A/N: Weeeellll, I started playing Dishonoured last week. Not my best idea, because I had to stop again two days later in order to write an essay – and dear God, I did not want to stop. I adore this game and I'm finally going to get to play the rest of it when I get home from University this weekend. In the meantime, my brain's been hugging itself and squeeing quietly with excitement in a corner, which is very distracting, not to mention frustrating when I don't have access to the game. xD So lo and behold, this one-shot was born. Hope you enjoy.
P.S. Corvo and Emily are adorable. Just sayin'. :P
Disclaimer: Don't own the game.
Her Mother's Wolf
Wolf was what her mother had called him.
She thinks sees it now, although she didn't when she was younger. Six months younger. She was different then – less observant. Or maybe Corvo is different. It's hard to tell.
Either way, when he steps off the boat and removes the mask, she looks at him and sees. To her, he has always been Corvo – steadfast friend and companion, forever willing to play any game she wanted, to help her escape from the fussing of her governess, to listen to her childish worries with a gentle and accepting ear, to soothe her after a nightmare with his solid and reassuring presence.
But now, she looks at him and for the first time, sees what others see. A tall, broad-shouldered man with the fluid gait of a hunter. Intimidating, with his tanned skin and his dark hair that falls around his face – positively shaggy in comparison with the severe haircuts favoured by the nobility. His eyes are dark too, piercing, intense and constantly watchful.
Emily can see now what others see, but she doesn't waver. Because they don't see what she sees, and she doubts they ever will; because Corvo softens only for her.
And Mother. But she's determinedly not thinking of that, because it makes it her chest hurt and her eyes blur, and it occupies her unconscious mind too often at night to spend her waking hours dwelling on it too.
He is dangerous, she realises now, perhaps more so than ever, but she does not waver.
Wolf, she thinks as she looks at him, but also, friend.
xxx
He doesn't know what to make of the Outsider and that worries him more than he cares to admit. He was never a devotee of the Scriptures, but he had hardly been what they would have branded a heretic either.
When he wakes in the Void and the Outsider is there, with his flat black eyes and his talk of interesting, Corvo is too numb to care much about the 'gift' he has been given. It is only later, when he is looking at the brand mark, that it dawns upon him what has happened. It is not until his new abilities allow him to ghost his way through a street of Watchmen without their slightest awareness, that it dawns upon him that he should be worried.
The Outsider is evil.
The Outsider has given him abilities without which his task would most likely be impossible.
The two ideas do not sit comfortably together.
xxx
He is different, she supposes. But that's not surprising. He had always been a man of few words but they are even fewer now. Not by choice, either. Corvo had refused to respond to her horrified enquiries on the subject, but it had been impossible for him to conceal it entirely. His deep, smooth voice had become low and rough, a painful rasp that sounded like a blade scraping across a whetstone.
His time in Coldridge had not been easy.
xxx
Once the numbness wears off, and the shock after that, he takes the development in stride as he usually does. Admittedly, supernatural powers are not a usual development, but his legendary unflappable calm serves him well in helping to adjust.
There is a part of him, a part of him that he does not deny exists, that revels darkly in the newfound power. The thrill of satisfaction as he blinks out of existence and reappears high overhead, leaving confusion and anger in his wake. The feeling of superiority. He is an apex predator now, without a shadow of a doubt. None can stand against his formidable skill, backed up by sorcery.
The majority of him, though, remains practical and wary of the power that has been bestowed upon him. He has never taken the word of the Overseers at face value, but it impossible to say that the Outsider is completely benign either. Not after what he has seen at the shrines dedicated to the entity.
But the madness and death caused by proximity to the bone charms and runes seem reserved for those who do not bear the mark, so he tucks the information away in his mind and concentrates on the relevant effects instead – specifically the wells of power that have opened up within him which sing with the voice of the Void, beautiful, seductive, destructive.
