A/N: Only a month's wait? What is this?! But yes. Here is the end.
Garrett awoke to the unfamiliar feeling of a soft bed and clean, warm linen. For a while, he lay still, embracing the feeling, not wanting to open his eyes and relinquish the first true peace he'd had in a very long time. But, relinquish he did, forcing his eyes to open with some difficulty, and he raised his head.
He was in a large, exquisitely furnished room. It was minimalist in design – something that seemed to be a general feature of Dunwall housing – and there was a lack of anything personal on the various chests and tables. Several crates were piled into one corner, next to the bed, on Garrett's right. He could also see an outline on the wall where a painting had once hung; he briefly wondered why it had been removed.
The room was light, spacious, and had two doors. One of them was open; Garrett could see some sort of office behind it. The other was closed, but he guessed it led out into a corridor. A window to his left was open; sunlight was streaming in through it, bringing with it the sharp tang of salt-sea air and the sounds of seabirds.
He was in Dunwall Tower, he realised. The architecture was familiar.
"You're awake," a voice said from beside the window, and Garrett turned to see a tall figure extract itself from a chair near the bed.
Garrett had a half-second to wonder just how much time had passed while he'd been asleep, the change that had come over Corvo. Simply put, he looked happy. The tension that had been prevalent in his face, a tightness in his eyes and mouth and shoulders, gone; the tiredness that had hovered around him, also gone. He was dressed in clean clothes, and his right arm was in a sling; a bandage poked out from underneath his shirt.
"How-" Garrett began, but found his voice rasping and hoarse; it soon dissolved into a cough. Corvo moved, crossing to the nightstand by the bed, picking up a glass just of water. He swiftly poured a glass, and when Garrett's cough subsided, he reached over, gently helping Garrett into a sitting position.
As he drank the water, Garrett became aware of how much that movement had caused him to hurt. Every part of his body ached, like he'd been crushed by a few tons of rubble several times over. It was most prominent in his left shoulder and leg, but that was to be expected. Slightly unexpected was the slow throb in his ribcage.
"How long have I been asleep?" he finally managed, setting the glass down on the nightstand.
"Two days," Corvo replied, drawing his chair closer to the bed and sitting down again. "I was wondering if you would wake before Emily, today."
Corvo nodded his head towards the end of the bed – a couch of sorts resided at the end of it, and Garrett could see a small, dark-haired figure curled under a blanket.
"She has a gift for you," Corvo said. "Won't let me see it at all, but she said she wasn't going to leave until you woke and she could give it to you."
Garrett wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he turned his attention on the room he was in, instead.
"These are my chambers," Corvo said, forestalling any question Garrett might have had. "Or, they were. Apparently Burrows took offense to my design choices and had all my things put away and the room sealed." He gestured to the crates. "I suppose I should be happy he didn't burn it all immediately."
"Beware of spiders in the wardrobe," Garrett told him, recalling his return to Stonemarket after a year's absence.
"How-" Garrett began, before breaking off, attempting to find the right words to the question that was forming in his mind.
"What happened to your arm?" he settled on an easier question, instead, shifting in the bed slightly.
"A parting gift from the late Admiral Havelock," Corvo replied.
"Oh," Garrett frowned. "I don't remember that."
"It happened when you were scaling the lighthouse," Corvo said. "And after that you were… busy," he finished.
Garrett snorted. That was one way of putting it.
"Do you remember what happened?" Corvo asked, something like a hushed, worried, curiosity in his voice. Clearly he'd been wanting to ask the question for the past two days. "What- what did happen?"
Garrett was silent for a moment. He raised his left hand, examining it for a moment, taking in the faded scar on the back and the faint specks of dried blood that still remained under a fingernail.
"I- I picked up the stone," he began, closed his fist and let it drop onto the bed. "And I felt the Outsider. He- I don't know, he reached through me, maybe. Took the stone from me. And- and I could feel everything. Every brick, every stone, every person, of your city – and mine – they were all crying out and hurting. I couldn't do anything except listen. It-" he broke off as the memories surfaced clearer. "It hurt. Like someone stabbing a knife into everywhere, and twisting."
He said the last part quieter, looked down at the bedspread.
"I heard things. Saw things. Half of them, I don't even recognise. But it was all there, and all I could do was watch."
"You said things, too," Corvo prompted quietly. Garrett nodded; took a slow, slightly shuddered breath.
"They all wanted to speak. All had things to say. I couldn't stop them. If-" he broke off. "If that's what the Outsider feels all the time, I think I can understand why he lives in the Void, alone."
The Outsider had told them he was alone in the Void. But after what Garrett had seen, what he'd heard, what he'd felt; in comparison to the pain and the sorrow and the sheer feeling of countless people all clamouring for attention, that inescapable lonliness was preferable. It was the only salvation he could seek.
Corvo nodded, sitting back in the chair, an unreadable expression on his face. Garrett took another breath, tried to put something lighter in his tone.
"It's funny," he said. "Now I try and think of it, it's- it's like seeing it through someone else's eyes. I see it happening – I remember and feel it happening – but it feels like it was a long time ago, or even someone else."
He shrugged, wincing at the faint twinge of his left shoulder.
"I don't remember much of after," he admitted; frowned for a moment. "I – fell?" he hazarded, recalling something of the sort. Cold wind whistling around him, his outstretched arms reaching for something – white?
"Emily fell?" he tried again.
"Havelock leapt off the catwalk," Corvo said, something carefully neutral in his voice, "and took Emily with him. I- I tried to get there, but- but you-" he broke off, running a hand through his hair. "You saved her life. Leapt off after her and caught her."
Garrett was silent for a moment.
"Well, that doesn't sound like me at all," he eventually said, and Corvo laughed, a wide smile crossing his features. Garrett offered him a small one in return.
The silence that settled between them was somewhat comfortable, in its own way. A moment of peace after the relative chaos of the past week.
"Emily," Corvo said suddenly, admonishingly. "Weren't you told it was rude to listen to other people's conversations?"
"No!" came a small, protesting voice from the couch, as Emily sat up and faced Corvo. "Mother said that it was polite to listen when other people are talking!"
"Yes, but not by pretending to be asleep, " Corvo said, as Emily stood and faced him, hands on her hips, and a petulant expression on her face.
"Well-" she said. "Well, I'm going to be Empress, and if I say it's okay, then it's okay. I'm allowed to make the rules."
"She has you there," Garrett said.
"Don't encourage her," Corvo said immediately, and Garrett snorted.
"Garrett! You're awake!" Emily cried, as if she'd spotted him for the first time. She rushed past Corvo, throwing herself onto the bed and wrapping Garrett in a tight hug. The action surprised him for a moment, but he slowly reached up to gently return it.
"Ow," he settled on, as several more hurting parts of his body made themselves aware.
"Emily, be careful," Corvo said. "You know he's still hurt."
"Sorry," she said, sheepish, and pulled back.
"It's fine," Garrett said. "Although, can either of you tell me why my ribs hurt so badly?"
"You did fall from the top of the lighthouse," Corvo said.
"Okay," Garrett replied. "That sounds like me."
Emily giggled, before suddenly moving off the bed.
"I have something for you," she announced, dashing back to the couch she'd been sleeping on.
"So I'm told," Garrett said, watching as she retrieved a piece of paper from underneath the blanket.
"Corvo!" Emily protested. "I said it was a surprise!"
"Oh," Corvo said, quietly. "Sorry."
Emily huffed, but presented the piece of paper to Garrett with a somewhat nervous expression. He took it, painfully aware of the two pairs of eyes watching him.
It was a drawing, one drawn with the utmost care and attention that a ten-year-old could give it. Three figures adorned the paper; one was Emily, another Corvo, and the third was a small, dark figure.
"Is that me?" he asked, pointing at the figure. Emily nodded enthusiastically.
"See, I even got your eyes right!" she said, gesturing to the one dark, one light eye his figure possessed.
"No wonder you wanted another black crayon," Corvo mused, as Garrett raked his gaze over the drawing again.
