A/N: Fic background is low-chaos non-lethal Emily, incomplete audiograph collection (will make sense in context). Also, as you may notice, I wrote for Corvo as well as Emily, Lavender_Whalebones (kaldwinqueen on tumblr) wrote for Billie as well as the Outsider. This chapter is unusually long, as you may notice with future shorter chapters. I likely could've chopped it into two, but this is how it was published on AO3/tumblr, so this is how it remains.
PART TWO: SLEEPLESS
Emily Kaldwin thought often about that night. Despite its utter incomprehensibility, she refused to let herself believe it only a dream. Not when she could touch the comb itself, taste that same brandy they'd had to drink.
There were times she worried for her sanity, as she sat in the dark, fingers rubbing small circles on the bone of the leviathan. She treated the comb as a fetish, expecting to hear those same whispers from it again, and her obsession troubled her.
Months passed. The dreams started. At times she dreamed of him, and those were the good dreams. But she would dream of the Void as well. She would wake with the taste of blood and stone in her mouth, swearing she could feel sludge in her veins, Void smoke at the edges of her vision. She never went there - she hadn't been to the Void since the end of Delilah - but she felt it come to her. Icy cold tendrils suffocating her, dragging her under inky black waters and plunging down her throat to steal the breath from her lungs and the warmth from her blood.
Her sleep had never been so troubled, except for that first year after her mother's murder. But even then, she'd had some odd companion. The eerie black-eyed boy in dreams she remembered now only as vague figures and looming dread. But he wasn't in these dreams. And it somehow made them worse. Because she knew what that meant, and it robbed her of something.
Hope, perhaps.
Eventually the nightmares became routine.
At least once a week - usually the night after a particularly stressful session in the throne room - she would toss and turn in her slumber, her body claimed by the Void in sleep. She understood the madness of witches, reminded constantly of this free-floating power that she could harness if only she gave herself completely to the corruption that hungered from the shadows. Her Mark had begun to fade, no longer stark against her skin, but the power only grew. It wanted to be used.
She found herself spending more time doing unnecessary training, trying to discharge the energy that gathered around her, perhaps exhaust herself enough to sleep soundly. The one time she'd tested her old abilities - using her far reach to pick up a book from the other side of her safe room - she'd been thoroughly shaken. It had be euphoric. Practically orgasmic to allow the power to stampede through her again. Which is why she made herself stop. Power was a heady thing. She wouldn't let the Void tempt her to madness. She'd been tempted once, and it had ruined her. Never again.
And so life continued.
Oliver - for that was his new name, chosen on a whim - knew about thirteen different kinds of coffee, but his favorite was the one that was drowned in sugars and whipped cream with sprinkles of shaved chocolate on top; it tasted practically blasphemous, and he couldn't help but enjoy having his senses thoroughly overwhelmed after they'd been dulled for four thousand years.
He didn't mind black coffee though, the sharp edges and bold tastes, the bitterness of filtered coffee beans, the scent, adrenaline rushing through his veins. If he was being honest, he didn't mind much of anything as of late. He'd learned to dislike some things, like fermented cabbage or caviar, meat, occasionally he would have fish but he couldn't stand to think he was eating something that was once a living, breathing being. Which was unfortunate given that Billie had a penchant for bringing aboard lots of salted beef. He never protested though, he was quiet, he was accepting.
These longs months aboard the boat they'd acquired by totally "legal" means were some of the most beautiful he'd ever experienced.
The more he traveled on the more he remembered, as though he were tightening his grip on his humanity, pulling it back towards him, taking the reins on a mighty stallion tied to a golden chariot. Or perhaps the Void had just stifled that more human side of him and it was only coming back in slow drips from a leaky faucet. And it always came to him in dreams. He could recall his mother's face, though vaguely and without much emotional attachment. The brutality of his father, bottles breaking against crumbling brick walls, the flickering of fires in dark enclosed alleys where only the hopeless dared to roam.
What it felt like to have a shattered nose and the metallic taste of blood assaulting his tongue. His own blood gushing in waves down his face, a bright carmine against unsifted snow. Or the angry brittle cold of frostbite nipping at his toes and fingers in harsh winter months. Which were most.
Billie was his crutch, when he woke screaming and gasping for breath on those bad nights, where he could feel hands tugging him down onto a stone altar, a blade brushing his neck, plunging into his skin, the last moments where he wasn't even given the privilege of breathing, only lying there in excruciating pain, senses lulling off into oblivion, the Void curling around him, invading, snuffing, drowning every bit of humanity until he was nothing but a conduit at its mercy.
She would hold him, rock him back and forth and run her fingers through his hair, He could see her hand, rock and metal all twisted almost painfully, and her eye, bright red, staring down at him. He could see it because he knew deep down, the Void still had him. It had everyone, watching them from within, testing them, waiting to devour. Not out of a distinct malevolence, but because that was the nature of what it was. He never told her though. He never told her much.
But that was okay, she accepted him too. They could sit in silence for hours, or bicker back and forth like school children, or cry, for no real reason that they wanted to state aloud.
She'd been training him. At first he was apprehensive, uneasy with the idea that he might one day need to fight. He was far more diplomatic than that. He prided himself on how reasonable he was in fact, but he knew that sometimes choice didn't have a place in the equation. He could flee, but if he wasn't fast enough, then what? So at first it was different means of escaping. She taught him flexibility, made him agile, scolded him, wrestled with him. But then it became a matter of blocking, and then street fighting, and then before he knew it he could shoot a fully loaded pistol without his hands trembling so much that he'd drop it afterwards.
And the thing was that he knew these procedures. He knew how to fight, but translating his knowledge into action was the difficult part. His mental ability was now restrained by his physical ineptitude. He caught on fast, though.
By the time they'd reached Dunwall's port he'd put on a little muscle. His hair was disheveled, he had a slight scruff and a certain clumsy youth to his step.
They'd sent letters back and forth at first, but Corvo was the one to intercept them. He'd given them a reasonable sum of money and specific directions to follow in order to gain access to the back channel where his spies would come in and out late into the night.
And now finally they'd gotten here, stars twinkling in and out up above, moonlight bathing the water in a porcelain glow, dodging flood lights as they made their way into the port. The water carried them up and there were very few people to escort them, only two of them, men in uniforms that displayed their status. They were clearly generals - or had been, once - he knew them both, and he could see how far back their lineage stretched, and everything that they'd done from the point of birth to now. They were good men.
He followed them, glancing at Billie with piercing pale green eyes that almost glowed in the dim light, and then his gaze flickered to the gazebo, where a memorial to Jessamine had been carved into the stone, where her blood would never quite wash away. He knew that every time Corvo saw those stone pillars his heart sank into his stomach and threatened to shrivel up and die. Suddenly, he felt guilty.
He knew it wasn't something he could control back then, but actions dominoed, toppling through generations like a pebble skipping across the water. If Daud never had those abilities, Jessamine wouldn't have died. Or at least, not in that manner. He knew rationally that he was not at fault. But emotionally it weighed on his shoulders and threatened to crush him. He had to talk himself out of taking the blame, so used to being a scapegoat for all of the world's people.
Corvo shifted on the balls of his feet, watching the door. The Outsider was coming. Tonight. A series of questions rattled off in his mind like a volley of arrows, each quickly silenced by certainty. He'd thought it all through. He had his best men (and women) running the mission, in charge of bringing the former god to him, under the cover of night, and setting him up in special quarters within Dunwall Tower. He had a planned curriculum, a set of tests he'd arranged with trusted physicians, a whole stack of files he wanted the man's input on. The only issue was Emily.