But he maintains his calm, channelling all the newfound power into shadow and stealth and ignoring the siren song of the more brutal, destructive magic available to him. He avoids killing the Watchmen who are simply doing their jobs, blinking to the rooftops or slowing time to allow him to dart past them and regain the safety of the shadows. When it is unavoidable, he does not hesitate to end their lives, but remains mindful of the propensity of bodies to both spread the plague and attract unwanted attention. A flex of his will dissolves them into ash and the wind carries the evidence away into the night.
The Lord Regent and his allies are a different matter. For wrong done to him and Jessamine and Emily, he cannot bring himself to hold back. They are the only ones he sets out to kill and the only ones whose deaths spark a grim pleasure within him.
xxx
There's a new anger in his eyes and in his voice, low and smouldering, invisible and inaudible to anyone who does not know him. Emily only catches glimpses of it, when he is talking to Admiral Havelock or Lord Pendleton. They are unaware, seeing only his impassive, stoic face and hearing only his low, rasped, inflectionless comments.
She can only be glad that her presence is a comfort. She knows this because all traces of the anger vanish entirely when he is in her company.
xxx
He watches from the shadows above as the wine glass smashes on the floor. High Overseer Campbell dies choking on his last, furious words as the poison shuts down his vital organs and Captain Curnow is left standing in shocked bewilderment. It does not take long for him to recover, however, and the Watch Captain dashes from the room, calling for the guards.
You're welcome.
Corvo blinks down to the body and back up to his perch in a matter of seconds, the black book safely ensconced in the pocket of his overcoat. He slides easily through the open fanlight above the door and blinks across to the top of the nearest chandelier. The hallway below is swarming with guards but he is undaunted, keeping an eye on them only out of caution and not out of any sense of real apprehension. For some reason, no one ever seems to look up.
xxx
She watches him leave from her tower, stepping onto the boat clad in his usual unobtrusive dark grey, pulling the hood up over his face and donning the mask. The leathers look more battered with every excursion but Corvo seems utterly comfortable, wearing them like a second skin.
Emily scowls as she watches Samuel's boat pull away from the Hound Pits Pub. The ragged hole near the hem of his overcoat irritates her in particular, because it reminds of her sewing instructor, upon whom Mama insisted she learn from; Mama, whose face had remained stern but whose eyes had become warm with affection and laughter when confronted with an irate seven-year-old who wanted nothing to do with anything as boring as sewing –
Emily retreats into her room and does not come out until Corvo returns.
xxx
Possession is always disorientating and downright frightening the first time he tried it. But the rage that burns within him at realisation that Emily has been kept in a whorehouse for the past six months is more than enough for him to overcome his dislike of the ability.
His consciousness parts from the fish and he rises, dripping wet, behind Morgan Pendleton; the courtesan cries out in shock at the sight of dark apparition over her client's shoulder. The man is only beginning to turn when Corvo's blade stabs down savagely through his shoulder, and then slashes across his throat for good measure.
Heady, dark satisfaction swims through him, soothing his fury, before the screams of the courtesan break through the haze. He half-turns, bloodied blade in hand, to see her sobbing and cowering against the wall, looking up at him terror. He frowns behind the mask, suddenly aware of the sight he presents; tall, dark, leather-clad and blood-soaked, a hideous mechanical mask hiding any humanity from view.
A snap of his wrist brings his crossbow to bear and a sleep dart sends the girl into merciful unconsciousness. He wades past the corpse of the fish, bobbing gently on the water pink with Morgan Pendleton's blood, and unlocks the door, water streaming from his coat and pooling on the floor. He has another Pendleton to find, but his rage is gone, leaving only a sense of disquiet in its wake.
xxx
She looks up as the door opens and for a moment cold fear washes over her like a tidal wave. A man stands in the doorway, and she can only tell that by his broad, masculine frame – his face is obscured by a metal mask, cold and frightening.
Emily scrambles to her feet, unwilling to remain in a vulnerable sitting position. She is completely thrown by the unexpected appearance; she sees no one but courtesans now, and occasionally the Pendleton twins, although usually they seem content to ignore her for the most part.
This unexpected change is frightening but she lifts her chin and calls out to him boldly. "Who are you? Why are you wearing that mask?"
He reaches up and removes it, and her sudden joy is all the stronger for the fear that had proceeded it. "Corvo?!"
