Chapter 1: The Consequences of Mercy
It was supposed to be a celebration. All the Loyalists gathered together, even quiet Cecelia, although she simply lurked in the fringes with a bottle of Old Dunwall, ready to refill any glass as necessary, as they toasted and drank together.
Corvo felt it was a bit early; he had dealt with the traitors, but that didn't mean it was over. The end was in sight, Emily was safe and close at hand for Corvo to protect and there were few player left to keep Emily from ascending to the throne with all the pomp and circumstance awarded to crownings.
Corvo took the gut-rot brandy offered to him with a tense smile, his face tight in impatience and exhaustion.
He could feel the grime and filth clinging to his clothes from when he'd crawled through the river weeds to stay out of sight of the guards, adrenaline and the vindictive feeling of accomplishment still echoed in his veins from when Burrows' confession projected across Dunwall from the city announcement.
The folding sword clipped to his belt remained clean, despite how his calloused fingers had itched and trembled around the hilt when he caught a glimpse of Burrows. It took no small amount of self-control to stay his blade, but it was satisfying enough to see Burrows hung by the rat bitten rope of his own making.
Holding the glass close, but not taking a sip, Corvo had the sudden desire to Blink upstairs to Emily's room and wrap her in a tight hug. They were going home soon. As much as Dunwall Tower could be home after Jessamine's blood stained the gazebo and the shadow of her memory walked the halls. Returning would be a symbol, that they were healing and moving forward in her memory rather than despite of it.
So the man behind Death's Mask downed the alcohol without batting an eye at the burning sensation; Havelock watched him with rapt attention. The quicker they were done celebrating, the sooner he can visit Emily in her room and hopefully sleep for a few hours without interference from the Void or nightmares of her voice.
Within a handful of minutes, he knew something was wrong.
His head felt heavy, his thought moved at a glacial pace as though fighting through thick river mud. An odd tingling in his fingers and toes had him flexing his hands into trembling fists, his knuckles white and his bitten nails cutting into his palms, but he felt nothing except dull pressure. He rapidly excused himself from he presence of the loyalists, a ringing in his ears deafened any response they might have had.
Staggering up the stairs, Corvo clutched his head in one hand and tried to shake the approaching headache and the sluggishness in his limbs. Something was very wrong, but with the roar in his ears that drowned out his thoughts, he couldn't think properly.
Grey had begun to encroach upon the edges of his vision, vicious shadows that pawed restlessly, they bided their time for the opportune moment to strike. There was one thought that pierced through his clouded mind like a terrified scream.
Emily. He had to get to Emily.
He had to keep her safe.
He reached the attic room with all the intent of continuing out the window onto the metal walkway, but his legs gave out with a spasm and he fell to the floor.
The shadows pounced, and Corvo's vision went black.
Corvo was completely numb.
He listened uncomprehendingly as Havelock, Trevor, and Martin discussed their plans to use his cold corpse for further political machinations. For a long moment, Corvo didn't even realize he was conscious, let alone understand what the Loyalists were talking about.
Corvo blinked.
Something was wrong, but he couldn't remember.
Samuel was crouched in front of him, his mouth moving and his hand waving emphatically to articulate his point; his eyes seemed sad. But his words sounded like they were muffled through water, the wavering of his vision made it hard to concentrate.
An echo of a memory speared through his sluggish consciousness, "Mommy! Get away!" "Corvo!" Corvo focused, just enough to catch a few words.
"I only gave you half the poison. They were watching me and it was all I can think to do… I think you're strong enough to survive that. Hopefully, you'll wake up and find your way out of this cursed city."
Corvo's vision flickered, ears ringing in an echo of desperate scream, and he succumbed to the dull roar of the waves that smothered him.
"This was the one who was with the Empress when she died. Poisoned. Tyvian Stuff."
Corvo's vision faded in like a curtain slowly being pulled back. He saw, but he didn't comprehend. Whaling masks, leather jackets, long gloves; they seemed so familiar and Corvo's heart seized as if with anger, but he couldn't place why the sight of the two men made him so angry, desperate, blood-thirsty—
"It is as if there is a cloak around them, and I cannot see through."
