distance."

"Her embraces feel different," Wyman lamented. At Corvo's bemused expression, they hurried to explain, "Hugs, not-not that you're thinking of! Actual hugs!"

"Right," Corvo accepted easily, before attempting to change the subject. "You can't recall anything important she's said to you? Anything of note?"

"I'm sorry, my lord, but I can't think of anything that's helpful. Unless you find the status of her diet and sleeping habits helpful."

"Is she not eating as well?"

"When we had dinner a few nights ago, she refused to eat any pastries, saying it was too sweet. And she couldn't manage more than a few bites of goose. It seems she's gotten accustomed to small meals."

A side effect of being on the run, one he used to know too well. "As for her sleeping?"

"She avoids it as much as she can. And when she can't, it's always nightmares. She," Wyman hesitated, looking away. "She calls out for her mother, in her dreams. She won't talk to me when I try to ask about it."

Again, a reasonable reaction. Stress that caused her to revisit a painful memory.

"Oh! I almost forgot. One time, when she was caught between consciousness and slumber, she started to moan about a boy with black eyes. I couldn't figure anything else, she woke before she could elaborate." Wyman's self-satisfied smile wavered when they noticed the Lord Protector's sudden pallor. "Lord Corvo? Is something the matter?"

Corvo shook his head. "I'm just wondering what that's supposed to mean," he lied.

"It is strange, isn't it? I’ve spent many days pondering over its meaning.” They sighed. “I wish she would only talk to me about it.”

When Corvo bade farewell to the noble, he retired early to his rooms for the evening. It took far too long to drift off into nothingness, but his wish was granted when he next found himself in the Void.

It was different now. Harsher, bleaker, colder, even though the Void had always been merciless. He briefly wondered why, before pushing the thought away. That wasn't why he was here.

"Dear Corvo." He turned to see the Outsider leaning against a twisted sculpture that vaguely resembled a tree. The god was never exceptionally expressive, but Corvo could see that he was curious and amused at the unexpected visit. "You've missed me so soon!"

"You've been visiting Emily," Corvo said, straight to the matter.

The Outsider tilted his head. "Why so surprised? I've visited her as a child as well."

"And I told you then to leave her alone. And I'm telling you now to stop."

The Outsider was silent for a long while. For once he didn't seem to be mocking Corvo. "As you wish. I'll stop seeking her out. Would that make everything as it was before, Lord Protector?"

No, Corvo realized as the weeks passed. Emily kept her distance and would only converse with him as formally as possible if she was required to interact with him at all. And in that time he had finally started to accept the fact that, this time, he really did lose his daughter.

On the first day of the Month of Darkness, a grand celebration was held to commemorate the rebuilding of Dunwall. Though there was still much work to be done, such as developing oversight for the other isles’ governments and rooting out dissenters, the court decided an event would be good to uplift the citizens’ spirits. During the day, a procession ran through the streets, banners bearing Empress Emily I’s sharp gaze, commoners shouting and proclaiming their loyalty to Her Highness.

It was a rather frantic affair within the Tower’s walls, servants hustling to and fro. Banquet tables were being set and adorned in the Great Hall, with baked rabbits and grilled fish arranged in a visually appealing manner. The doors leading out to the adjacent garden were thrown open, the weather being an only pleasant chill this time of the year. Patio tables were wiped down and decorated with fresh flowers, and the court musicians were playing a calming tune.

For his part Corvo was taking note of every available entrance into the Tower, conjuring possible scenarios of how exactly the evening could go badly. He had the City Watch and his own spies posted at various key posts, outside and inside, and several guests planned to be his informants. It was the first major event since the coup, as Emily had declined to have a birthday celebration this year. While he wasn’t currently speaking to her, Corvo knew his daughter enough that she wasn’t too keen on having a party, but acquiesced in order to keep Dunwall nobility content. They wanted to feel as though they’ve made progress, that a political disruption wouldn’t happen, at least for a little while.