"Why-" he began, "why am I flying?"
"You're not," Emily said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You're falling."
She reached over and turned the drawing in his hands.
"Oh," Garrett said, seeing now that the drawing was apparently depicting his and Emily's plunge from the lighthouse. She'd even drawn a rope attaching him to Corvo.
"Do you like it?" she asked, and Garrett looked up, turning the drawing over in his hands.
"I do," he confirmed – what else was he to say? She was a child – "I think it'll look very nice in my tower."
A grin split Emily's face, and she leaned forward to hug him again; gentler, this time, but no less forceful.
"You live in a tower?" she asked, and Garrett inwardly regretted mentioning it for the myriad of questions he was about to endure. "Is it like this one?"
"No," Garrett replied. "It's a clock tower. I keep only my prized possessions there."
"Is it the Dunwall clock tower?" Emily asked, "in- in-" she frowned for a moment, trailing off.
"The Estate District," Corvo supplied.
Garrett recalled seeing the clock tower in question upon their excursion to the Boyle party. It had looked more like an overgrown water tower with a clock pasted on it than any clock tower he knew. Dunwall did love its metal constructions, however – it seemed ready to tear down anything old and replace it with something new. Back home, things were just built on top of, and around, the older things.
"No," he said. "It's very far away from here. It- I'd draw it for you, if I could, but-"
"I could get things for you!" Emily exclaimed, practically leaping off the bed as she did so.
"Perhaps later," Corvo said, as the door on the far side of the room opened. It revealed Callista, who stepped into the room, a relieved expression on her face when she saw Garrett sitting up in the bed.
"Garrett," she said. "It's good to see you awake at last. We'd been worrying ever since Samuel brought you all back from the island."
Garrett had a momentary flash of relief upon hearing Samuel's name. Something at the back of his mind had worried for him when they'd left him at the Kingsparrow shore, but the boatman had apparently done his job of ensuring the island had remained isolated.
"I think it's time for somebody's lessons," Corvo said, turning his gaze onto Emily.
"But-" Emily began; Corvo held up a hand to silence her.
"Garrett will still be here when you're done," he said. "Your coronation is in two days. You need to learn what you're supposed to do."
Emily clearly wasn't going to win this battle, and she huffed, slowly turning towards the door.
"Go and find your books," Callista said, gently. "I'll bring us breakfast and we can eat before we get to work."
"I'll see you later, then," Emily said, and the sheer tone of defeat in her voice made Garrett snuff a quiet laugh as she left.
"I should go tell Sokolov you're awake," Corvo said, rising. "No doubt he'll want to check on you – I can get us some food, too." He crossed the room, to the door, and disappeared behind it.
"Callista," Garrett called, before she could leave. His gaze turned back to the drawing on the bed. "Am I expected to attend the coronation?"
"Oh, yes," Callista said. "You saved Lady Emily's life – you're one of the guests of honour."
Garrett swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat.
"Right," he said. "Well."
He doubted they were going to let him get out of it. And the Outsider, the black-eyed bastard, would probably enjoy it far too much to pull him out of Dunwall before the event. The Outsider had said he would return Garrett home, but he'd never specified when.
He looked up to Callista. "Could I trouble you to do something for me?"
It was stange, how a place Garrett had visited on a dark, cold night could look different in the sun.
Sokolov had declared him fit to move, and Emily had thus taken it upon herself to give Garrett the grand tour of Dunwall Tower. She'd had no lessons for today, apparently.
He didn't have the heart to tell her he'd already seen a lot of it before.
She'd spent the morning taking Garrett to the myriad of rooms in the Tower – he'd found the gallery interesting simply for the amount of money he could make from it – and they'd met up with Corvo (and some other familiar faces) for lunch. Corvo himself had said he'd been unable to attend Emily's tour because he'd had to deal with other, security-based aspects concerning the organisation of a coronation, a day from now. Garrett had wondered if he'd said no just to torture Garrett with being left alone with an exuberant ten-year-old.
During lunch (Garrett had been far to preoccupied with trying to figure out how edible the food was, much to everyone's amusement), Emily had stepped up to Corvo's side and whispered something in his ear. Whatever had been said, it made Corvo pause and turn to face her. His reply had been too quiet for Garrett to hear, but Corvo had momentarily glanced in his direction. After that, there had been something different while they'd finished their food; Corvo and Emily more subdued than before.
After lunch, the pair remained behind while the others filtered out of the room, bidding the three of them farewell as they did so.
"We- we were going to visit Jessamine," Corvo said quietly. "The- the former Empress. Emily wondered if you wanted to come with us."
Garrett had never known the Empress. He'd heard of her – from Corvo, from Emily, from Daud and his Whalers, from the scattered graffiti and conversations around the city. He'd seen a statue of her in the Flooded District, a painting of her in the Tower and had heard brief, vague descriptions from the Eye. He knew a lot about her, but would never meet her. She'd been buried here at the Tower, he'd learned, but this was the first time either Corvo or Emily had mentioned it. Maybe they'd wanted to wait until he'd woken, although he wasn't entirely sure why.
Garrett wasn't prone to sentiment. The dead were the dead, and while he understood other people had a need to find closure by visiting the dead, he hadn't been so convinced. After Orion and the Graven, and the creatures he'd encountered in Moira and beneath it, he'd wondered if death could truly be defined as when your body stopped functioning, or just when your soul left what was now nothing more than a moving husk that had once held a person.
Closure came from the mind, from yourself, not from a headstone or an urn.
But that didn't mean he would begrudge others' beliefs. He may not understand the need, but he understood the beliefs beneath it, the respect that he could easily provide for those who had come before him.
Your reputation was only as good as those who cared to know of it, after all.
Garrett looked between the pair – the sad, hesitant expression on Emily's face, and the better-hidden but almost lost one on Corvo's – and he thought he understood. They needed last a memory of Jessamine Kaldwin that wasn't one painted blood-red, stained the colour of her last moments.
"I'll come," he said, quietly; noticed the flicker of almost relief on Corvo's face and the tension in Emily's shoulders decrease.
Jessamine was buried under a gazebo in the grounds; Garrett recalled seeing it in the distance the night he and Corvo had set out to bring down the Lord Regent, Burrows.
The three of them were silent, gazing down at the headstone that proclaimed Jessamine as Mother to Emily, Empress to Us All.
"We met here," Corvo said suddenly, breaking the silence that had permeated around them. "I remember the day her father – your grandfather, Emily, Emperor Euhorn – introduced us. I was eighteen years old, and it was my first day in Dunwall. She-" he broke off, something small and sad in his voice. "She was nice to me. She didn't need to be – I was only there under orders, and I was a complete stranger to her. Probably a dirty one, too. But it wasn't in her nature to be unkind, or rude; she was- she was just kind."
"She was nice to everybody," Emily said; she grasped onto Corvo's hand. "Even when people weren't nice to her."
Corvo nodded; Garrett saw him give Emily's hand a small squeeze.
She died here, Erin's voice whispered in his ear. She died still thinking the best in people.
Garrett stepped forward, coming to stand next to the pair. He'd never visited a loved one's grave before – had never had anyone to visit. He didn't have words to say, didn't have a memory of Jessamine he could recount, or anything he could say that would likely make it easier for Emily and Corvo.
He reached into one of his pockets, and pulled out a coin, before crouching and placing it on the top of the headstone.
"In my city," he said, stepping back, "we don't have many traditions. If I'm honest, I don't really know what you're supposed to do with the dead. But in one of the older parts of the city is a grave; we call it the Watchman's Grave. People like me leave coins on it, for good luck. It- I know it's not the same, but- it's probably the most appropriate thing I know. I-"
He broke off, looked down for a moment, wondering if he'd made the situation worse.
"I didn't know her," he said finally. "But I think she would be glad to know you're both okay. And, well- maybe she'll be kind enough to give me a little luck."
He was surprised when Emily reached out for his hand, too. He gently grapsed it, and after that they said nothing more.