The letters he'd intercepted had been addressed to her, and the tone was… Well, there was at least one poetic reference to "falling into the night" that rubbed him the wrong way. The Outsider may not have tried to kill Emily, but Corvo still wasn't sure he forgave the man for Marking his daughter. Corvo himself had been theoretically free of the Void almost a year, but he still felt the eerie pull in him. It could only be worse for her. Emily was strong, but he hadn't missed the signs of sleeplessness on his daughter's face. Still, she didn't ask for help and he didn't intrude on her personal issues. When she wanted support he would be there. Always. But he wasn't sure he could be so supportive of the former god.
Especially if that former god wanted anything to do with his daughter.
His ears pricked up at the soft whistle from beyond the doors, one of his agents - Calvin Rigard - informing him of the arrival, and he quickly swung them open. The sight he was met with surprised him to say the least. He knew the Outsider would be human, but…
Corvo's brow furrowed, looking the kid over. Definitely better than he'd looked in the Void, that was for sure. Months with Lurk, weeks on the sea, had given him some color, that was good at least. And some muscle. He hadn't gotten much from Lurk about how she planned to train the guy - she wasn't exactly forthcoming about anything with him, unless he invoked Emily's name - but she seemed to have done a decent job. What surprised Corvo about the Outsider - no, Oliver now - was his youthful appearance. For someone over 4000 years old, who'd been worn ragged in the Void, he didn't look it. He looked to be about Emily's age. That wasn't good.
Of course, she had the good sense to avoid getting involved with someone like him.
And Corvo definitely trusted her on that one.
Which certainly had nothing to do with why he wasn't telling her of the Out— of Oliver's arrival. Or of his existence, at all. Once he was sure the man posed no threat, wasn't just a supernatural bomb waiting to explode, then he would tell Emily. In the meantime...
"Lurk," he nodded to the woman, curtly, and then glanced back to the black-haired man, unsure how to address him. "...Come with me," he ordered the two new arrivals, eyes lingering on Lurk's odd prosthetics - noting how Rigard and Borne seemed to take no notice. Moving them away from the two agents, he ushered them down dark tunnels, through the rooms once dedicated to the Royal Interrogator, and into separate apartments that had been furnished just for this purpose. They weren't lavish by any means; no rich velvets or fine silks, but they were comfortable and functional and would serve perfectly well as lodgings for the time being.
"You'll stay here tonight. Those two that met you - Rigard and Borne - they'll be your primary contacts. They'll bring you meals, escort you to appointments — any messages you need to send go through them. They're trustworthy." His eyes lingered on the Outsider. "You're not to have any contact with the rest of the tower. Not yet. Doctor Hypatia will be doing some tests. Once we get results from those… we'll see." He made no promises.
He gestured to a bookshelf against one of the walls of the little study they stood in. "Some reading material for you. I don't know how much you know about the Isles, but if you've supposedly lived here your whole life, it can't hurt to brush up on modern history." He gestured to a file on the desk. "Your alias." Turning to Lurk he added, "I assume Meagan Foster will be returning to Dunwall?"
Not to have any contact with the rest of the tower, Oliver knew exactly what that meant. He knew that Corvo suspected something to say the least, and in the wake of his words he nearly rolled his eyes. He did however, heave a small sigh. "I understand your speculation, likely more than most; the Royal Protector lives up to his titles, especially that of father, but I assure you that I-"
"Yes. Meagan Foster will be begrudgingly... returning to Dunwall." She cast a glance towards Oliver, hushing him with the deadpan look on her face. He awkwardly walked past her, sifting through the books on the shelves, all of which he'd already read. He knew the authors. He knew their lives, the truths and the deceptions. So instead, he sat down with quill and ink, paper laid out onto the table and he began to write.
He would write letters to people in Karnaca, right wrongs, he would use his knowledge to save people. The Void was apathetic, sometimes malevolent, it would send him to places of the deepest suffering and he would act as a witness, each and every scream or plea for help ringing in his ears. His brows furrowed at the thought, creases along his forehead as he shook those times from his mental wanderings. He had other things to worry about now. Like who he'd tell about the fortune on Shindaerey Peak — he certainly didn't want it. He knew where that money had been, who'd handled it: the cultists.
It went on like that for several days. Every time he'd finish answering questions, being tested on by the lovely Dr. Hypatia, training with Billie in the courtyard (sadly while Emily was in the throne room), and any other tedious task Corvo set him, presumably to keep him away from Emily at all costs, he would return to his spot at the desk where he would write. He would be like that for hours, going on from page to page. And it seemed to be working.
News came in that an Atlas Morgan had uncovered loads of silver from the Peak, a man who owned his independent business and dealt with mining equipment. He would put the money to good use, Oliver was certain of it. He would use his own bare hands, adept in metal working, to create masks and hoods capable of blocking out the dust, capable of saving lives. And that was what mattered.
But even with his success he was growing ever restless. He wasn't as patient as he was while floating through a boundless void, where time escaped him and he had nothing to look forward to. Like brushing his fingers through Emily's hair, or stroking her cheek, slowly loosening the ties of her boots and setting them both aside, hands careful, methodical, searching the expanse of her body and admiring every curvature she had to offer.
Corvo didn't seem to trust him though, which he figured was fair and his own occasionally sarcastic remarks were most definitely not helping the case. It was much easier to tease Corvo when he was a god, floating up on his high misty pedestal.
But now he was a man — a man considerably younger and less experienced. A man that Corvo could probably kill with a single flick to the forehead. As much as he hated to admit it, that scared him. So he didn't disobey the older man, he didn't directly go against his orders, and sometimes Corvo wouldn't glare at him, so he figured that had to be progress.
He stepped out of Hypatia's lab and into one of the many grand halls, a bright chandelier above him, little pinpricks along his arm from where she'd drawn blood. It was nearing evening so he could reasonably assume Billie had snuck off to the dining hall, she seemed to enjoy the lavish meals. Or perhaps she just enjoyed testing Rigard and Borne's patience. Either way, he was alone.
The tests had gone quicker than predicted, so now he'd just have to navigate back to his room.
The last week had been hell. Never before had Emily had such awful sleep. It was as though the Void were angry at her. Each time she finally rested she lost her breath, felt her arms sinking through inky mires, her feet leaden, her throat choked by black weeds springing from every wall. She felt targeted, specifically — singled out for torture by a supposedly unbiased entity. She'd managed perhaps six hours of sleep over the last four nights. Better than nothing, but not by much. Twice today she'd stopped herself from asking her father to stay with her overnight, to help her finally rest. She'd noticed the pained looks he gave her across the breakfast table. He knew something was wrong. But every time she thought to reach out, to ask for help, something stilled her tongue. Pride, maybe. Stubbornness. She had an awful lot of it.
She'd skipped dinner, and Corvo had promised to make her excuses when she explained she wasn't feeling well and needed rest.