Jessamine's voice whispered quietly in his ear, and The Heart beat, once, hard against his chest where it had been tucked away reverently.
With seemingly innocent words, it all came crashing down. Jessamine's scream as the assassins in whaling gas masks pinned him against the wall as their leader, Daud, skewered the Empress in front of her daughter, in front of him. The blood pooled around her body as she stuttered her last breath, staining and tainting all it touched. Corvo wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough, and she was gone.
"Mommy!" And her daughter slipped between Corvo's fingers and into the hands of the assassins.
Corvo's ears were ringing again, his eye sight swam and dulled as he relived the moment his life and Emily's life were utterly destroyed. Emily would never be the same. Corvo would never be the same. Without the steady presence of the beloved Empress, Jessamine Kaldwin, Dunwall would never be the same.
They may never recover.
"Amateur work. He might live."
"That's up to Daud."
His eyes slipped shut.
The Flooded District almost appeared as a sweet dream. The buildings reflected dully in the water, seemingly well-kept and strong despite the seawater that lapped at the walls and rotted through the floor boards.
The Rudshore District was beautiful once, until the barrier broke, until the Lord Regent turned it into a dumping ground for plague victims, alive or wrapped sloppily in bolts of canvas. Now it was the feeding grounds of the weepers and the desperate.
The sea was nibbling and tearing at the rotted flesh of Dunwall, soon all that would be left were bones.
A vague memory teased the edge of Corvo's mind as his marked hand trailed through the reflections of the once proud structures of the Rudshore Financial District. He had visited several times with his Empress, and once with Emily. There was a celebration to honor Jessamine and a great statue of her was going to be revealed. It was a bold and rather obvious political move funded by a handful of aristocrats, but the people loved a good excuse to celebrate their beloved Empress.
Emily was young and easily excited; she insisted on looking in a few of the stalls that had been set up for the day's festivities. She stated that as the princess she must know how her citizens celebrate; her silver tongue was just beginning to show. Jessamine laughed and sent her on with Corvo, while she dealt with the political obligations and sweet worded suggestions from the benevolent aristocrats.
Corvo held her hand through the crowds, a smile curling around the corner of his lips; Emily's enthusiasm was contagious and she was a ball of energy tugging insistently on his arm. A stout woman from a sweet smelling stall waved as they passed and offered a treat "for his adorable little daughter." Emily took a bite of the pastry, barely able to fit half the thing in her mouth, sweet juices stained her cheeks.
The treat in her mouth muffled her thanks and exclamation of joy, showering crumbs over Corvo, her court manners completely forgotten in the moment of excitement. Corvo smiled sheepishly and opened his mouth to apologize and thank the baker.
Seizing the opportunity, Emily shoved the rest of the sweet pastry into Corvo's mouth. The woman stifled a giggle behind her hand as Corvo proceeded to "thank" Emily and scatter crumbs all over her in retaliation.
Emily laughed joyously, a clear bell ringing beneath the bright sun, and Corvo grinned, his teeth still coated in sugary fruit filling.
The boat rocked beneath Corvo, banishing the bitter sweet memory, but the echo of her laugh seemed to reverberate in the air for a long moment. His stained hand ripped a tear into the idyllic vision of the former proud Rudshore District, of a simpler time where Corvo's only worries were defending the Empress from knives and guns.
The salt water felt thick and slimy against the palm of his hand, his fingers tingled with pins and needles. It was gnawing at his bones until there was nothing left.
His body was numb. His mind was numb. And he could do nothing as the assassins in whaling masks lifted him out of the boat.
In the end, everything would fall to ruin.
"I know a great deal, bodyguard."
Daud.
Corvo gritted his teeth, his hands shook.
"I recognize those marks of your hand."
You killed her.
"A gift from your friend, the one that talks to you in the dark. Talks to you when you visit his shrines."
You killed her.
"I've visited those shrines too."