His familiar face looks down at her, dark eyes warm and the corner of his mouth turned up in that half-forgotten way, the break in that stoic expression that only she and her mother could provoke. "Corvo, it's you!"
She runs forward and throws herself at him in delight; he picks her up and spins her around like he used to when she was younger, before hugging her tight and then setting her down gently. She gazes up at him, shock and delight warring within her for dominance, and the first thing that escapes her mouth is the realisation that – "You're wearing a mask to sneak around, aren't you?" He must have escaped from prison!
Then the dam is broken and an uncoordinated tumble of words spills from within her. "They told me you were – Head chopped off, in the prison. Dead, like mother – But you're not dead, so now we can leave, I have a plan, I almost got away twice –"
He laughs a near silent laugh at her enthusiasm, a quiet huff more than anything, and as he picks her up and carries her out of her own prison, the knowledge that he came for her is a glow of warmth in her chest.
xxx
He is sleeping deeply when she first visits, although the sound of her voice is enough to waken him.
"Corvo…Corvo…wake uuuup…"
She giggles as he sits up fluidly, blinking sleep from his eyes and focusing on her. "You were making funny faces while you were sleeping."
He cocks a questioning eyebrow. She is adept at reading him and immediately hears his unspoken enquiry.
"I decided to nap here in your room, while Callista is taking a bath." She looks a little sheepish, scuffing her shoe on the floor. "She said that I should run here if there's ever trouble," she adds hopefully, as if this will grant permission to the implied request.
"You can stay here whenever you want." His voice is a hoarse rasp, both from sleep and mistreatment, but her face lights up with joy and the expression is more than enough to make him forget the discomfort of speaking.
"Callista will come get me when she's done with her bath," she promises, beaming at him. "Thanks, Corvo. It makes me feel better."
He can't think of anything that would have made him refuse her.
xxx
It becomes a comfortable routine over the next few weeks. She slips into his room whenever she can escape from Callista, be it first thing in the morning or last thing at night. She wakes him as the sunlight streams in through the dirty windows by bouncing on the bed and then laughs at his disgruntled expression. She slides in through the open window as the sky deepens to indigo and he is writing at his desk in the warm yellow glow of candlelight, looking up and giving her his slight smile as she launches herself at him for a hug.
Most days she is content to curl up on the battered sofa in the corner of the attic room, reading whatever boring book Callista has assigned her, and just relax in the warmth and security of his presence.
It feels safe.
And she would never take that simple sensation for granted ever again.
xxx
He hates to leave her but there is work to be done. He watches the Hound Pits Pub recede into the distance and the feeling of unease grows.
Not safe.
It is a gut-level feeling. He knows intellectually that the Pub is as safe a haven as Emily could hope to find, but a more instinctive part of him will not relax until she is under his immediate protection.
Get the work done and then you can return to her.
He takes his own advice, however unhappy it makes him.
xxx
She knows that he has to leave but that doesn't mean she has to like it. She also knows why he leaves and it makes her wish he could just stay with her all the more. The people who imprisoned her and killed her mother now control Dunwall, and she will not be safe until they are dead. This much she picks up from the servants' chatter around the Pub and she wishes miserably that Corvo did not have to kill for her.
It is a heavy weight on top of everything else but whenever Corvo steps off the boat and removes the mask, it falls away like so many of her other troubles do in his presence.
He is dangerous, she knows. But it not until the day after he returns from Lady Boyle's party that she realises just how much.
She follows him from the Pub as stealthily as she is able, gleefully planning to jump out and surprise him when he least expects it, when she sees it. He halts in an abandoned street not far from the Pub, his coat flaring out around him. For a moment she thinks she has been spotted and sighs in disappointment, but the sound catches in her throat at what happens next.
The odd, vaguely familiar tattoo on the back of Corvo's hand – one which she had enquired about in the past out of passing curiosity and had been gently rebuffed – suddenly blazes with light, white tinged with gold and green. She cries out in shock when Corvo melts into thin air, and then a flash of movement high above catches her eye. She looks up to see that he has reappeared on a balcony two storeys up and the sound of her voice causes him to look down. His eyes widen in dismay at the sight of her and he abruptly disappears again, before reappearing right in front of her.