Rest hadn't come. Fifteen minutes of fitful slumber and then she'd been seized by the Void, her mind filled with echoes and the taste of metal, her limbs encased in molten rock, her mouth full of ice and ash. She woke not scared but angry, hot tears flooding from her in frustration. The one thing she needed - a basic human function - denied to her. It was driving her mad. How many times she'd regretted that night. Had it been worth it, to give him one final touch of human affection, if it left her so broken? The truth should have been obvious - no, of course not - but she couldn't bring herself to fully condemn the choice. Some part of her still felt for that poor boy, his life so cruelly taken from him. Yet another part cursed him for ever coming to her chambers that night.
She was so tired… How much easier things would be if she just let herself use her abilities. Her leaden feet could rest if she simply pulled herself by reaching. Her fingers would twitch, prepared to aim, but she would stop herself. No. That was what it wanted, this malicious Void. To twist her fading Mark into a funnel and pour itself through her, incinerating her, leaving a husk behind. Another angry tear fell from her eye. She couldn't concentrate. She'd been useless. Reports came in and she listened but couldn't remember what they said. Words swam before exhausted eyes when she tried to read. It couldn't fill her, so instead it was draining her steadily.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Emily stood. Sleep wasn't coming. In that case, she needed something else to give her energy. She let out a sigh, slipping a long silken robe - royal navy - on over her nightclothes. Damn any guard that judged her for wearing a robe at 6pm. She'd have them shipped to Tyvia.
She just barely remembered her gloves.
When she exited her room, no guards stood in the hall. All off getting their own meals, no doubt. But she needed more than mere food. No, she needed something stronger, and the only one who might know how to help her was the good doctor herself.
Despite her exhaustion, Emily's posture - ingrained in her since birth - was pristine as she moved through the comfortably empty halls. She spotted a couple members of tower staff, all politely bowing and then turning away, granting some modesty. Surely they would find it odd to see her out and about in a nightgown and robe, regardless of the time of day. And she never wore her hair down. She was glad so few were out; this was a rumor in the making.
Down deserted hallways, through the side stairwells usually reserved for staff - she avoided as much as she could, steadily working her way toward Doctor Hypatia's lab. Perhaps a drugged sleep was what she needed. Or a medically induced coma.
Oliver stood silently for a moment, his fingers twitching faintly as he felt something approaching. He couldn't gauge the direction, the intent, but he could feel the presence of the Void, he could feel the cold against his fingertips, neck and face. As though he'd opened a window in Tyvia. It was startling and brought back memories that he forced beneath the surface a little too quickly.
The last thing he needed was to excavate an ancient tomb in his mind and unravel something unsightly, especially so close to bedtime. He turned, taking a single step forward and stopping in his tracks so quickly he nearly fell flat on his face. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
He could imagine it, first seeing her in reality, meeting her in the flesh. He had planned out what he would wear, he had promised himself he would practice what he would say for words did not come as easily to him as they did when he could pluck information out of thin air. He needed time now, he needed to process. And seeing her now, in her silken robe, hair waterfalling, shimmering in the nightly glow, it rendered him speechless.
His cheeks were hot, hands immediately going to fidget, thumbs twiddling together in his very clear nervousness. But he forced himself to stand up straight, even if he was disappointed by the circumstances. He wondered... had Corvo told her to come? Had he advised her that he'd be here? If so, wouldn't she have come in a more presentable fashion? His eyes widened once more and he wondered if perhaps she was coming here to banish him herself. Perhaps she did not have affection for him, perhaps it was only pity that fueled her actions that night and-
He silenced those thoughts, swallowing harshly, so harshly that his throat actually ached and he actually coughed, stiffening and bracing himself for the upcoming confrontation. He was suddenly very conscious of how he looked. Perhaps he should have shaved, perhaps he should have slicked his hair down in the way the Void had it, the way it had chosen to present him. But now he was just a boy, no older than she, a slight tan to his skin, ruffled hair that was actually quite wavy and a solid scruff along his jaw that he really needed to get rid of, if only he trusted himself with a blade to his neck, or anyone else for that matter.
At least it added definition to that sharp jawline though. He really did have features to be sung about.
But she was absolutely gorgeous.
Emily glanced up from her path at the sound of a slight cough. She nodded a gracious royal nod to the poor staff member she'd interrupted—
No. Her head snapped back up, gaze coming into sudden focus. She froze.
Her mind slowly cranked to life, trying to interpret what exactly she was seeing. It couldn't be. He was dead. Not just dead - dead dead. Second dead. Or - final dead. Fully dead? She shook her head, blinking heavily, the words jumbling in her mind's eye. She must be imagining things. Lifting a gloved hand to her face, she rubbed her eyes wearily, sure he would be gone when she looked again. But there he was. Not the same - not exactly - but recognizable.
A wave of thoughts and emotions flooded through her. He was alive. Truly alive. How? And how was he here? Why hadn't he told her? Why hadn't someone told her? Why hadn't Corvo told her? Was this the cause of the Void's hunger? Did he know the pain he'd put her through? Did he feel at all guilty for it? And - how? She couldn't stop thinking how?
She took a couple steps toward him, brow furrowed in utter confusion. She raised a hand to his cheek. Warm. Truly warm, like a human - was he human? How?
The Void seemed to quiet for just a moment, the steady ringing in her ears - something she hadn't noticed until it was gone - going silent and leaving her almost in shock. Finally. Finally some quiet. She drew in a quick gasp, a look of utter relief crossing her features, looking briefly transcendent. The silence was beautiful, to be completely free of the Void's torture for the first time in a week.
The Void… Her eyes sharpened to a glare, mouth snapping shut and jaw flexing angrily. It was his fault this had happened. Her fingers twitched on his face and she snatched her hand away to stop herself from slapping him. He was the one who'd put this into her. He'd poisoned her with his kiss, and she'd suffered ever since. She felt betrayed, and in her exhaustion it was hard to hide that fact. She couldn't speak. If she opened her mouth she would surely scream - in anger, in frustration, in pain, in hurt, she wasn't sure which, but it wanted out of her and quickly.
Oliver found her approaching to be the slowest, most painful thing he'd experienced in a great while, and that was coming from someone who'd spent four thousand years in a void. Her silence weighed on him, words unspoken, a tension building with every second that passed and he had no idea how to release it. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the anger, the way her jaw tensed and the caution in her movements. She was holding herself back.
He thought for a few moments and finally it hit him. He had no idea how the Void would react to her, but he knew it was poisonous, he knew just as it had been too late. And he'd been so caught up in all of the splendor of living, the food, the pleasantries, heat and cold and dusk and dawn, everything intermingling, to even consider how she might be feeling. How incredibly selfish of him. How incredibly human of him.
He fell to his knees in shame, suddenly lacing his arms around her hips, setting his forehead against her stomach, speechless, at a loss for any semblance of what to say to make it better. No apology could mend the mistake, and he'd always felt that actions spoke louder than words ever could.
And if he were being honest with himself here, which he tried to be in most situations, he craved the closeness. The intimacy. He yearned for it now more than ever, not only to satiate the hungry, primal side of his humanity but also to quell the desire for the warmth of her, even if her expressions were cold and her words were like ice. He did not speak for a long while. All he knew was... this wasn't how he had envisioned this going.
Emily startled as he fell before her, stiffening and recoiling in surprise when he put his arms around her. How… She wasn't quite sure how to respond. The anger had dissipated in pure confusion. It was clear that, whatever had happened, he certainly hadn't meant it maliciously.
"..." She moved slowly, unsure what to do. Awkwardly, she gave him a stilted... pat... on the head.
Hells, she had no clue what to do from here.