Corvo willed his body to move. The sensation of burning nipped at his extremities, and a deep seated ache emanated from the core of his being. His hands clenched into a fist, his nails bit into his palm, but he felt nothing except overwhelming, visceral fury. The rage that tinted his vision dark, that made his hands tremble with the desire to wrap around Daud's throat, that focused his mind to a single piercing thought.
YOU KILLED HER.
"And I know what it felt like to shove a blade into your Empress."
He wanted to feel Daud's trachea collapse beneath his punishing fingers, yearned to feel the ghost of his last tainted breath, wanted to see the crushing fear and desperation in his eyes as they glazed over. There was nothing Corvo desired more than to see his rat swarm cruelly rip the flesh from Daud's bone until there was nothing left, to see him batted around like a toy until he was torn to shreds by the gales commanded at a flick of his wrist, to see him fall beneath the same Outsider's power he'd coveted for years to further his schemes to exchange coin for blood.
"But I don't know you, who you are and who you fight for. You're a mystery and I can't allow that."
Daud stole —destroyed, kidnapped, murdered— what he fought for. Everything he was, was for her. She was gone. But Emily —innocent, kind, clever child— was still alive. Corvo didn't fight for himself, he didn't fight for an ideal or petty revenge.
He fought for her. He existed to keep her safe.
Daud tossed his weapons deep into the Refinery, a dramatic gesture for an assassin.
Corvo felt nothing.
YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED HER.
Daud met his fiery glare with his own inscrutable gaze. There was a heavy blow to the back of his head and his vision faltered.
You killed her. And you will burn.
Corvo awoke in The Void and felt almost whole again.
The persistent shaking, the searing sensation, and the deep ache that penetrated to his bones had vanished for the moment, but he knew it was only a momentary reprieve, a gift from the Outsider.
Pipes, in the process of deteriorating and shattering faded in and out of the fog, a moment frozen in time. Or, not quite frozen, the violet lantern floating by his side moved slowly as if in the process of being knocked over, time moved differently in The Void.
Corvo stared out into the otherworldly landscape.
They had been close, so very close, to going home. With Burrows and Campbell both disgraced, there would have been few obstacles hindering Emily from ascending to the throne. Corvo should have noticed, Pendleton gained sway and prestige in Parliament with his brothers gone, Martin seized control of the Abby of the Everyman as High Overseer with the black book, and Admiral Havelock… well, he would rule as Lord Regent and take Burrows' place.
Corvo was meant to keep Emily safe. But he grew comfortable, he trusted those men who had conspired to rescue him and Emily, at least to a degree. Probably not as much as they would have preferred. In the rare down time between his tasks, Corvo would sneak into their rooms and search through their journals and audio graphs; there was evidence of mutual suspicion, nothing incriminating. Corvo soon forgot about keeping a close eye on the Loyalists when he rescued Emily from the Golden Cat.
It was a stupid mistake. And now he was paying for it.
Corvo stared down at his hands, biding his time until he had to search out The Outsider, who would, no doubt, become impatient if he waited too long. Emily would have been taken to the Tower by Havelock, with some half-cocked story about saving the Empress' daughter from the assassin. Havelock would replace Burrows as Lord Regent and Emily will be locked away to prevent an uprising until she can be suitable controlled by Parliament. She will ascend to the throne as a puppet, and the Loyalists will be pulling the strings.
Oh, Jessamine.
It was his fault. If he was smarter, faster, stronger, then he could have saved Jessamine. Corvo should have insisted he stay during the plague crisis, instead of seeking aid from the other Isle; he always knew she was too trusting. But he left, and allowed the plague crisis to fester with Jessamine in the center as he sailed for months around the Isles to beg aid from the reluctant Dukes and aristocrats.
Corvo should have stayed and protected her. Maybe he would have noticed Campbell's and Burrow's underhanded maneuvering or their attempts to manipulate her. But Jessamine was killed, her blood and final desperate plea forever tainting his moemories, and Corvo had nothing to remember her by except a twisted mechanical heart that whispered into his ear using her melodic voice. If he had done his job and protected her, Emily would be happy and dream of pirates and whales and adventure, instead of blood and violence and the horrific reality they witnessed each day.