She trips back in shock, staring at him, wide-eyed. "Corvo, that – that – what you did – that was magic!" Something clicks in her mind and she suddenly remembers why the tattoo seems familiar. A long-forgotten lesson on religion and more specifically, heretics, swims up out of her memory. "That…that's the Outsider's mark, isn't it?"
His expression is stricken and it's the most obvious display of emotion she can ever remember seeing on his face. He reaches out towards her, then seems to think the better of it, retracting his arm quickly again.
"Corvo?" her voice wavers uncertainly and it only makes the anguish in his eyes more pronounced. Breathing in deeply, he gives a quick, jerky nod.
Yes.
xxx
Corvo had thought he was numb to pain by now. In the months after Jessamine's death, he had thought he had completely plumbed the depths of every physical and emotional pain known to man.
It is therefore an unpleasant surprise to for him to realise he can still find new ways to be hurt. The fear in Emily's dark eyes hits him so hard it feels as though his heart is physically being wrenched in his chest.
Don't look at me like that! he wants to cry out. I will never harm you, not ever! That has not changed and it never will! But his damaged throat has dried up and he cannot force a single word past his lips. He tries desperately to communicate with just his eyes. I am your protector and always will be.
"Corvo…" her voice cracks. "Corvo, what were you thinking? That's so dangerous! People are going to brand you a heretic!"
…What?
She breathes in quickly and then rushes forward, hitting him on the arm reproachfully. The light blow glances off his heavy leather coat. "The Overseers will call you evil just for consorting with the Outsider! They'll take you away and execute you!"
Her voice is rising as she gets more upset and Corvo's instincts kick in, taking over from his brain which is floundering in shock, stuck on the realisation that she is afraid for him, not of him. He quickly gathers himself mentally, then drops to one knee in front of the distraught girl and looks her steadily in the eye. "I won't leave you, Emily," he rasps, ignoring the pain in his throat. This is far more important. "Not now, not ever. Unless you command me otherwise, I will remain by your side, always."
And any Overseer who tries to remove me will regret it deeply, he adds mentally.
She sniffled and threw herself into his arms. "I'll never, ever tell you to leave, Corvo." Her voice was both fierce and choked with unshed tears. "So you have to stay with me."
"As you command, my Empress." The slight teasing was entirely automatic, reminiscent of happier times, and she thumps a fist against his shoulder, a watery smile on her face.
"Don't call me that. I'm not an Empress."
He rises, still holding her tightly. She burrows deeper into his coat and his arms tighten protectively in response. "Not yet anyway," he rasps.
She growls a little and hides her smile in his chest. "Don't remind me."
He laughs, a quiet huff of air, and begins the trek back to the Pub. His burden of his task is as heavy as ever, but he feels lighter than he has done in a long time. The dull ache of loss and misery that has sat constantly in his chest since that fateful day is all but gone, and in its place, glows the warmth of her trust.
xxx
She is nearly asleep when Corvo deposits her gently in her bed, waving off Callista who has been anxiously awaiting their return. The emotions of the day have worn her out and she yawns enormously as the two adults exchange words over her head, the sounds blurring into a low, nonsensical murmur.
She tries to keep her eyes open but exhaustion is winning the battle. Then a gentle hand brushes over her hair and she manages to force open her eyes one last time. Corvo is framed in the doorway, the light from the setting sun washing him in red and casting him in shadow. For a minute, she sees what others see, the intimidating man with the deadly skills, the assassin, aided – as she now knows – by sorcery.
Then she blinks and he is Corvo again, with the warmth in his eyes that is just for her, and the upturned corner of his just-there smile. "Goodnight," he says, her guardian, her friend, and closes the door quietly and considerately behind him.
Her eyes slide shut and she slips into sleep, safe in the knowledge that nothing will harm her while he stands guard.
He is her mother's wolf, and he will protect her.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed that as much as me. xD
Also reviews are delicious, if you would be so kind. I haven't eaten yet this morning. ;)