A strangled noise came from her throat as she tried to come up with words, but all she could manage was a disoriented, "...How?"
He stiffened as well once he realized he'd acted on impulse, quickly pulling away and getting up. Act as though it hadn't happened at all and get on with it? That was exactly what he planned on doing. He just didn't know any other way of telling her how happy he was to see her, emotions bubbling up and threatening to overflow. He didn't know how she managed to keep her composure, how she could stay so solid and cold throughout all these years, only ever breaking sparsely.
He admired her so much more for that.
But he realized now how weak he probably looked. How unimpressed she probably was. He folded his arms stiffly, voice smoothing out, far more prominent when it wasn't layered with the Void. "... It is a debt I could never think to repay that I owe to a certain Billie Lurk," he explained, nodding slowly.
"She had every reason to kill me where I stood, encased in stone at her mercy, and instead she went out of her way to make the harder decision, the difficult choice. She saved me."
Billie Lurk? The woman she'd once known as Meagan Foster? ...Once a killer, and now a savior… Emily shook her head. It was odd how people changed if offered forgiveness.
That thought sent a pang of guilt through her. She should forgive him, as well. But of course - that was easy to think now, the Void silenced. How would she feel when it returned?
Emily bit back her questions of but how and instead hesitated a brief moment before speaking. "...I can't sleep," she admitted at last, quietly.
She had the sudden realization that they were in a public hallway, and looked around in alarm, relieved to find them still alone. They should move elsewhere. She still had so many questions, things she wasn't even sure he could answer, but the silencing of the Void left her with a clearer mind than she'd had in days. She kept surveying the area around them even as she began small steps toward Hypatia's lab again, continuing, voice low. "I haven't slept for a week." A thought occurred to her. "How long-" but she stopped. No, he looked like he'd been training out in the sun. There was no possible way he'd only been alive for a week. Was there? "Did she save you a week ago?" she asked curiously.
He stared at her and slowly shook his head, alarmed by her question, but intrigued, and it was clear on his face that she had caught his attention. But in truth, she'd always had his attention.
He noticed how paranoid she was and slowly turned the corner, peeking around and stepping into the secret room behind the fireplace, it led straight up to her bedroom in the tower. He knew this place like the back of his hand, he'd spent enough time watching it anyways. His movements were surprisingly graceful, even for someone who'd only been alive for a few months.
His expression went blank again and he raised a brow at her, "There's a hole in the world on Shindaerey Peak. Where the Void is closest to reality, shifting in and out through fragments left behind by a mass catastrophe. It was there that Billie chose to liberate me. We remained in Karnaca for several weeks, wandering silently through the abandoned buildings in the Dust District. It was surreal, even more so than being in the Void itself. She understood, Billie understands many things that most do not, so she waited, patiently, for the day that I might open up to her and tell her all of the things that ran through my mind. How curious she was, but how considerate as well." He watched the stones slowly drop back into place and glanced around with a clear interest.
He could recall when Corvo had stopped here, slipping into this very compartment just before taking down the Arch Regent. Listening to a recording of his dearest, the way his heart sunk, the way it fueled his flames, how determined, how strong, how utterly broken.
"...The Void latches on to anything it can curl its tendrils around. It scratches at the surface, desperately yearning to escape and devour the world, to grow and expand despite the boundless expanse, it seeks uniformity, equilibrium. It watches you now more than ever. Cuts need time to heal, but through raw wounds blood spills, and like blood the Void drips, fluid, it molds, encompasses completely. Do not let it drown you, Emily."
She noticed as he changed their path, wondering briefly if it was wise to follow, if he knew where he was going, but as he opened her mother's secret room she realized: he knew Dunwall Tower better than most. He probably knew everywhere better than most. She hesitated at the entrance to the secret room. She hadn't been in it in years. Corvo might have, but if he did he never mentioned it.
As the words spilled from his lips, she was reminded of that night. How his poetry explained the world in beautiful images to her. How it had tantalized her. Seduced her. She shook her head, shedding herself of anger as well as wistfulness, focusing on the tale he told. Shindaerey Peak… it sounded familiar. She must have read it recently, maybe a report of some kind. Speaking of the Void made her skin grow cold and clammy, reminded of shrieking dreams and stolen breath. The sudden darkness of the hidden room didn't help.
Glancing around, Emily felt a small twinge of ache in her heart. It still hurt, at times, thinking about her mother. At how she'd been so brutally stolen away from them. She didn't like thinking about such things while talking about Billie. It made her angry. She may have forgiven, but she hadn't forgotten.
His talk shifted to the Void again, and she tried to pay close attention, even as his words worked their magic on her. They seemed true enough. Did he know what she'd been subjected to?
"Was that what it was like for you?" she wondered quietly. She'd kept her distance from him since he'd let go of her waist, not wanting to touch him for fear of the Void's odd retaliation. Now, she looked to him, eyes curious but also hurting. Haunted. "The smoke and the stone and the-" She couldn't even describe it. She looked away, her words strangled as she whispered, "I can't breathe. It's choking me constantly." Her eyes shot to him again, desperate for reassurance. "Is that how it was for you?" Will it stop?
"For a long time I'd forgotten how to breathe," he admitted, eyes breaching through the curtains on the slim windows as he nodded and clasped his hands behind his back, a habit of his.
"The first several centuries were a blur, hazy asphyxiation and utter terror intermingling to create a bitter apathy for the world and the people that inhabited it. Humanity wasn't a piece in the puzzle, I was aware and yet only to an excruciating degree. My perception was present, I knew the things that were happening to me down to the tiniest fiber, the Void crashing into my being, drowning me, holding me in place as if taming a raging bull. Resisting was only a futile action because it already had me. I was only exhausting myself in trying to escape from a world so vast it had no clear sense of direction," he explained, thoughtfully, his expression contemplative.
"But you, Empress Emily Kaldwin, have always been an exception, haven't you." He glanced at her now pointedly. "From your lineage to your title, child empress now highly revered and respected by the entirety of the Empire — very rarely do people prove themselves as worthy as you have. It's interesting how you've managed to remain humbled, certainly others would be basking in the glory. And yet here you are... with me." He tilted his head, eyes flickering to the ground as he turned to the stairs that led up to her bedroom.
He thought or a moment, about all of the times he could have let her fail. All of the times he could have watched her crumble. He didn't need to tell Daud the name of the witch that planned on possessing an innocent. He didn't need to visit Corvo Attano and gift him with his Mark. He didn't even feel compelled to give Emily his Mark, or show her his past, bring her to his little island chipping away at the fringes of the Void. That wasn't by inclination of his state. That was by his own free will. Something he very rarely had back then.
At first, his words only served to further her hopelessness, mouth slowly opening as terror seized her. Centuries of this? But of course, that was in the Void. She wasn't. ...It was in her. Still, his descriptions only elicited misery. If resistance was futile, why bother? She could so easily use her abilities again, let the Void in. Use the power it offered her. Trying to hold it off was exhausting, after all.
But then his tone changed. He spoke with fascination, and she found herself curious to hear his thoughts, her fear set aside for the time being. He spoke of her like a legend.
She wasn't a legend.
He turned to the stairs, and her stomach leapt to her throat, blood rushing her cheeks. What on earth was he doing? Did he truly expect her to take him to bed? To let him anywhere near her quarters, after the last time had ended in such misery? Her mind rehashed his words, trying to figure out what he expected of her. She was left flummoxed, staring at the Outsider's back as he climbed the stairs with that patient grace of his.