He awoke suddenly; the room was dark, silent, empty. Garrett had always been a somewhat light sleeper, perhaps even more so after his encounter with the Primal. He sat upright, wincing at the sudden movement, scanning the room. He had no weapons nearby, nothing to defend himself with, and no inclination of where Corvo was.
"Be calm," a voice said; muffled, curt, familiar. "I am not here to hurt you."
Garrett picked out a shadow in the darkness, silhouetted against what little light there was coming in through the window. They were tall, dressed in dark clothing, and masked.
"Thomas," he realised, as the Whaler stepped forward. He appeared to be alone, although Garrett couldn't fathom why the man would be here.
"We found this when we were sweeping the district," Thomas said, placing a folded bundle down onto the end of the bed. "I thought I would return it to you. As thanks."
"Thanks for what?" Garrett asked, hands curling in the bedspread, as he leaned forward to examine the item. Thomas had risked a lot just to return his cloak.
The shadow turned away, Garrett saw him shrug a shoulder.
"For sparing the men. For the advice, maybe. For- for Daud," he added quietly.
Garrett didn't speak, merely nodded his head.
"Will you be there tomorrow?" he asked, suddenly. "At the coronation."
He wasn't fearful of what would happen. The Whalers were assassins, yes, but they weren't reckless child-killers. They were also still reeling from the loss of someone who'd led them for several years. Someone who'd almost led them to ruin. They probably needed this coronation to go well just as much as Corvo and the rest of the city – perhaps the empire – did.
Thomas' head was bowed, and for a moment he didn't reply.
"If we are," he said eventually, carefully, "it will not be to fight. Only to watch."
Garrett nodded again, partly to himself this time.
"Good luck, Garrett," Thomas said. "In whichever endeavour you choose next."
He disappeared, leaving Garrett with a darkened room and the taste of ozone on his tongue, staring at the cloak neatly folded at the bottom of his bed.
"Please tell me you're not wearing that."
Garrett looked down at his outfit, a frown creasing his features.
"What's wrong with it?"
Corvo didn't seem to have a good answer for a while.
"It's…" he began, "not exactly appropriate."
"It's the only thing I have," Garrett retorted, looking down again. He supposed thieving gear wasn't the best thing to wear to a coronation, but Corvo was going to have another thing coming if he thought Garrett was going to change. The coronation itself was going to be bad enough.
"Could you at least leave the weapons behind," Corvo finally said. "The guards are nervous enough as it is."
Garrett sighed, slowly removing his bow and quiver; the Claw and his blackjack soon followed it.
"You're going armed," he muttered, somewhat sullenly. He saw Corvo's gaze flicker to his ankle, where they both knew Garrett's knife still was, but he didn't mention it.
"It's ceremonial dress," Corvo said, gesturing to the neatly tailored coat he was wearing, and the ornamental belt and scabbard his sword was attached to. "Plus, it's my job."
"I have a job too."
"Garrett, if you so much as look at a nobleman's purse today I'm going to throw you off this tower myself," Corvo said.
Garrett fell silent.
Corvo was nervous – Garrett could tell that. Despite the lightness of tone there was a need under his words, a need for today to be good and right.
"Fine," he said eventually. "But only today. Tonight you might have trouble stopping me."
Corvo's hands dropped from the buttons on his coat; he rested them on the table in front of him.
"I'm going to regret saying this," he said, "but if you can manage to behave yourself for the coronation, I'll point out the richest nobles myself. Or, the most obnoxious, at least."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Garrett told him, as Corvo pulled on a pair of black gloves. He briefly wondered whether it was part of the ceremonial dress he was to wear, or to hide the mark emblazoned on the back of his left hand.
"Lord Protector?" a voice from the door said – the pair turned to see a guard in a similarly ornate outfit – "Master, uh-"
"Just Garrett," he replied.
"Master Garrett," the guard amended; Garrett frowned, unsure as to whether he liked the title added to his name. "We need you in the throne room."
"Time to go, then," Corvo said, moving toward the door. He paused for a moment. "Could- could you-"
"What now?" Garrett asked.
"Maybe not look so much like a thief?" Corvo asked. "Would it kill you to take the hood down, or the scarf off?"
Garrett sighed, before reaching up and yanking the leather hood off of his head.
"If you ask me to do anything else, I'm not coming," he threatened.
Dunwall Tower's throne room reminded Garrett somewhat of the atrium of the Boyle Manor, or perhaps even the old cathedral in his city's Old Quarter. It was large, spacious, with high vaulted ceilings and chandeliers, and two floors. The throne resided against the back wall – stairs leading to the second floor were on either side of it, wherein guards, nobles, and servants alike could stand and watch the proceedings below. A carpet ran through the middle of the floor, flanked on either side by guards in ceremonial dress – behind them were an assortment of nobles, all craning their heads to see past the guards.
(They all looked very rich. Garrett could feel his fingers itching to relieve them of their valuables.)
From his position on the higher level, Garrett picked out Sokolov, and the two remaining Boyle sisters (his gut twinged uncomfortably, and he resolved to avoid them for the rest of the day). Across from him, on the balcony level, he saw Piero, Callista and Cecelia – Cecelia gave him a tiny wave when she spotted him, and he nodded in return.
Corvo was stood next to the throne, an Overseer and an Officer of Dunwall's guard next to him. Garrett presumed the Overseer was actually the new High Overseer, although who that man was, he didn't know. Hopefully he'd do better than the two who'd preceded him.
Emily was dwarfed by the throne around her, but she was smiling and relaxed; if she had any nerves, she hid them well. As ever, she was dressed in white – a slightly fancier outfit than the one she'd worn in their week at the Hound Pits – and the bow that adorned her hair had a small, black pin attached to it. It looked expensive, and old; a family heirloom, perhaps.
Garrett had never been to a coronation before, so what followed was equal parts boring and interesting. He was never one to back down from learning new things, but he doubted he needed to know the ins-and-outs of the Abbey of the Everyman's Seven Strictures. Still, at least he was relatively hidden, up here; he didn't need to hide his scepticism too much. Corvo, on the other hand, had to listen to it all stood to attention and with a straight face. And the knowledge that he was technically a heretic, branded with the mark of the deity the Abbey was sworn to destroy.
"Nice to see he's got something to enjoy, for once," a voice said in Garrett's ear; he flinched, turning to see the man who had spoken. He was a guard, a higher-up of some sort who clearly wasn't on duty during the coronation, with dark brown hair. Garrett would have guessed him around his mid-thirties in age; he also looked somewhat familiar, although Garrett couldn't place why.
"If anybody deserves it, it's those two," the guard continued, nodding to Corvo and Emily, before holding out a hand for Garrett to shake. "Geoff Curnow," he introduced himself.
"Curnow?" Garrett asked, taking the hand, before realising where he recognised the man. "You're Callista's uncle."
"The same," the man acknowledged. "I'm also the man who found you in Holger Square."
Garrett nodded, partly to himself. Corvo had told him that he'd been found by a guard of some sort, and given to the Overseers (and thus placed outside of the Outsider's reach).
"I expect that was a surprise," he said, drily, ignoring the dirty look a noblewoman was giving them for talking. He turned his attention back to the coronation.
"Not the strangest surprise I had in that week," Curnow replied.
Of course – Corvo had put the man into a trash bin.
Their conversation halted just in time for the important part of the coronation – namely, the actual part where Emily was declared Empress.
"I, Aloysius Durant, High Overseer of the Abbey of the Everyman," proclaimed said Overseer, "on this day, the First Day of the Month of Timber, in the year 1837, do declare Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin Empress of Dunwall and the Isles. May her reign be long, and may it be prosperous!"
The cheering that followed the announcement was cacophonous – Garrett settled for applauding, even if Curnow next to him gave out a hearty cheer. It also lasted for several minutes; Emily blushed and ducked her head slightly, and while outwardly Corvo merely smiled, Garrett could see the torrent of joy, love, and a small inkling of fear in his stance.