In the end, the ones that suffered the most in calamity were the children.
"Here you are at last, in a ruined and drowning world."
The Outsider manifested before Corvo in a flicker of darkness, floating effortlessly above the uneven stone. His arms were crossed, head tilted to the side, and his eyes were as endless and dark as looking up at the wide blank sky and realizing just how insignificant a human life was.
He was an unwelcome sight.
"Held captive by the man who killed your empress, the assassin Daud."
Corvo clenched his hands into fists, the stain of the outsider's mark lay stark against the white of his knuckles. He held his tongue, vitriol pooling like acid in his mouth; it burned to be released. But The Outsider was not a benevolent God, he was an impartial and impassive judge, one who saw humans as playthings for entertainment, and he would not appreciate what insipid venom Corvo had to spit.
"Your friends poisoned you and dumped your body in the river. Did they do it to protect themselves, so no one would ever know what they'd done?"
Corvo must have appeared so desperate to the Loyalists, fresh from the nurturing atmosphere of Coldridge prison. In the beginning he'd refused to scream, the Royal Interrogator—that vile brutish excuse for a human being— had quickly dissuaded him of the notion. After days and weeks and months on end of the same excruciating routine —fists, whips on bruised flesh, knives, hours in darkness chained by his wrists, finish with the hot brands and the question— the only thing preventing him from signing his name on the damn paper was truth, vengeance, and Emily.
He had eaten out of the Loyalists hands as soon as they'd told him where Emily was being held, the moment they told him that revenge was a suitable rationale for rampage, the second they assured him that the truth held more weight than an elaborate conspiracy.
Pendleton had spoken to Corvo like a hound they had rescued from abuse and tamed beneath the promise of safety and security, dangerous but controlled. Martin directed him with a suggestion and a grim smile, always glancing back to his mark boldly displayed on the back of his hand, a warning and a promise. Beneath the kind words and comradeship, Havelock treated him like a feral animal, one he would unshackle to complete his dirty work, but a hound he didn't trust to not rip his throat out if he over stepped his boundaries.
They over stepped the boundaries the moment they dared touch Emily.
"Or was it because they were a single move away from controlling an Empire, and they knew you'd never let them manipulate Emily."
Power, land, laws, resources, money, trade, status and sheer influence over the Empire of the Isles would be in the control of a girl the age of ten—a small, fragile, little creature, so very susceptible to emotional manipulation.
It was a strong temptation, with only a single obstacle—a feral hound to be put down (wouldn't it be merciful, he was broken long before the tortures of Coldridge, he was shattered when the Empress' heart stuttered on the assassin's blade).
Dead eyes.
"Maybe none of these. Perhaps that's just the nature of man."
Pain —searing, burning, excruciating, agonizing, mind-numbing— overwhelmed Corvo.
He gasped, the thick pungent air pervaded his lungs like alcohol on an open wound. Gritting his teeth shut, the slick taste of rust filled his mouth, blocking off his airways. He coughed heavily in an instinctive attempt to dislodge the blood, but he only succeeded in dragging a razor over the remains of his skinned throat.
Fever twisted his thoughts, his vision. His head thrummed in time with his rapid heart rate, heat pooling behind his eyes and in his temples. The stressed muscles, still recovering from malnutrition and atrophy, seized and tensed and twitched intermittently as fire flooded his limbs.
Pain obliterated his thoughts, nothing registered beyond white noise and static and the shadows surrounding him. Corvo laid still, oblivious to the rats clambering over his prone form or the rough hewn stones that dug into his back.
There were whispers—shrill, overwhelming, accusing— all around him.
"Get Away! Mommy!"
"Corvo!"
She screamed. A deafening, desperate shriek that reverberated around the metal pit. Corvo clamped his hands over his ears and curled into himself, ignoring the acidic burning in his clumsy limbs as he tensed, but there was no escaping the noise.
Hearing it again was more painful that the poison coursing through his veins.