Well she wouldn't do it. She turned back to the other exit, reaching for the exit switch. He would damn well come back and apologize for such a-
The ringing in her ears came back slowly at first before slamming into her at full force, and she smothered her sharp cry of pain in the folds of her robe. Not again. Not this again. She let out a frustrated groan, hand pulling back from the switch she'd been about to flip. "Come back here," she ordered, a touch of frustration coloring her Empress voice. When he didn't immediately rush to her side she added, through gritted teeth, "Please."
There was a rather smug entitlement that shone on his face, but it was more out of amusement than anything particularly malicious. It was never malicious actually. "The Empress? Begging me? This must be some kind of dream." He spoke before padding down the steps and leaning against the wall, seeing right through her. Even with those soft pale green eyes of his not encased in inky black, he still peered into her soul.
"It wasn't my intention to bed you, Emily." He didn't want to admit that he wouldn't have the courage to, anyways. "You're in no state of mind to..." He didn't finish that sentence, cheeks burning just faintly. "...No longer dwelling within the Void, being outside of society is no excuse for not adapting to common courtesy. Even then it still wasn't adequate in itself. While proprieties do often strike me as slightly silly, our rather... unique situation-" He gestured to her and then slowly to himself, letting a silence settle for a few moments before clearing his throat. "...prevents us from interacting the same way two people engaging in a courtship would. ...Regardless... Do you really have it in you to believe that I am out to... deflower you or seduce you into the night? I was of mind to believe that Abbey teachings were below you."
He folded his arms and slowly cocked his head to the side to change the perspective he had of her, eyes continuously turning to the mess of hair falling along her shoulders. "...I intended on bringing you back to your quarters and bidding you goodnight. Your father cares very deeply for you, almost unhealthily so. Nights spent wallowing away, withering in a rotting cell at Coldridge, mocked, accused of a heinous crime he did not commit, and only you were the small bit of hope that kept him breathing, kept him sane. Had he known Delilah's plan and been notified instead of Daud, well he would have done exactly what Daud himself did, probably with more grace and aptitude, seeing as it is Daud... Though it was within Daud's best interests that I informed him rather than-" He stopped himself, furrowing his brows faintly. It had been so long since he'd let himself free flow speak like this, all of the words falling into place. He would filter himself though, he'd already told Emily a bit too much.
"Your father is a skeptical man who trusts little to nothing, especially concerning you. It would be a grave mistake to be caught wandering the tower or... doing other things with you without his permission, while my ability to see the paths has escaped me, it wouldn't be difficult to predict the movements of an overprotective father only out for the good of his daughter," he explained, navigating back onto the topic.
His first words, spoken more playfully than he'd ever spoken to her, very nearly had her calling him out, an irked scowl crossing briefly over her lips. She was opening her mouth to say something, even - to deny the word beg for one - when he reached the base of the stairs and the ringing stopped again. Instead of irritation she was flooded with relief, letting out a wistful sigh at the silence before catching his eye again. His eyes were - astounding. Truly, like ghost eyes; they managed to keep his human form still in that distinct category of otherness. And they silenced her protests before they'd made it halfway to her tongue.
As he went on, so matter-of-fact about a subject most would speak of in metaphor only, she found an eyebrow cocking at his efforts, the way his words fell just shy of tripping over themselves. He may have denied immediate intentions, but it didn't sound as though his long-term thoughts were strictly platonic, either. His use of the word 'deflower' made it hard for her to suppress a smirk, her lips only twitching the slightest bit. Perhaps he didn't know quite as much about her as she'd once thought.
She watched his eyes, observing their wandering gaze, and very briefly thought of the comb still sitting on her bedside table. His mentions of her father served to shame her, whether he intended them to or not. She had to look away, a small blush rising in her cheeks. She should've asked Corvo for help sooner. He would do anything for her, she knew that, and if he'd known the Void had this hold on her he would've fought the Void itself if it would help. Her thoughts on her father, it took a moment to realize what the Outsider - not the Outsider now, who was he? - was saying.
Her eyebrows drew together in immediate confusion. Daud? What did he have to do with anything? How could he possibly be compared to her father — Daud was a cold-hearted killer. Was he saying Corvo would have killed her mother? No, he'd said Delilah's plan. What plan? She was about to ask when he stopped himself, and her lips pursed in irritation, that was only doubled by his next words. So Corvo did know. Of course he did. And he'd deliberately hidden this from her? Why? And knowing how this new presence silenced the Void; how long? Could she have been sleeping soundly all this time?
Emily's mind swam with questions, and she couldn't figure out where to start but she knew he wasn't leaving until he'd answered all of them. And as long as he kept the Void silent, she may be able to focus long enough to ask.
"You mention Daud - what does he have to do with any of this? What plan?" She managed to keep her voice level, her eyes piercing into him, a silent threat. He wasn't going anywhere until she had her answers.
Oliver stared at her silently for a moment, and then another, and had he been in the Void he would have simply dismissed her then, asking questions she didn't want to know the answer to. Ones that would hurt her. He didn't want to have to be that person, and he knew for a fact that Corvo didn't know the trials Daud underwent to save Emily from an even greater threat than just a few perverse minded nobles. His thoughts wandered off to the Pendletons and he very nearly cringed, hands behind his back, stroking his thumb against his wrist as a self comforting method. They had reminded him of people he despised.
But this was not the Void and he could not whisk himself away into the nothing and pretend as though he simply hadn't heard her. He tilted his head forward and a thoughtful expression painted his face. In the dim light of the room, with tower lamps peeking in through the curtains, it was almost painfully clear just how foreign he was. His features were almost Tyvian. But there was something ethereal to him, even as a human.
His eyes fluttered back up to meet hers, "There are intricacies to the world that most couldn't even begin to comprehend. Actions domino through generations, but each action has multiple reactions happening at once. There is a time in which Billie Lurk did not lose her Deirdre. A time in which Daud, The Knife of Dunwall was a good man through and through, where Aramis Stilton never dabbled with the wrong people, Kirin Jindosh denied Duke Luca Abel council and did not fall to the corruption of power. What you have to understand is that now is not the only now that is currently happening. And if you can't comprehend that, then at least consider the idea that not everything is how it seems and deception isn't always a ploy to belittle you or hold you back. Sometimes the truth stings like the nip of a blood fly, other times it's the shock of the train rails, and while rare, there are moments where the truth kills you on the inside — makes you bitter and cold, calloused. What I mean, Emily, is that the pastures are green where you cater to them. Perhaps it would be... a good idea to remain on your pasture," he said, completely serious now.
He turned away finally, tearing his gaze from hers and directing it to the floor, wondering how he'd managed to spin himself in this circle. He'd need to put effort into keeping his mouth shut, remaining inconspicuous, subtlety was something of the Void, then it was effortless, when his emotions didn't drive his actions. Now he was making talk of 'deflowering' and near scolding her for not giving her father the time of day. He knew she was no virgin to be sacrificed and no blossom to be plucked. She was better than that, But part of him still wanted to protect her.
If from anything at all, he wanted to protect her from himself.