“Everyone’s ready,” Jameson said, striding up to Corvo who stood in the middle of the garden, surveying the area. Unlike High Overseer Khulan and other associates, Jameson avoided Delilah’s wrath as he was originally away on business in Tyvia, and decided to stay and lay low there as the Abbey launched their offensive. As soon as he heard the witch’s demise, he returned immediately to continue serving the crown. “The Guard’s about to allow guests in.”

“What have you heard?”

“Nothing. Silence. As far as we know, Delilah has no remaining allies. The ones who advocated her reign have all been quietly disposed of as well.”

It was curious how all of Delilah’s notable proponents have either disappeared or suddenly lost interest in politics. Besides Ramsey, who was currently serving a lifelong prison sentence in Coldridge, Jindosh had become utterly uninterested in his previous aspirations, Abele took a sudden interest in helping Stilton improve conditions for miners, and no one had heard anything from Curator Ashworth. And while Corvo knew better, and he knew Jameson certainly knew better, there had been no leads in the intelligence community of what really happened.

Corvo supposed that it was for the best. It would only be disaster if Emily and the Crown Killer were concretely linked.

Jameson continued, “On the small chance something does happen, it’ll be independent of the coup.”

Corvo said, “Check up on the new Captain, see if he needs anything.”

Jameson nodded before walking back into the Great Hall. Corvo was poised to head back inside, when he got the peculiar feeling of being watched. His Mark, hidden under scraps of fabric, hummed, confirming his suspicions.

He turned back to contemplate the garden. From their side the musicians paid him no mind, tuning their instruments. He glanced at the columns lining the center, too high and steep for any normal person to climb up on. He looked up. And there, at the very top, was a masked figure, crouched to be less conspicuous, watching him silently.

Corvo reached for his officer’s-style sword, a shout at the tip of his tongue, before he suddenly recognized the figure.

“Emily?”

He had no idea how she got up there. She could have jumped from the roof running parallel to the columns, but the distance was too great.

He was about to shout at her to come down before a guard arrived abruptly, demanding his attention for a possible break-in. When he glanced back at the column, she had disappeared.

“I thought all entrances were covered,” Corvo said in a flat tone of voice.

“Except for one,” the guard said gravely.

The “entrance” that the guard dragged Corvo to was a vent in the bathroom.

Corvo sighed, pressing his fingertips to his temples, tuning out the guard’s ravings. “Get back to your post.”

“You misunderstand, Lord Protector. A witch could possess a rat and travel through the vents! My uncle told me he knew a guy who saw it happened years ago!”

After enduring his diatribe for another five minutes, Corvo left the guard in the bathroom, the beginnings of a migraine starting to take hold.

Besides the scandalous actions of some nobles serving as fuel for court gossip, the party went on uneventfully. No witches were possessing rats this time, as Corvo moved between the guests, wishing them a good evening, and he checked up on his informants. The empress made an appearance at the beginning of the party to greet guests before vanishing. Corvo assumed she had retreated to a private area with her lover, until he saw Wyman by the banquet table, sampling the wine.

Corvo sidled up to a lax Jameson. “And Her Majesty?”

“Retired to her chambers. Claimed she wasn’t feeling too well.”

Corvo doubted that but he nodded anyway. He was too wound up to languidly watch the musicians and the dancers like Jameson, so he excused himself with the intent of patrolling the grounds once again.

On his second loop of patrol, he was stopped outside the tower by a worried guard, except this time around the guard seemed level-headed and with an actual concern.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but I overheard some suspicious guards chatting and I thought you should know.”

“What’s going on?” Corvo said.

“I heard them in the barracks, a group of six. Said they found a hidden passage to steal the tower’s riches. I was about to go inform the captain.”

Corvo waved him off. “I’ll handle it. Go inform Jameson to guard the safe room.”

Like Jameson had said earlier, the chances of an enemy like Delilah coming to cause chaos was miniscule, but it would still be best for the Royal Protector to investigate himself.

There were no signs of any guards at the barracks, as it should be, as all guards this night were to be on high alert and at their posts. He crouched, pressing himself up against the wall of the building, and leaned around the corner.

The group of guards were standing there, semi-hidden by the shade cast by the high walls of the tower, in the alcove at the far corner of the courtyard. They seemed highly agitated and their barely contained harsh whispers were increasing in volume.