Emily was still young, after all. She wasn't supposed to be Empress now.
Eventually the room quietened, and the High Overseer stepped up once more to speak.
"It is not tradition during a coronation for an Empress to hand out honours," Durant began. "However, due to the nature of recent events, an allowance has been made."
Several whispers broke out among the nobles gathered below Garrett, some elbowed each other, as if they were the ones expecting to receive an honour of some sort. He briefly raised an eyebrow.
"The Empress calls the man known as Garrett to the throne," Durant called. Garrett froze, slowly turning to face the throne as he felt several pairs of eyes come to land on him.
This had to be a joke. He'd expected Corvo to be called, maybe Sokolov or Piero – hell, even Callista. Not him. It was bad enough he'd had to come to the event, but he'd manage to keep himself hidden away. Now he was going to have to parade in front of the entire gathered nobility of Dunwall?
"I think that's your cue," Curnow said, gently nudging him out of his stupor.
He moved slowly, aware that every single person in the throne room was watching him do so. His descent down the stairs was somewhat slowed, too – there was a crowd of people on it, and standing for a few hours on a still-healing leg had rendered it stiff and a little painful. He didn't let it show, however, and was soon standing in front of Emily, Corvo, and Durant.
"My lady," he said, executing a short bow. If it had been anyone else, he probably wouldn't have done it, but with the eyes of an entire empire watching him, it would have been far worse if he had not shown some form of respect.
Emily grinned at him, and he found himself easily smiling back, despite the discomfort he was currently experiencing.
"If you could kneel, ser," Durant said, as a pair of Overseers joined them, one holding a small box, the other a larger one that looked suspiciously like it held a sword.
"Kneel?" Garrett frowned, casting a quick glance to Corvo, who nodded. Corvo wasn't going to put him in any danger, he reasoned, and so complied, moving slightly stiffly to kneel on his right leg.
"Garrett-" Durant began, before saying, lowly, "do you have a last name?"
Garrett snorted, and shook his head. "Not one that I remember," he said eventually.
"Right," Durant said. Garrett had a moment to wonder whether this was Durant's first job as the newly-minted High Overseer. They were definitely throwing him in the deep end.
"Ser Garrett," the High Overseer tried again, reaching into the long box and pulling out a sword – of course – "of the city of-" he broke off again, looking down at Garrett once more.
"That doesn't have a name either," Garrett told him, and he heard Durant huff out a slightly annoyed breath. "Taffer," he said, suddenly, more on impulse than anything. "Taffer City."
He saw Corvo squint at him, recognising the word from when Garrett had called him it in the sewers that made Granny Rags' hideout. It appeared nobody in this world knew what the word meant.
It was childish, he would admit, but worth it.
"Ser Garrett," Durant said, for the third time, "of Taffer City." Garrett bowed his head, repressing the snort of laughter that was attempting to force its way out. "By order of Empress Emily Kaldwin, First of Her Name, you are awarded the Dunwall Medal of Valor, of the highest rank, and given freedom of the city of Dunwall. None shall refuse entry to you."
Garrett glaced up, an incredulous expression crossing his face, as the sword now held by Durant was waved either side of his head.
"This award is given to you for services to the Empire, and it's Empress. May you wear it with pride," Durant proclaimed, beckoning Garrett to his feet. The second Overseer stepped forward, and Garrett suddenly found a medal being pinned to his chest.
He looked down at it for a few seconds, before looking back up at Corvo and Emily.
"I-" he broke off for a second. "Thank you," he settled on.
He bowed again, stepped to the side, facing the crowd as they applauded him. He had to admit – maybe it didn't quite feel so bad.
Plus, he'd just been given freedom of the city. That was definitely a mistake on their parts.
The applause that rang out through the hall – and the few cheers from the vague area of Cecelia and Callista – wasn't quite on the same level as the roar Emily had received, but he was genuinely surprised to receive any applause at all. Word of his so-called "daring leap" off the Kingsparrow Lighthouse had made it around the court like wildfire. Corvo had shared several versions that were wildly inaccurate, including one wherein the Outsider had somehow granted him the ability to fly. Similarly, there was another that said he was part man, part bat.
Thankfully, nobody had personally asked him for the story yet. He wasn't sure how they would react when he would have to say he didn't remember.
Maybe they preferred the embezzled versions, anyway.
He was drawn out of his thoughts by movement next to him, and discovered that Emily was moving, starting to walk down the corridor of guards towards the door to the throne room. Corvo gestured at him to follow, and he did, falling in to place beside the man. He attempted to not look at the guards on either side of him, old habits and fears difficult to quell even when his brain told him they weren't about to suddenly arrest or attempt to kill him.
"Did you have anything to do with this?" he asked Corvo, glancing down at the medal that sparkled in his periphery.
"Maybe," Corvo said. "It was more Calhoun's idea."
"Who?" Garrett asked, frowning.
"The guard from Kingsparrow Island," Corvo said. "He suggested it when we were coming over here on the boat. I think he's going to mount the arrow you gave him above his fireplace."
Garrett huffed out a breath, as they arrived at a set of double doors. Guards on either side of them reached over to open them for Emily and her procession.
They emerged onto a balcony that overlooked the Wrenhaven River, wherein more guards stood to attention, and Garrett was treated to a sight he was certain he would not forget for as long as he lived.
A city of boats lay before them, all moored together in a flotilla, almost an island nation of sorts adorned with lights, streamers, and people. Despite their relative distance from the fleet, Garrett could hear the roar of the people aboard it, the shouts and cheers for their new Empress as she became visible to them, likely no more than a small, white pinprick in their view.
To his right, a guard shouted something indiscernible; a squadron of guards on the terrace below them raised a series of rifles and fired into the air. A salute, Garrett realised.
It was answered by the sounds of horns, whistles, drums, and more cheering from the collection of boats below them. The people, having been so downtrodden and desparate for so long, had finally found something good, and they were clinging onto it with the very fiber of their beings.
"I hope they like me," Emily said, suddenly, sounding somewhat nervous.
"Look at them," Corvo said, gesturing to the boats. "They already do."
The air was cool and clear; stars glimmered in the sky above and the moon cast a bright glow on the river below. The mass of boats upon the Wrenhaven cast their own glow, too, as if they were in a contest with the celestial lights above, setting out to prove that their hope and their love was greater than anything the cold, distant stars could produce.
Garrett was on the balcony once more, alone. After the coronation had been several hours of greeting nobles; as a recipient of the Medal of Valor Garrett hadn't been able to get away. While only few people congratulated him personally, he knew everyone had been watching him, to see if he would slip up. They all clearly knew he didn't belong.
After the greetings, had been the feast, and now was the ball, wherein everyone had the night to dance their cares away. Several tables had been set out on the upper floors, but most had been taken, and Garrett wasn't in the mood to attempt to mingle with the Dunwall nobility.
So, here he was, sat alone at a table outside, stretching out the ache in his leg. Sokolov had declared him fit, but it would be a few weeks before the wounds would fully heal. Add that to the almost-cracked ribs, and it was probably a feat that he'd managed to keep upright, and with a neutral expression, for so long.
(He was sure the Stone had shielded him from much worse injuries. He remembered how high the lighthouse peak had been. He should have broken more than that.)
He preferred to be outside, anyway. Here, he could almost pretend he was at home, simply preparing for a night out of not-so-petty thievery.
The City didn't have quite the same view, though.
They'd been busy for most of the past week, he'd not had much time to dwell on his home and what might be occurring during his absence. Some part of him wondered if Basso was coping well enough. The man had never said anything of the sort, but ever since Garrett had returned after his year-long absence, Basso became nervous even if Garrett were a few hours late of their meeting time. He'd calmed somewhat over the past six months, but Garrett had never been absent for more than a day or two before.
While they'd been dismantling Hiram Burrows' (and then the Loyalists') regimes, and hunting down the Primal Stone, Garrett hadn't really considered if he'd missed home.