Emily's lips thinned the longer he just stood there saying nothing. Once he began speaking, her chin raised in approval, relaxing, but that didn't last long. His words flowed elegantly, but they irritated her. Did he think her stupid? She'd studied with Anton Sokolov. She'd used that strange metaphysical timepiece in Stilton's manor. She understood - of course now is not the only now. She'd changed her nows once. But this now was the only one that mattered to her. He spoke words around her, as if to coddle her, when all he really did was avoid telling her the truth. And his pretty face and verbosity couldn't hide that from her.
He wished to keep her blissfully ignorant.
Blissful ignorance had never helped her before.
"'Remain on my pasture?'" she repeated quietly, eyes sparking dangerously. A bitter tide was rising. "You seem to forget that you are human now, Outsider." She still didn't know what to call him, but she liked the way the title bit viciously from her lips. "And you are a subject of this empire. Of my empire." Her shoulders were back, head held high, imperious and cold, even as a fire lit within her, burning the hurt from her heart.
She advanced on him, a combination of exhaustion and frustration and even that small touch of betrayal raging within her. "How many times you stole me from my world, dragging me into the Void?" she mused without humor. "If I gave the command, you would be the one dragged from your bed." Further and further she advanced, forcing him to retreat or be nose to nose with her. Her voice was practically a growl, so low and ominous. "I'm no innocent child. I've seen things." Her eyes moved briefly to her Marked hand, still hidden beneath silk as she flexed it, sensing the roiling Void that waited just beyond her reach, ready to leap to do her bidding - and take her along with it. "You've shown me things," she added, a trace of blame in her tone as she caught his eyes again.
"So don't speak your pretty words and make your pretty excuses just because now you have nowhere to run." He couldn't up and disappear, couldn't send her back to her own world now. This was her world. And she ran it.
He didn't flinch, didn't even blink, watching her with a blank expression that only darkened as he processed her words. He shifted, but not by much, pushing his weight onto his right leg and folding his arms distantly. "I am subject to no empire," he said suddenly after several beats of silence.
"Every day you wake to the sun shining through your curtains and warming your cheeks, tea by your bedside, servants at your beck and call. You grumble and groan over meetings with public officials and not over a stomach so empty you feel you might drop where you stand. Never have you felt the bitter cold biting at the ends of your fingertips. Sloshing through Karnaca's back alleys taught you what some of the upper lower class deal with, but even then you had someone to listen to you, people that stood by you until the very end. Have you ever truly been alone in all of your life, and do you really believe you have any right to threaten a man with a name forgotten by time itself with your petty idea of authority? You have a title given to you by people with power to suit themselves. You're like everyone else, Emily Kaldwin: fragile, human, and vulnerable to the lascivious corruption of the Void, and right now you're just letting it devour you because of how much easier it is than fighting. If a boy ripped from the streets could fend off the Void for four thousand years you can handle of few nights without your precious beauty rest." He stepped forward suddenly, shaking his head.
"Drag me from my bed and throw me to the dogs; at least the hounds know not to stick their noses into unsavory places. Innocence is an illusion created by people too cowardly to let things go and be the way they are — people like you, Emily. Wave around your horn and blow on the mouth-piece whenever it's convenient, but do not expect me to bend to your will simply because you step in gilded boots with chin held high and eyes stone cold beaming with unfounded entitlement, Your Highness." His voice had raised only just slightly but otherwise he was dangerously quiet. hand clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.
So this was anger. Saying things he didn't mean. Holding things against her that had no weight just because he knew they'd be sharp enough to cut. Humans, what self destructive little creatures they were. And now he was made of the same explosive stuff.
His words enraged her. Her fists shook, Marked hand trembling, aching to harness the power of the Void and choke him with it. He was a man now. And he could be killed like any man. She flexed her fingers, forming the perfect fist, just as her father had shown her years ago. Hand closed, rake the palm, tuck tight, thumb over. Hand closed, rake the palm, tuck tight, thumb over. Hand closed, rake the palm, tuck tight, thumb over. Her pulse thudded warrior rhythms in her ears, her breath like a snare drum, unable to stop herself from shaking.
Thoughts clashed loudly in her head, each side screaming at the other over all of the pain and guilt and anger. But her gaze never wavered. Even as she breathed through tightly clenched teeth, she did not back down. She would not back down.
He may have seen her. He may have known things about her. But this was petty, comparing childhood traumas. It wasn't as though she could change her upbringing. Would he look at a girl who'd just laid witness to her own mother's murder, been pulled from her side, wrenched through space and deposited at a brothel that teemed with the depravity of man — would he look that girl in the eye, at ten years old, and tell her her suffering was invalid? He knew everything, didn't he? He knew that wasn't how pain worked.
Hand closed, rake the palm, tuck tight, thumb over.
Tight fists by her side, ready to strike.
She lunged toward him - but her arms stayed down. She stopped her face inches from his, hot breath playing over his lips. "I earned my title," she hissed, voice surprisingly even. "I earned it back from a woman who would have kept me a toy - a pretty figure on a shelf, to humiliate and abuse until my will was broken." The Void surged in her angrily, and she bit down hard on the inside of her lip, drawing blood, before she continued. "I earned it back with cunning and mercy and - no, not alone - with help. Help from people who wanted to follow me. Wanted to aid me. I reclaimed my empire without taking a single life."
Her eyes tremored, pupils seeming to pulse as the Void struggled within her. She ignored the taste of ash in her mouth, the otherworldly smoke that burned her lungs. "And don't pretend you're so different. I saved your damned soul once. And you never told me to stop, to let things be the way they were. There was a time you fought, too, against Delilah." Her body was radiating an angry heat, but her fists remained at her sides. She would not strike him. She wouldn't give him - or the Void - the satisfaction.
"So yes: I expect you to 'bend to my will.' Not for the sake of the Empire, for all I invoke it. No. I expect you to obey me because you know it's right, regardless of what authority I claim. Because you sense a kindred spirit. Because the woman - the witch - whose name you speak is the same who tried to seize power from you too." Delilah's plan. What had been Delilah's plan?
"Humans meddle," she informed him, her voice brought down to an intense hum. "We are curious, flawed creatures." He knew this. He was one now, too. "We seek knowledge - I seek knowledge. And you will give it to me, whether now or later."
Head held high, the pulse of the Void stilled by her own determined heart, she pulled back from him, eyes proud and defiant. "...And it's 'Your Imperial Majesty.'"
He tensed when she moved closer, only instinctively. But he knew she was right. He knew from square one she had the right to know but he couldn't manage the words and damn was she close, so close he could taste her breath against his tongue and he would do anything to just catch it between his lips and hold it there and breathe her in like lingering smoke from a pipe. His hands ached to hold her close and share the last shards of the lingering Void within her because in truth the power was absolutely intoxicating and it fit her so perfectly that he lost any semblance of what they were even fighting about and just stared at her lips wantonly, his breath picking up, heart thudding in his ears but for a completely different reason now.
Point being: humanity was hard, and he was a little hard too.
He bit the inside of his cheek and dug his nails into his palm so harshly he was sure that it broke skin and left little drops of crimson rolling down his fingers. The salt left his skin stinging, and the silence that settled between them was tense in more ways than one.
He took a breath and it was noticeably quivering, if only just slightly. He was thoroughly shaken. But he tried his best not to let his features betray him as he watched her. His expression was unamused, unimpressed, bored even. He'd always been so painfully skilled when it came to making people feel smaller than him.
"Delilah's campaign stretched much farther back in time than you could possibly imagine," he said, after what felt like minutes of solid quiet between them.