There was the distinct clack of heels on stone, and a pair of familiar boots entered Corvo's flickering vision. Jolted with gut-wrenching recognition, Corvo raised his eyes to face the one he had promised to protect.
Jessamine's hands were gently clasped behind her back, her shoulders were set, and her hair was twisted and pinned atop her head, impeccable and regal as always. Except for a great red stain, fresh and glistening even in the slanting light from the boards over his prison cell, and the dark shadows that clouded her face and expression as she gazed down at Corvo's prone body, her very own Lord Protector.
"Time and time again, faced with the ones who conspired to destroy me, you chose mercy over vengeance."
"You chose mercy, Corvo, but was it just, or was it vindictive?"
"My dear, Lord Protector: disgraced, dishonored, and a failure. You would be better suited as an assassin, a thief, if not for the fact that you are blind to the blood staining your hands."
Jessamine leaned down, the shadows loomed behind her, dancing like firelight, and placed a delicate hand on Corvo's cheek, wiping a tear that escaped down the side of his face with a sharp-nailed finger. Her hand was cold. She whispered, like all those moments stolen between duty and rest, secreted away between one breath and the next, a perverted parody of a tender moment between lovers.
"It was not mercy that stayed your blade, Corvo. Do not use me as an excuse for your choices any longer."
Corvo sucked in a breath, steadfastly ignoring the burning sensation in his eyes and throat, and turned his gaze from the sight. One sharp nail dug into the corner of his eye and Corvo flinched away.
"Do not blind yourself from what you've done."
"You're not her," Corvo gasped, the breath barely escaping his lips as a whisper. The Heart that was still nestled in his coat over his own heart, beat twice in quick succession, matching Corvo's rapid heart rate. Whether it was in reassurance or dissent to his statement, he didn't know.
"Oh Corvo, but I am. I am the Empress you watched die, the mother who felt her daughter ripped from her arms. I am the one you failed."
The hand on his cheek lifted, trailing a finger over his jawline to his chin as she tilted his head up. The chill of her hand was painfully exquisite against his fevered face. Her shadowed face met his gaze as Corvo opened his eyes.
Blood dripped onto his chest, thick and hot, from the gaping wound in her stomach. Corvo swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.
"Did you know what you've done? What your choices have lead to? Or have you closed your eyes, and blocked your ears to the consequences of the actions you've taken."
Corvo fought the temptation to do what she accused him of doing. He yearned to turn away from this wraith that materialized with Jessamine's skin. He wanted to close his eyes, cover his ears, and ignore her. Jessamine would never say this to him, right?
"Thaddeus Campbell, the High Overseer of The Abbey of the Everyman. I must say, I enjoyed the way you carried out his punishment. A heretic brand scorched into his face by one of the few truly Marked by the Outsider. The irony was lost on him.
He felt the prick of the dart in his neck, his familiar sword was in his hand ready to be sated on the blood of Captain Curnow, and then all that existed was the excruciating burn of a brand. The face of Death stared him down. You pushed and twisted the acid dipped metal, relishing the agony and fear in his expression."
Corvo stared in horror as Jessamine continued with her posture relaxed but still. The burning that emanated deep in his bones made it difficult to concentrate, to move, to do anything other than listen to the shadow of Jessamine. Her words rung true, and they were spoken in the same soft practiced voice she'd utilized in Parliament when defining an issue.
"No one listened as he screamed about the heretic in Death's mask. They rejected him treatment, withheld elixir and food for days as he was shackled in Holger's Square. Overseers he had wronged and aristocrats he had blackmailed would visit and whisper accusations and false promises in his ear.'You reap what you sow. You deserve a fate worse than death. You do not deserve mercy.'
Jessamine turned, the shadows embraced her as she took a step away from Corvo.
"Plague rats tore through his clothes and ripped off his toes. The overseers with their hounds and music boxes by their sides, watched the spectacle and laughed at the one who had risen to great heights and fallen further. The next day Thaddeus coughed, and the flies began to swarm upon his body.