Here, in the quiet, night air on the balcony, he found he did. Dunwall was a nice enough place – it had as many shortcomings as it did strengths – but it wasn't home. And while the break had been a chance to recover, Garrett was itching to get his hands into other people's pockets again, and to get back to work.
Corvo had noticed it, these past days. He'd not said anything, but he'd sensed the restlessness inside Garrett.
And now, with the coronation over, he had nothing to stay behind for. He couldn't stay, couldn't exist within the Dunwall court; he was too different to the nobles that were mingling inside. Eventually the façade would crumble.
He exhaled, watching his breath mist in the cool air, shifting in his chair slightly.
A door opened behind him, the sounds of celebration inside grew louder for a moment, before they were replaced by the sound of footsteps.
"If you're here to ask for a dance, I'm going to decline it," Garrett said, not turning to see who it was.
"As entertaining as I'm sure that would be, I'm not going to ask you," Corvo said, stepping up to the edge of the balcony next to him. "Have people been asking you, then?" he asked.
"Yes," Garrett said, somewhat irritably. "Five women, and two men. The men didn't seem to like the fact I said no."
"I'd wondered why you came out here," was Corvo's reply, and Garrett shrugged.
"It was getting too crowded in there," he said, and Corvo nodded, gazing out onto the dark waters of the river.
"I should thank you," Corvo said, "for… not being yourself. Especially when we sprang that medal on you."
"I'll admit, it was a surprise," Garrett replied, taking a moment to look at the gleaming medal that was still pinned to him. "But I think I understand why you felt you needed to do it. And if keeping my hands to myself was all it took for unlimited access to every part of the city," he shrugged. "It was the least I could do."
"That part was not my idea," Corvo said, and the two shared a brief laugh, before falling silent once more.
"I don't know what to tell Emily," Corvo said suddenly. "About- well, about you, and what happened at the Lighthouse."
Garrett turned to look at Corvo, who was still gazing across the river, something indiscernible in his face.
"I suppose the truth is out of the question," he said.
"For now," Corvo replied. "She's ten. Eventually I'll tell her everything, about you, the Primal, the Outsider, but- but I want to preserve some of her innocence, at least."
Garrett nodded to himself. He understood that.
"She's not asked me, about what happened, on Kingsparrow" Corvo continued. "I think she realises that it's… delicate."
"Spare her the details," Garrett said eventually. "Tell her what you must, but don't lie outright. I was sent to save the city. Both our cities – both our worlds. When she's older, she can have the details. But, for now, just tell her that I-"
He broke off, distantly recalling his conversation with Emily in Corvo's room at the Hound Pits.
"Tell her that I was sent to find something, and I found it."
"I suppose it will have to do, for now," Corvo said.
The door opened behind them again, and both turned to see Geoff Curnow heading towards them. He carried several items under his arm.
"Thought I saw the pair of you out here," he said. "You managed to tear yourself away from the Empress, Corvo?"
"High Overseer Durant is taking his command very seriously tonight," Corvo said. "He has no less than six guards stationed within ten feet of Emily. I thought I could allow myself to leave her for a moment."
"So it wasn't because Adelle White wasn't leaving you alone?" Curnow asked, setting his items down on the table.
"A charming woman, I'm sure," Corvo said, and Garrett snorted.
"Anyway," Curnow said. "I thought I would bring these out."
"Whiskey?" Corvo asked, as Curnow also produced three glasses.
"Best I could find," Curnow confirmed, also placing a box of cigars onto the table.
"I don't drink," Garrett said; Curnow proceeded to pour three glasses anyway.
"You do tonight," the man said; Garrett took the glass with a frown, before giving it a careful sniff. He took a small sip, aware of the eyes watching him.
"Still fishy," he muttered, setting the glass down. Corvo chuckled, picking up his own glass.
"To Lady Emily," Curnow said, raising his glass; Corvo joined him and Garrett found himself picking up his own again to join in. "May her reign be long and peaceful."
They were silent for a moment, as Curnow took a cigar and lit it; Garrett wrinkled his nose slightly at the smell, but it wasn't the most repugnant of odours he'd experienced recently.
"So," Curnow said, "this "Taffer City" of yours. Where is that, exactly?"
Garrett barely repressed the snort of laughter that rose in his chest.
"You never did tell me what that word meant," Corvo said.
"I honestly don't have a good answer," Garrett replied. "It did seem funny, at the time."
"Captain Curnow is more well-travelled than most others here," Corvo explained. "He came with me when we went to the rest of the Isles. There was no Taffer City on the tour."
"It also helps when you were the one to witness the man fall from the sky, at your feet," Curnow said, puffing on his cigar.
"That too," Corvo said.
"Strange events do seem to take place in Holger Square, lately," Curnow said. "It strikes me that, without intervention from the Masked Felons, I probably wouldn't have left the place alive the night Campbell was cast out."
Corvo stiffened slightly under Curnow's piercing gaze, lowered his glass to the balustrade beneath him.
"Apparently the wine was poisoned," he said, slowly. Curnow nodded.
"A shame," he said eventually. "It was a good thing the Masked Felons were there to save me, then."
"I'm sure it was the least they could do," Corvo said.
Garrett raised an eyebrow. "Are you two going to dance around your words all night?" he asked. "Because we all know that Curnow here isn't going to be the only one asking about the identity of the Masked Felons."
"I'll say it simply, then," Curnow said, turning a slightly amused gaze onto Garrett. "Thank you for saving my life. But just because your mission is over, Corvo, does not mean the Masked Felon's mission has to be. In fact, it might be prudent if he was to be spotted again."
"A feint," Garrett said, realising Curnow's intent. "People will clearly start to associate Corvo with the Masked Felon, but if he continues to act after order has been restored… they might be left more uncertain. And truly, nobody actually knows that it was the Masked Felon who travelled to Kingsparrow. They all know it was you and me."
"I'm sure you'll be able to find things for the Masked Felon to do," Curnow added. "It's not like this city is going to immediately fix itself after tonight, and the guard cannot be everywhere at once."
"And what of the other felon?" Corvo asked. Garrett shrugged.
"I'll be leaving soon," he said. "It won't matter about me."
"A shame," Curnow said. "From what I hear, you can really liven up events like these. Was it true that you smashed a plate of jelly over an Overseer in Lady Boyle's mansion?"
"It seemed like a good idea, at the time," Garrett replied. "In any case, Curnow's plan makes sense. Especially if you want to restore order further. Topple a few corrupt nobles that the more… legal means can't reach, and, well. People will start seeing you as separate entities."
"And then what?"
"And then you fade away," Garrett said. "Until you're only a story. We all become stories, in the end. The Masked Felon will probably be a great one."
"There were two of them," Corvo said, apparently somewhat hung up on the fact that Garrett wasn't including himself in the grand plan to exonorate Corvo's involvement with the Masked Felon's activities. Garrett flapped a hand at him, idly picking up on of the cigars and examining it.
"I'm too different from you people, here. You can't cover up my identity easily. And I have my own legend, back home," he said. "The legend that's growing about me here is frankly, too high-profile, and ridiculous. Did you know that several nobles here think I'm actually an automaton conceived by Piero? And that this-" he gestured to his eye "- is actually the whale oil that powers me?"
Corvo choked on his whiskey, attempting to muffle his snort of laughter.
It had actually taken Garrett a while to figure out that one. It hadn't helped when he'd found several nobles squinting at the back of his head, as if they were going to see some circuitry panel there, and the problem had been expounded further when a few had been bold enough to try and peer under his cloak for said circuitry.
Maybe he'd had more than one reason to escape to the balcony, but it really took the cake when someone asked him if he drank the whale oil he was supposedly powered by.
"I'll have to remember that one," Curnow said.
"Please don't," Garrett muttered, replacing the cigar back into the box.
"So, what is it you do, exactly?" Curnow asked. "Wherever you're from."