"She was resourceful, more so than even I granted her credit for. One of her first machinations involved sucking your soul into the Void and taking your place, within your body, using one of her masterpieces. She planned on conquering the Empire within the vessel of a little girl, but once she realized the extent of the Void's power... she began to aim a little higher, slithering her way back into reality-" He stepped forward, eyes dark, even with their astonishing hues.
"-And she seduced her way to the top, reducing men and women into malleable pieces of clay, digging her fingers into them and skillfully playing on their weaknesses and strengths, tugging at their strings, watching them writhe beneath her in a sick twisted glee. She realized she wanted more than that, accepting the cold and enveloping embrace of power in its rawest form." He didn't stop approaching, only planting his feet near centimeters from her own, hands locked behind his back, mostly for his own sake.
"But even when she had its eyes on her - all eyes on her - it was never enough to satiate her hunger, her maddening yearning for more, always pining for more, on her knees at the very thought of having just a bit more than she already had."
"And it was you from the start. It wasn't just Corvo Attano who spent months rotting away in a cell — it was Daud with guilt in his heart and anguish heavy on his scarred and battered shoulders; it was Billie Lurk, an assassin's right hand who was bitter and soured with the acts she'd committed. Everyone marked, from day one, in some form or fashion be it in unintelligible, enigmatic indirect terms or unmistakably fastened and linked from the very core worked with your best intentions in mind. That is the truth, Emily Kaldwin. That is the knowledge you seek, Your Imperial Majesty."
And it was he who'd set it into motion. Interfering where he did not need to, without the Void compelling him. But she didn't need to know that. Perhaps she'd just piece it together herself.
He was near panting, hands trembling but hidden behind him, tucked away safely. He really needed to bandage that up.
She'd wondered if she might need to hold off a day or two. If she'd have to lay down the fight one day only to pick it up the next. But it seemed she had made her point.
His words slipped into her - her ears, her mouth - the knowledge feeding her desperate heart, even as her eyes glinted hungrily. His words spackled holes in her soul, adding hues to her vision of the world. Something else tugged at her, flickering small pictures or bits of information before her eyes, filling gaps in the story. Daud's role in it all, Billie's betrayal and penance - Farewell Daud - and the Outsider the one nudging everything into motion. She blinked the Void from her eyes before it could seize her up again, focusing on his words: the story of Delilah's duplicity.
There were times she had to marvel at her aunt. Not impressed so much as unable to look away. Her ambition, this ravenous thing.
His words only added to Emily's morbid fascination, weaving lurid images - his skill, even as a mortal, to spin tangible scenes with just his voice. She'd thought it was the Void that night, salaciously tempting her, but she realized now it had been all him. Him. The man now moving closer, the man whose eyes merely had to look at her lips to make her mouth water. The one who had wrenched her open and poured the Void into her. Who'd corrupted her. Who'd saved her from a fate worse than death, only to throw her to the hungry Void in a slip of carnal impropriety.
Oh how she wished she could undo that one night. If only so she might repeat it now, free of risk. To take his lips, his tongue, his-
She stopped herself. Not this. Not again.
Her body rocked forward slightly onto the balls of her feet. Pulled to him. But she stilled herself there. She wouldn't allow it. She'd tasted temptation once, and no matter how sweet it had been, it had destroyed her. Even if-
Even if in his presence the shrieks of the Void were silent. Even if it was easier to resist with him there.
His words came to an end, the mockery of his previous statement completely dissolved.
They each wore their impassive masks. False scorn. But his breath gave him away, and his eyes. Hot air traveled between them, and Emily was once again overwhelmed by his humanity. Breath. He breathed. He breathed, and he pained, and he raged and he hungered, and he lusted. Oh, he lusted. It hadn't gone unnoticed. But it would have to go un-acted upon.
She wasn't quite sure how to respond to his confession.
In the silence that followed, she heard the tiniest tap, and her eyes found the source of the noise. Blood dripping from his palm. She watched for a moment, then spoke, not angrily but not particularly kindly, either. Deadpan. "Masochist."
Oliver froze a bit, eyes widening just the slightest as he wavered under her gaze. But he kept his walls up, even if they'd taken quite the beating with just a single focused word. A word that, on the surface seemed completely off topic. But it was more than just a little relevant. She was a sly one, Emily Kaldwin, and it was his mistake to have underestimated how well she could read people.
He swallowed dryly, the corner of his lip twitching as he struggled to find the right words to say, to speak. Without every bit of information all laid out upon a silver platter like fruit ripe for the picking, he found himself stumbling over thoughts that whirled through his mind aimlessly, with no clear organization nor structure. He wondered for a moment as the silence lay thick, as though icing on a very bittersweet cake, if she realized that there were no restraints any longer, nothing holding them back but the clothes that they wore and their own stubborn pride.
He knew the best option was to fade into oblivion, to perhaps die right then and there and decay into a pile of ashes, brittle and crumbling, with only a broom and dustpan to look forward to. But he knew the chances were not high. So he opted for the second best option, which was to pull some pathetic dodge tactic out of his sleeve and whip it out like a line. Hopefully he'd hook her off somewhere away from this topic. His tongue was the bait.
"And you, certainly one to talk, are you not? So dreadfully bored up in that study of yours watching the world pass you by. You threaten me but your words are hollow because you know, you are absolutely certain, that if some pair of hulking guards were to drag me out by my arms and throw me onto the streets you would be subject to the merciless cold again, the Void would devour you hungrily and watch you seethe at its mercy. Indulge me Emily; are you afraid of what I might do, or afraid of what you will do?" he questioned, brows raising expectantly. He'd moved closer. He wasn't aware of it when it had happened but he noticed now.
Emily heard his words. Heard in them his attempts to distract her. She'd broken him in some way. Loosened all his little knots so he was coming apart at the seams. She'd figured something out about him, at least, if not everything. And the knowledge brought her comfort, and power. He couldn't get under her skin. Not like this. He couldn't anger her, couldn't scare her, if she knew he chose words to do just such a thing.
She wouldn't send him away from the tower. She'd keep him close enough to serve his purpose. ...But only that close. She couldn't let him any closer.
Yet he was closer.
Very close.
She could feel the warm breath of his questions dancing over her skin. Her gaze was leveled on him, assessing.
He had a point, to some extent. The Void was a terrifying entity. He quieted it, made it easier to control. Therefore she needed him. But he'd revealed a weakness. Should she be scared of him? She had no reason to be. He wouldn't hurt her, not knowingly - she knew that for certain now. His words were his skill and his sword. As long as she kept him quiet, she'd remain safe. He'd be her shield.
The only doubt she held wasn't fear that he would hurt her. No, she worried something else. If he found the words - at the right time, with the right vocabulary - he had a way of entrancing her. Mesmerizing her. Fascinating her. And that was what worried her. That was the threat to her power: not pain, but pleasure.
So she would have to control that, too. Mitigate the risk. Keep him docile.
She reached a finger up, hooking it under his chin. "I don't fear you," she informed him calmly, the words mostly true, as her thumb traced his rough jaw, her touch light. She wondered if she could lull him the way Delilah did her suitors. If she could speak like silk in his ear and bind him to her. If she would even want to. Her conscience already wavered, and all she tried to do was keep him quiet. If she ever tried to manipulate him into action, her conscience would surely stop her.