“The drain is too small for people, you lug! The information you bought was shit.”

“Listen, we’re already halfway there, we can’t just go home empty-handed.”

“How do you think--”

Hatters, Corvo realized, by their accents and body language. They were fidgeting in their uniforms, tugging at the collars, uncomfortable with its tightness. Must have scavenged the uniforms from corpses during the coup and bided their time.

Corvo clenched his left hand, his Mark humming in anticipation. Six targets all together in one cluster, not likely to be moving away from each other any time soon. He had only two sleeping darts, and he’d prefer to keep them all alive to weed out the remaining Hatters.

Before he could make his move, however, three of the Hatters stiffened at once before dropping, all landing in a giant heap on the ground. The Hatter who had been yelling leaped back with a gasp, drawing up his sword. Another one spotted Corvo and shouted at him, gesturing at him, alerting his companions to the presence of the Royal Protector.

Using the sudden confusion to his advantage, Corvo blinked behind the one Hatter who hadn’t yet moved, swinging his arm around the neck and holding on as the man struggled. The man was out just as the remaining Hatters realized he was behind them. They moved closer to him, wearing twin expressions of determination, their swords unsheathed.

Corvo took out his own and motioned for them to come closer.

One darted forward and swung down his sword; Corvo blocked it and ducked in time to avoid the other blade. He leapt out of the way every time they reached for him, parrying their attacks. When their onslaught slowed for a few precious seconds, he reached inside his coat and pulled out his crossbow, firing a dart at the one closest to him.

The remaining Hatter bellowed in rage and threw the bottle he had at his belt right at Corvo’s crossbow, knocking it out of his hand. He rushed at an unbalanced Corvo, his sword nearly right at his neck, which Corvo managed to block right in time. Their swords locked and the Hatter grinned at him, feeling victorious in the belief that he was about to best the famous Royal Protector.

Corvo saw something, inky blue and purple, in his peripheral vision, but it was moving too fast for him to react. One second the Hatter’s snarling face was right next to his, and the next he was careening backwards through the air with a shout, the darkness wrapped tightly around his middle.

The Hatter landed next to a figure engulfed in the shadows of the barracks, a figure Corvo did not notice until then. The stranger quickly wrapped an arm around the Hatter’s neck before he could retaliate. Mere moments later the criminal fell.

Corvo shifted, readying his sword.

The figure stepped out of the shadow and into the moonlight.

Emily.

Corvo watched, stunned, as the inky darkness retreated back into Emily’s left hand before disappearing. From then it was only logical to figure out how the first three Hatters were knocked out. Emily did it, with witchcraft.

He stared at her. Her countenance had become unreadable, like it had once when she was a child, next to a destroyed porcelain statue, claiming to not know how it happened. Her eyes were much colder now.

She made a move as if to step closer to him, before pausing. “I would understand if you decide the best course of action would be to report me to the Abbey.”

His stare turned incredulous. “The Abbey. Me. Report my own empress, my own daughter , to the Abbey .”

“I’m a heretic now.” She waved her left hand towards it and he focused on it. And he felt like a fool. He had noticed her gloves earlier, of course, but he didn’t pay it much mind, even though before Emily wore them irregularly. He never entertained their possible significance.

He scoffed, shaking his head. Without much thought given to its possible implications, he pulled back the fabric covering his hand and lifted it up for her eyes. “Well I’m a heretic too.”

He wasn’t expecting her to roll her eyes. “I already know. Besides the endless rumors, I saw you using your ‘gifts’ when Duke Abele came to visit.” She tilted her head in consideration. “Thought Delilah took them from you though.”

“Our generous friend decided to regift them.”

At the mention of the god, Emily’s eyes shuttered. She looked away from him and back towards the tower. “I should return to the party.”

Before she could disappear again, Corvo said, “So that’s why you’ve been avoiding me? You’re ashamed about being Marked, so much that you refuse to tell me?”

“Listen, it really isn’t any of your concern--”

“I thought we’ve always agreed to tell the truth, to always be there for each other. We’ve made an oath--”

“When I was ten! I hardly think it to be so binding.”