"Steal riches from entitled nobles and watch officers," Garrett said simply, turning his gaze onto Curnow. He found himself subject to an appraising stare, before the man nodded to himself, as if confirming a suspicion he'd held.
"It's strange," Corvo said. "In any other time, or situation, we probably wouldn't be friends."
"Well, you do belong to the social caste that hates people like me," Garrett reasoned. Corvo's small smile at his lack of objection over the word "friend" didn't escape his notice.
Garrett wasn't prone to making friends. He wasn't sure if anybody back home could be counted among such a group. Acquaintances, yes. Friendship wasn't something Garrett gave or even easily recognised; Corvo's easy use of the word was somewhat disconcerting as it was… comforting, he supposed.
"Speaking of mingling in social castes that dislike me," Garrett said, rising from his chair and stretching out his limbs, "there was something I intended to do today, but your parading me in front of the crowd hindered it."
"Well, colour me intrigued," Curnow said, downing the last of his whiskey and stubbing out his cigar; Corvo followed suit with his own drink.
"Are we going to find out what it is?" he asked, as Garrett made his way to the balcony door.
"You'll see," Garrett told him. "I wanted to do it before the Outsider decided it was time for me to leave."
Upon mentioning the Outsider's name, Garrett heard Curnow slow behind them, a muttered curse rising on his lips. He supposed that suspecting something was rather different to confirming it. The man recovered well, anyway, and was soon following them as Garrett led them down to the stairs and towards the throne, where Emily sat, surrounded by onlookers and guards.
"Lady Emily," he began, very aware of the small crowd watching him; Sokolov was among them. He wasn't prone to formality, but he'd observed it enough times to know well enough what to do and how to speak. "Forgive me for not being here before," he said, slowly.
"That's okay," Emily smiled. "Corvo told me you don't like parties much."
Well, that was nice of Corvo, Garrett supposed.
"Be that as it may," he said, struggling to find adequate words, "I didn't want to come without bringing you a gift of some sort."
"It's a coronation, not a birthday party," Sokolov's voice rang loudly above the mumbles of those around; harsh, jibing. Garrett could feel the withering glare Corvo sent in the man's direction.
Garrett knew better than to rise to his words, but it didn't mean they didn't sting. He briefly looked down, twisting his hands together, wondering if he'd gotten protocol extremely wrong and was about to ruin what had been a good day, for once. Even with all the parading.
"Tradition," he pressed on, ignoring the burn of heat in his cheeks, "in my city is that the reigning baron is presented with gifts from the nobility upon their succession. Granted, Dunwall is not my home, but I suppose this can be taken as a token of thanks for… welcoming me to your city, I suppose."
He was in very deep political water here, dredging up memories of nobles he'd observed back home, and partially just winging it and hoping what he was saying was right.
He reached into one of his pockets, pulling out a small bundle of fabric. He'd acquired the materials from Callista upon finding out that he was to attend to coronation and had spent the past two nights working on it. He passed the item forward, into Emily's outstretched hand, before stepping back and looking down.
"A scarf?" she asked, unfolding the navy blue fabric, revealing the golden thread he'd embroidered into it. Callista had chosen the colours for him, and he had to admit that the gold did show up rather well against the blue, twisting tendrils of thread that gleamed in the light of the chandeliers above.
"Yes," he said, glad she'd recognised it. "If I-"
He stepped forward, aware of several guards now watching him, before unfolding the fabric and looping it around Emily's neck.
"It's a little big," he confessed, stepping back, "but I thought it would be better for you to grow into it. Think of it as the first step into getting better clothing for hide-and-seek."
"It's beautiful," she said, twisting at the end of the fabric, before looking up at Garrett. "Did you make it?"
Garrett nodded, and then suddenly found himself the recipient of a rather exuberant hug.
"I love it!" Emily exclaimed. "Thank you so much, Garrett!"
"It was my pleasure," he said, somewhat awkwardly patting her on the back, but finding that, for once, his words were true.
The Void was a place of inescapable lonliness and otherness, but also one of familiarity. Garrett had only visited it once before (and Corvo had only one visit above his), but there was something about the place that reminded Garrett of places he'd both been to and not been to. It was the scent of the oil that greased the Clock Tower's mechanism, it was the feeling of the fog that prickled his skin on the cold nights that would soon transcend to dawn, it was the taste of static from the electrical lights that surmounted the Keep and burned at the back of his throat. Yet, it was also the whalesong of the creatures that lived in the deepest oceans, it was the feeling of closeness only recognised when stood in the deepest parts of a forest, surrounded by the tallest pines, and it was the taste of a fine Serkonan brandy – things he shouldn't have known, but somehow did.
It was a place both old and new, both eternal and instant, memorable and forgettable. To use a single word to describe it was useless; you could use every word in existence and not come close. It was, simply, void.
"I knew it would be soon," Corvo said, next to him. They were not inside the shell of his Clock Tower, nor the ruins of Northcrest Manor, but at the peak of Kingsparrow Lighthouse. Stood upon the catwalk, they were not looking upon the rest of the island, but a vast city of bright lights and dark buildings, all frozen in a moment of stillness. It was Garrett's city, his home, he could see the Keep, the docks, everything.
Garrett didn't speak for a moment, instead looking out across the city, before back up at the lighthouse peak.
"I thought it would be, too," he replied.
"We can always sense when the end is coming, can't we?" a voice from nearby said; the pair turned to see the Outsider, hovering above the edge of the perilous catwalk.
"And so ends the interregnum," the Outsider began, "Emily Kaldwin the First takes her mother's throne after a season of turmoil. Stood at her side, Corvo, the Lord Protector, and Garrett, thief-turned-saviour. Truly, you have both surprised me in this past week."
He grinned, teeth bright white and impossibly sharp, contrasting with the jet-black of his eyes.
"I trust you enjoyed the coronation?" he asked. Garrett sighed inwardly.
"I knew that was the reason behind why you didn't bring me here as soon as I had gotten to the stone," he said.
"It may have been more for your benefit than you would care to admit, Garrett," was the reply; Garrett frowned. "Or perhaps I did not want to break a little girl's heart."
"Where is the stone now?" Corvo asked.
"Soon, it will be returned to its home," the Outsider responded, raising his right hand. "For now, it is in a suitable container."
In his hand appeared an object, a small statuette of a whale, with a pair of gleaming, gemstoned eyes. One of the eyes, Garrett saw, was slightly more luminous than the other.
"Fitting, I suppose," Garrett said, recognising the statue as the one he'd liberated from the art dealer with the rather questionable taste. "Will it need to be replaced with the whole?" he asked.
"Proximity to the whole will be fine," the Outsider replied, as the statue faded into nothingness. "It should be enough that it remains in your city where it belongs."
Garrett nodded, partly to himself. After the fall of Orion, he'd been left with the whole Primal stone and no idea of where to put it, and so he'd decided to put it in a place nobody but him could reach: the peak of the Clock Tower. He supposed it was fitting, in the end; it could watch over the city from the highest point, and Garrett found comfort in knowing exactly where the Stone was, and that only one person could get it.
"Well, I won't expect a thank you," Garrett said; Corvo's composure broke for a moment, as did the Outsider's, into something irritated and harsh.
"You should be thankful that more damage was not caused. What happened to Kingsparrow Island could have been the start of something much worse for you and for Corvo. My thanks are not of import; I would have endured for far longer than any of you."
Garrett smirked; he knew a lie when he saw one, even when it came from a deity. The Outsider had only called upon him in the first place because he was worried. Whatever the Primal could have done, the question of the Outsider's ability to endure the resulting storm was very much in question.
"Be that as it may," the Outsider continued, folding his arms. "You did well. You even saved an empire in the process."
"I think the credit goes to Corvo for that one," Garrett replied. "He was the one you chose, after all."
"Indeed," the Outsider replied. "To prevent it from falling into the abyss was truly an achievement, Corvo. You watched and listened, when others would have shouted and raged; you held back, instead of striking. And so it is, ending with Emily's ascension; the dark times are already fading to memory."