They dumped him in the Flooded District, dropping his body with dozens of other wrapped in shrouds. He awoke with blood and river water on his tongue and bodies raining down around him."
Jessamine spun around, the shadows banishing around her and flickering, "You may see him again, but you will not recognize what he has become."
Corvo stared blankly at the ceiling, a few loose floor boards over a fox hole, a shadow fell over the opening, but he registered nothing. He tried to avoid looking at her. Jessamine's blood dripped onto the stone floor, joining the aged brown splatter of the previous occupants.
"Thaddeus' end was more brutal and vicious than any blade in the neck, and you still believe yourself merciful.
"Don't." Corvo didn't feel merciful, he never thought he was merciful in dealing with Campbell. When faced with one of the men who conspired to kill Jessamine, he'd felt overwhelming bloodlust and the urge to condemn him to a fate worse than death. He was ashamed of how he felt, but he was not ashamed of what he'd done.
"What about the City Watchmen that fell to your blade, or those who succumbed to a dart or arm around the neck. You dumped them in dark corners, hid them behind barriers and dumpsters."
"They were safe," Corvo mumbled in response, trying to defend himself. He'd spared as many as he could in his march, but even with the Outsider's gift he had been forced in situations that only concluded in death and bloodshed.
"Safe from what, Corvo, the plague rats, the other watchmen, yourself? When the next patrol came to replace them, they found their bodies ravaged by rats. There wasn't enough left to identify them.
Some men were found unconscious by their superior officer, with a broken bottle of whiskey beside them. They were reported and dishonorably discharged from the city watch. They begged to stay, even though the work conditions were deplorable and the pay was little more than that of a common laborer. The rations of Sokolov's Elixir and tinned food kept their families alive and healthy."
"Stop." The word fell weakly from his lips, and Corvo tried to concentrate on breathing through the burning in his chest and the fever behind his eyes.
"They went home, their plea went unheeded. The officers coveted the extra elixir for their own families, the children didn't know they were steal from the mouths of others when they complained about the bitter taste. For those families who lost their only source of income and elixir, they succumbed to the plague together. The children died first, and the parents joined the weepers that wandered the streets.
The fortunate ones awoke and staggered back to their commanding officer. The officer would brush off their claims or blame them from the hole in security. They would receive reduced rations, less elixir, and were posted close to quarantine zones. Most didn't last more than a week. Some will last months and wish they wouldn't as one by one they see their friends and family fall."
"Please, stop." Corvo begged. He'd never thought about what had become of those men he'd rendered unconscious in his blind march to unseat the Lord Regent, he was too focused on the end result, on Emily. She crouched down beside him, her cold hand returning to his cheek, the shadows shrouding her face pulled into what reminisced as a malevolent smile.
"Oh, Corvo, is the truth too much to handle? Six months at the hands of the Royal Interrogator, and you didn't speak a word, but just a few minutes with the ramifications of your actions and you are already begging for release."
"The Heart spoke, didn't she, about the men you left to the rats. 'The need for drink outweighs all else for this one.' 'This one thinks only of whores.' 'His father beat him. Now it is his turn to beat his son.' Did they deserve the fate you dealt?"
"And the others, the ones you abandoned to a fate of prolonged death. The heart spoke of those, too. 'He taught himself how to read.' 'When not at his post, he searches for his sister, missing a weak now.' 'The floods took his home and family.' Some of them had saluted you in the halls of the Tower as you passed, they had glowed with pride when you nodded back or gave them a kind word."
"Jessamine…" Corvo curling away from Jessamine as she removed her hand once more, and attempted to ignore the fire coursing through his veins.
This was his judgement. This was his end.
A/N: Hello, Lovely Readers! Perhaps you'll be glad to know that this little series is finished, just needs some polishing and editing, and a (sort of) sequel is in the works! In the end it should be 15,000 words in 3 chapters. I'll be updating every week on Saturday. Also, for the sake of my story, Emily was upstairs asleep when Corvo came back to the Hound Pits after the Burrows mission.
As always, let me know what you think. Comments and Critiques are appreciated.
Thanks for reading! -Rezz