“I know that being isolated in Karnaca was not easy--”

Emily glared at him. “You don’t know anything about what I went through.”

Corvo wanted to laugh at the absurdity. Instead he gave her a gentle smile. “Emily, I’m the only one who has any notion of what you went through.”

And with that the rigidity in her stance was gone, her body slumped, as if she was too weak to carry her own weight. Her eyes lowered to the earth and Corvo was struck by her sudden submissiveness. She was never one to back down so quickly, to give up so easily.

“When I revived you from stone, I lied,” she said. “I told you I managed to not spill blood when I went after Delilah. But… I did kill. More than once.” She laughed bitterly, harshly. “I even felt righteous in it at first. I… know we spent most of my life preparing for this, but…”

“But it doesn’t prepare you for death,” Corvo finished.

“No, it doesn’t.” She raised her hands up and flexed them, staring at them. “The first night he visited me. Told me that he visited you fifteen years ago, back in the ‘bad old days.’ Gave me this Mark and a Heart.” She looked up then and noticed his stillness. “You had it too, then. Had her.”

He nodded. “Only for a few weeks.”

“I had her for months. Didn’t want to give her up, but I had to, in order to stop Delilah.” She gave him a melancholic smile. “I lost my mother a second time.”

He remembered back to when she rescued him. One moment he had been panicking, trapped by creeping stone, knowing that once again he was unable to protect his empress. The next Emily was right in front of him, unkempt and exhausted, but wearing a relieved expression. After she assured herself he was safe, she would no longer look at him. Her voice was flat beyond the exhaustion. He did not notice at the moment, too bewildered by everything else.

He should have.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Emily said. “I know it wasn’t really her.”

Corvo took a cautious step forward and then another when it looked like she wasn’t about to bolt. When he reached her, he carefully wrapped his arms around her. She let her head fall on his shoulder.

Sometimes he forgot how tall she was.

They stayed like that for some minutes, her shallow breaths turning deeper. At some point she returned the gesture, her arms squeezing him tightly, like back in the Hounds Pit pub, before he would leave for his missions. The silent “Please don’t leave me” hanging between them just like before.

Drawing a shaky breath, she pulled back and said, “I suppose we have a lot to catch up on.”

Thank you, he wanted to say. But he had a feeling if he pushed too hard, she would fly away.

“We should take care of this,” he said instead, nodding towards the bodies sprawled. “They thought they could get into the safe room.”

“Our absence made them overconfident,” she noted. “Don’t worry; they’ll learn.”

She walked back to unconscious Hatter she had taken out earlier, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him back over to the pile that was the rest of his gang.

It was at that moment that he noticed the folded sword at her hip. “You’ve had my sword this entire time?” Corvo had spent weeks scouring the tower and its grounds, interrogating guards and servants as to its whereabouts. He had been absolutely angry at the thought of a traitor keeping his sword.

She straightened back up and raised her eyebrows at him, a challenging look in her eyes. “I’m not giving it back.”

Well, better Emily than, say, Ramsey.

They caught the attention of patrolling guards and directed them to imprison the criminals for the night, until the Royal Protector and Spymaster came for a visit the next morning for a little chat. But in the meantime Corvo and Emily returned to the party together, side by side.

Remarkably, after the amount of liquor they’ve imbibed, Wyman was still mostly lucid. They perked up at the sight of the empress and her protector and hurried over to the two.

“Emily, Lord Corvo, this is fantastic, truly marvelous, to see you two together again. I’ve been so worried.” They sniffled, face turning red. “I truly feared you would never reconcile, that we would never again have breakfast together an-and laugh and gossip and--”

“Wyman, we’re in public,” Emily scolded softly. “We can talk in the morning, after you’ve slept this off.”

“But I’m just so happy,” Wyman wailed.

She shushed them.

They rubbed their eyes blearily, wiping away the moisture. “But,” they said, “we are going to have breakfast together, right?”

Corvo looked at Emily with a slight shrug.

Her smile in response was tentative, but he’d take it.

“Of course.”