"Will it stay a memory, though?" Corvo asked.
"You ask whether your decisions have repercussions. Whether your choices were right," the Outsider apparently saw through Corvo immediately, saw the guilt that still resided within him; over the Pendletons, Esma Boyle, the Loyalists. "But that is not one I will answer."
Corvo didn't reply, nodded to himself, something unreadable in his face.
"A question I cannot answer," the Outsider said, emphasising the word, "is one you both have but will not speak."
The Outsider turned, briefly gazed at the façade of the city before them.
"I see many things within this domain. I can see pasts, futures, things that will never be and things that will almost certainly be. But I cannot see all. I cannot see if this is the end for you both. I cannot say that you will never meet again. The world may still have a way of surprising me."
Garrett wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that. It was comforting, though. He would never admit it, but he was almost sad to leave Corvo behind. The friendship he'd found in Dunwall had been unexpected, but not unwelcome.
But he didn't belong in Dunwall. Didn't belong in the court intrigues and the machinations of the nobles. He belonged in the shaodows, on the cities rooftops and in its underbelly. He belonged in his home.
"I suppose, then," Corvo said, "that this is goodbye."
He stepped forward, towards Garrett holding out a hand. Garrett took it, and then suddenly found himself enveloped in a hug; Corvo's large frame engulfed him. To find himself hugging back was even more of a surprise, but he supposed he could allow it for a friend.
"Thank you," Corvo said, drawing back. "For everything. Not just what you were sent here to do," he added, waving a hand at the rather-amused Outsider loitering above them. "But for saving Emily, too. For saving me in the Flooded District. And-" he broke off suddenly. "For being there, I suppose. It could have been an entirely different outcome, if I had been alone."
"I'm sure you would have found a way," Garrett mumbled in reply, somewhat embarrassed by the praise being heaped upon him. He looked down, briefly; the medal given to him at the coronation gleamed in his periphery.
"I should thank you, too," he said, looking up. "For… putting up with me. I can be difficult, I know."
"That's definitely one way of putting it," Corvo said, a grin appearing on his face.
"You're not supposed to agree, you know," Garrett replied, slightly affronted, but there was humor in his tone.
He couldn't really find anything to say, anymore. He'd always been brief when it came to words, but now he simply couldn't find the right words to say. Some part of him was worried he'd say too much, or show an emotion he'd rather not.
So, instead, he turned to the Outsider.
"How does this work, then?" he asked. "Are you going to do what you did last time? Because I have something to say about that."
The Outsider wasn't a god that Garrett would consider cruel. Impassive, apathetic, yes, but not inherently callous. Perhaps he didn't understand the full implications of what he'd done when first bringing Garrett to Dunwall.
"If you ever find that you need to bring me – or someone like me – through here to another place, I would revise your way of doing it. Because what you did was-" he broke off, floundering for the correct word. "Inhuman," he settled on, noticing the corner of the Outsider's mouth quirk ito something akin to a smile. "You made me think that Erin was there, that I'd found her, and-"
His mouth twisted itself into a hard line. He knew it wasn't healthy to hope for Erin to return; for her to return to him and pretend things were like they had been before. But somewhere, buried deep within, there was hope that she would. And when he'd exited the painter's shop in Dayport and had heard her, seen her, his heart had leapt, clinging to something it knew to be false.
Waking up in Holger Square had been both a relief and a disappointment.
"You tricked me," he finished, something raw and broken in his voice. He saw Corvo's face, saw something pitying, and he looked down, not wanting to bear that. He didn't want pity. He wanted better.
"I needed to get your attention," the Outsider replied – and there was something almost quiet in his voice, something that wasn't quite an apology but hinted at remorse.
"Find some other way," Garrett said. "For her sake."
"It will not be the same," the Outsider said, giving no outward indication as to whether he would heed Garrett's request. "It will be easier, now the balance is restored. Think of it as-" the Outsider broke off, gestured to the edge of the lighthouse catwalk. "Think of it as taking a leap of faith."
Garrett was silent for a moment, eyeing the edge of the catwalk with some suspicion. Corvo reached forward, briefly pressed a hand onto his shoulder.
"It's a good thing you're not afraid of heights," he said; Garrett huffed out a breath, not quite annoyed but not quite pleased, either.
"It's never simple," he muttered, walking to the edge of the catwalk, and peering over.
"Just don't put me in a prison," he said eventually, looking up at the Outsider. "Or the Undercity."
"It will be neither," the Outsider confirmed, something akin to amusement in his jet-black eyes.
"That doesn't fill me with confidence," Garrett muttered in reply, but decided it was the best answer he was going to get from the bastard. Even now, he wasn't exactly forthcoming with his information.
He turned back from the catwalk, to face Corvo, who seemed as though he was having trouble hiding the emotion on his face. He offered the man a smile, raising his hand in farewell.
"Goodbye, Corvo. And good luck," he said. "And say my goodbyes to Emily."
There was no point in lingering any longer; they'd said their pieces and staying behind would only draw out the moment and make it worse. Endings, Garrett had decided, were neither good, nor bad, they just were. The people involved in said endings were different entirely, and his part in this ending was a good one, he decided. He would leave now, while it was still so.
So, with a final, parting grin, and a crooked salute, he fell backwards off the catwalk, into the bright blue expanse of the Void, and the city, far below.
Part of him expected to be in Dayport again, exactly in the spot the Outsider had first plucked him from. So, to come to lying on a slightly-crumbling grave slab in the shadow of the Stonemarket Clock Tower was a surprise.
Mourningside.
A rat crawled across the stonework nearby, and he flinched, recalling the plague-infested creatures of Dunwall-
So it hadn't been a dream. He hadn't inhaled too much pitch and oil paint and passed out in a stupor.
"At least you're friendly, here," he muttered to the rat, which squeaked and scurried away into the shadows.
Garrett sat up slowly, rolling his shoulder to alleviate the ache, noticing there was a slight stiffness in his spine. How long had he been here? He hoped it wasn't a week.
"So," a voice he recognised said, as a slight, hunched figure emerged from the darkness, "the great leviathan has chosen to return you to us."
The Court of the Queen of Beggars was not an unfavourable place to be. It was near the Clock Tower, it was also near the Crippled Burrick, where Garrett could stop in and alleviate the fears that had likely been growing in Basso's mind. It was certainly preferable to Dayport. The graveyard was something like a second home to Garrett, if he were honest; the smell of damp earth and the chill of the air familiar and comforting.
"The great leviathan?" he repeated, as the Queen of Beggars stepped closer, a frail hand outstretched to help him off the grave. He took it, more out of a polite respect for her position than anything else, settling his weight onto his feet, quickly examining his body to see if the Outsider had dropped him back whole.
"The black-eyed child that inhabits the worlds between," the Queen of Beggars said, and the realisation clicked into place.
"Why am I not surpised you know about the Outsider," Garrett muttered, as the Queen motioned for him to follow her. Holding on to his arm for support, she led him to the ruined church, where several beggars and rats loitered, all watching him with a curious gaze.
She took her seat by the candlelit altar. A crow cawed above them, and Garrett glanced up at it, watching as it fluttered off to another recess in the courtyard.
"He does not intrude upon our realm willingly," the Queen said, "and certainly not without reason. I can only assume that he desired you for an important task."
"I would have thought you already knew," Garrett said. "You always said you knew the important things that were happening."
The Queen nodded, a smile playing about her lips; Garrett wasn't going to get an answer from her. She definitely knew, then.
"How long has it been?" he asked, instead. "By my count it was eighteen days, but I wouldn't put it past the- the great leviathan to have kept me away longer."
"You returned to us several hours ago," the Queen said. "Basso came to us sixteen days ago to say he'd lost you; eighteen is the correct amount."
Well. Having the Primal back on the right side of the Void really did help with the Outsider's precision.
"Perhaps I should go allay Basso's fears, then," Garrett said, rising.
The Queen rose, too, motioning to a beggar seated on a rotting pew. The beggar moved forward, holding several items in his hands, which he passed to Garrett.
"These were with you," she said, as a bag and a leather tube were pressed into his hands. Garrett frowned – it was the same tube he'd taken to Dayport eighteen days ago, but he'd honestly not expected to see it again. The bag, he had no idea. "I am sure you will find something in there to distract Basso."
Garrett snorted, shouldering the bag and pressing the tube under his arm.
"You have changed, again, Garrett," the Queen called, as he turned to make his way towards the Crippled Burrick. "But perhaps this time it's for the better."
"Don't get your hopes up," he called back, stepping into well-trodden and familiar shadows once more.
The damn bird was making a racket, again.
Basso had owned the magpie (named "Jenivere II" for both posterity and ease) for a grand total of two months, and it was a damn sight louder than the original one. Still, she was a quick learner, and had managed to narrow down the routes to those within his contact fairly quickly. Of course, when one of said contacts was missing, and had been for over two weeks now, it was a pretty fucking useless thing for the bird to remember how to fly up to the damn Clock Tower.
"Quiet," Basso snapped, his nerves fraying already, despite the fact it was somewhat early in the night. The bird cawed again, completely ignoring him and choosing to ruffle its feathers instead.
Business had been going well, despite the minor setback of Basso's best asset having disappeared into the wind. But tonight, one of his contacts had already come up short, so he was looking for a way to placate a very angry buyer with minimal injury to himself.
He wasn't concerned. Not one bit.
(He was very concerned.)
Because this was exactly like that time a year and a half ago, where Basso and sent Garrett – and Erin – to Northcrest Manor, and regained one of them a year later. This time, he'd sent Garrett to the house of Arroja Ivanoff; an artist recently moved to Dayport and unaccustomed to the way of the City. The way being, if you were prominent, you were robbed. His works had hit the market, and his subsequent rise in popularity had been something meteoric, and thus Basso was inundated with requests for an Invanoff original. Especially considering Ivanoff had been unwilling to sell his latest work.
Garrett had seemed like the best choice to retrieve it. The most expensive, when it came to his cut, but Basso had deemed it worth it, as he often did when it came to Garrett.
He'd given Garrett the benefit of the doubt when the man hadn't returned the night after Basso had sent him to Dayport. Maybe he'd run into difficulty scouting the place out. You couldn't rush good thieving, after all.
On the second day, he fretted, a little. And then he'd gone to the Queen of Beggars, just to see if she or her rats had heard anything. But when she'd informed him she'd not heard from Garrett, he'd started to worry. He even sent people to scout out Ivanoff's, and the local prisons. Nothing. Garrett had disappeared again.
It had left Basso with a twisting, nauseated feeling in his gut. Said feeling had spilled into his working life, and now he was trying to keep hold of several important jobs, and he had nobody to spare to fill them.
"Don't suppose you know of anyone who can take this job off my hands?" he asked Jenivere, reaching out to smooth down the feathers of the bird's head.
He was rewarded with a peck and a muffled caw, and responded in kind with several curses.
"Still a hit with the ladies, I see," a voice from the doorway to his cellar said.
Basso did not shriek, or scream. He may have yelped, but in all honesty, that was a very reasonable reaction to hearing very suddenly from someone who'd been missing for eighteen days.
He span, very quickly, to the door. His ears hadn't deceived him – Garrett was there, leaning against the woodwork as if he'd only been gone eighteen hours. There was something like an amused expression on his face, but perhaps also relieved.
"Garrett," Basso breathed, confirming the fact he was actually here, in his cellar. The thief's head tilted slightly, and he moved forward, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking into the room proper.
He moved with a slight limp, favouring his right side; something careful in his movements that hinted at an injury somewhere.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Basso settled on, anger coming to focus now that the sheer surprise was starting to wear off. "You've been gone eighteen days without a single word. I thought- I thought you captured, or dead, or-"
"Sorry to disappoint," Garrett interrupted, moving past Basso to the empty table at the back of the room. "It wasn't actually my fault."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Basso asked, as Garrett placed a bag onto the table, carefully undoing the rope that held it together.
"It means that-" Garrett broke off as the fastenings came loose, and he peered inside the bag for a moment.
The silence stretched out between them; Jenivere cawed again, before settling down to start preening.
"If I explained it to you, we'd be here another eighteen days," Garrett said; Basso huffed out an annoyed breath, knowing he was unlikely to get an explanation at all. "I had to take an important job, somewhere else."
"For who?" Basso asked. "Where?"
Garrett didn't reply, instead reached into the bag and pulled out an item that gleamed in the candlelight.
A gold ingot?
The stamp upon it was one he didn't recognise, round, with a four-digit number embossed upon it and the words MINTED UNDER REGENCY AUTHORITY. Still, if it was real gold, it was quite a find indeed. A pile of coins followed it, once more stamped with a mint mark he didn't recognise, but he found it beyond himself to care – gold could very easily be melted down.
A cameo of some sort was next, Garrett frowned at it for a moment, running his fingers over it, before he placed it upon the table.
"Whalebone," he said, as if it made perfect sense to him, before rummaging through the bag again and depositing an ornate pen next to the cameo. Basso frowned, wondering where he'd manage to procure these items, while also wondering how much he'd be able to sell them for.
A small statuette followed it; a creature Basso had never seen in real life but had heard of and seen paintings of. It looked like a whale, although he couldn't recall whales having strange, fin-like appendages. The statue's eyes looked as though they were made of a gemstone of some sort, although one of them glowed a brighter blue than the other.
"That's not for sale," Garrett said suddenly, snatching the statue and stowing it into a pocket. Basso raised an eyebrow, but found he couldn't really object, not with the sheer amount of literal gold Garrett was giving to him.
A piece of paper was also placed onto the table; it was folded, but Basso caught glimpse of a drawing of some sort, although it looked something more like a child would produce than a certain artist from Dayport.
"What about that?" he asked, nodding to a gleaming medal pinned to Garrett's chest. "Decided you liked the look of it on you, did you?"
Garrett looked down, and something on his face changed, like he was only now remembering the medal was there. There was also something unreadable there, a mixture of pride and accomplishment; his hand reached up to hold the medal in the light.
"This was given to me," Garrett said, almost as if he were realising it for the first time. Basso snorted, and the look Garrett gave him made the laughter die before it had a chance to fully break out.
"All right, keep the medal," he said instead, before his interest was really piqued: Garrett passed a tube over to him. A tube that could only contain one thing.
"So you actually did get the Ivanoff," he grumbled, finding his previous anger subsiding further, as he popped the lid off the tube to unfurl the painting.
"Apparently," Garrett replied – whatever that meant. Basso chose to ignore it, instead rolling out the painting and holding it up to the light.
"Garrett," he said slowly. "What the fuck is this?"
It was not the work of Arroja Ivanoff. Basso had no idea who painted this, had no idea what it even was.
In basic terms, it was the figure of a man; a young man, suspended over a sea of blue and purple paint. He wore a brown coat, had his hands outstretched, and there were hints of words painted around him, black markings that Basso couldn't make sense of. Most striking was the face – or lack thereof. Instead was an abstract blur that hinted at humanity but also promised something else.
It definitely wasn't an Ivanoff.
Garrett looked up, frowned, before coming to stand behind Basso to look at the painting.
And then, he laughed. Not a quiet chuckle or a huff of breath, but a full laugh like nothing Basso had ever heard before.
"You bastard," the thief said, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees, almost breathless with laughter. "You conniving, black-eyed, sack of crap bastard."
A/N: AND THATS IT?!
2 years, 4 months. 272 pages. 132798 words.
This work would be nothing without Taffer - find them at .com and send them some love.
You can find me at wardens-oath.
Furthermore!
There WILL be a sequel; I won't give you any details per se, but it will be called Corvus Corone, and it will not be set during the events of Dishonored 2. Who knows when it will actually appear, though. You know me.
And... thats it?!
Thank you all so much for your encouragement and continued readership. This is only goodbye for now.