But of course, she wasn't trying to get him to act now, just stop him from acting. Which is why she took the calculated risk, sure she could tame him, and brought him closer, turning at the last moment to place a tender kiss on his cheek. If she could keep him speechless… She just wanted to keep him speechless.
Surprise crossed his face, and his eyes flickered over her expression with a bit of uncertainty, something apprehensive in his movements now. There had to be a catch. There was always a catch. Certainly now was no change from every other time.. right?
But she was so tempting with her doe brown eyes and the honey tint to her skin, the curvatures of her structure even in the dim light where his eyes were still adjusting. His lids lowered, attention directed completely on her once more. He had expected a challenge from her, but he hadn't expected her to be so completely exhilarating. Before, when he was floating through the Void, when he spoke to her through muddied waters, words muffled but still clear as day, she was a point of attraction for reasons he hadn't determined until it was far too late. Now he was sure of it. She had him wrapped around her finger, but she always had. He just wouldn't admit it, and that wasn't going to change any time soon.
He reached up slowly with his uncut hand, running his thumb over the line of her jaw languorously. He was warm this time, almost something like a walking furnace, his fingertips ran with heat, as if he had a fever, as if his hands were on fire. But his touch was not painful. His hand roamed over the edges and up to the side without direction, without method. It was natural, a pure admiration, despite the smugness lining his words.
He was taken aback by her blatant refusal though, the feeling of her lips lingering along his cheek, his eyes widening again. But then he deadpanned as she had earlier, he was far too perceptive to fall for that, his expression all too understanding, which was reflected in the way he spoke as well. "How clever you are," he complimented, but his voice was not complimentary. "The entire Empire would bow to your will, and you're faltering under the pressure of one man? I've seen amateur courtesans charm their ways into the beds of noblemen with more money than half the population of Serkonos itself... Have I really reduced the Empress of the Isles down to such... predictable methods?" he near cooed, his tone clearly patronizing.
His skin against her tempted her, it did. But she was resolute. Even as his fingertips left hot trails on her, she focused on her goal. She tried to focus on her goal. She mostly focused on her goal.
His flat words patronized her, but she refused to rise to his bait, even as she itched to bite him - an urge she hadn't expected and quickly dismissed. So her attempt hadn't worked quite as she wanted. Maybe logic would appeal to him. She still had steady footing. "Faltering?" She raised an eyebrow as she pulled back, shrugging off his touch. If he wouldn't cooperate, she saw no reason to subject herself to the charge that was his skin on hers. The unfavorable comparison to a sex worker wasn't exactly charming, but she found herself smirking. Predictable methods, eh? Why bother hiding it. "Alas, you've discovered me," she spoke wryly.
She took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest and ignoring that part of her that wanted back in his embrace. "Well, it seems you're well aware," she presented; "I need you." The words were matter-of-fact, no declaration of love, even as she spoke smoothly, voice like velvet. "You stop the Void, and I need that. But you-" Her eyes raked over him, not hiding that touch of lust that tempted her in his presence, her voice dropping just the slightest bit. "...You want me."
She forced her heart still, ignoring the way it thudded against her ribs in protest.
If she was talking then he wasn't.
If he wasn't talking he couldn't seduce her.
"I can't offer you much more than companionship. And rooms in the tower proper - where are you staying now?" She moved past the question before he could answer. "-Plus whatever Corvo's already giving you. Food, clothes, training, whatever it is. A safe place to live. A steady income." He'd be a kept man. Her kept man, but still an affair. Her official consort. She doubted it would appeal to him. But it was an honest enough plea. She wouldn't beg. He was the only thing that stopped the Void. He wouldn't want her to try and trade sex for protection anyway, she was sure of it. It was demeaning to both of them.
But she knew the basis of her proposal was true. And he would know that as well.
She needed him. He wanted her.
"Maybe we can come to some kind of mutual understanding."
If he were a god it wouldn't have mattered. He could imagine it now, he could see it in his mind, the whole scene playing out with him in the Void and her on a platform. If that were the case, her rejection wouldn't have hit him so hard. He would have felt the smallest tug in his chest, his eyes would have flickered to the side and he would have responded with a simple, "So be it."
But he was not a god. Now he was a man. He lost the smug expression he wore, the playful tone to his voice. He dropped the act in favor of another. One of caution, tone going flat, losing the fluctuation to his voice. She did not love him. She probably hardly tolerated him. If not for the Void swarming within her she would have shooed him off, treated him like a child, cold calloused responses, the same way she'd treated him when he approached her before each and every task she completed. She did what she had to do to survive.
In the end, it was his own fault for not recognizing it to begin with. She was hurting, she needed him to stop hurting. It was simple.
He wanted her.
He needed her.
He turned his back to her and walked off, running his fingertips along the desk beneath the window. His fingers slipped over the surface slowly and he counted at least ten things he could see, another five he could hear, three that he could feel. This was reality.
"Not far from here, three halls down near the library where Overseer John reads from books written by the Oracular Order every morning with a cup of coffee and half a scone." He seemed distant again, almost as if he'd completely lost interest. But inside he'd shattered. She could have put it lightly. She could have soothed him into it, like putting a dog down, watching him whimper pathetically, like an imbecile. But she played with him.
And for once, as invigorating as it was while it was happening, there was no payoff, there was no point. But what else did he have? He knew every textbook fact, every facet of human society, every corner of the world, known and unknown, found and unfound. He might as well just go with it.
"What is there that requires understanding? You're making a proposition?" he questioned, not even glancing back at her.
She wondered briefly, as he turned away, if he'd actually say no. His expression had gone cold, suddenly. She hadn't expected it, thinking speaking plainly was surely the best way to make her point clear. She'd been prepared to deal with those odd philosophical questions he would hypothesize, with perhaps some more jibes at her character. But she wasn't prepared for him just walking away. She covered the surprise quickly, smoothing it over with her professional Empress face.
His words irked her. Nonsense, again. Small facts about people she barely knew. Things they probably didn't want shared to begin with. But she held her tongue and kept her expression neutral, counting the beats of her breath. She'd be patient. He was having a difficult time, and she needed him, truly.
She didn't know what she would do if he said no. It was a possibility she didn't want to consider, now that she knew an alternative.
But he wouldn't say no, would he? Years of protecting her, he wouldn't stop now.
Oftentimes Emily's cunning didn't leave room for her common sense. Or emotional intelligence. She tried, of course, but it wasn't something she could notice in the moment. She looked for results. It was only after the fact that she would see the callous nature of words she'd chosen for their clarity.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was hollow. Something in her chest ached, a sudden sharp pain, but she pushed it down. They were making a deal here. Focus on business. Even still words echoed back to her from months ago. You've come to proposition me?
"Yes," she nodded. "Do you accept? Will you stay with me? Corvo can style you as a sort of valet maybe, or a consort - though I don't know if you'd be comfortable with that, there's a bit of gossip that tends to come along with it." She faltered. It didn't feel right.
Her voice softened slightly. "We can wait," she offered. "You don't have to make a final decision now. I just - it's been a week. I need sleep." The sun was setting outside, and she wondered what time it was.
"Unlike you, I have no reputation to uphold. I am not subject to... subjects. Nor would I care, if I were in the position to. But ultimately, it isn't much my choice, is it Emily? Because like you said earlier, you are the Empress. And me? Aren't I just another one of your citizens, aren't I just another subject to your Empire? Right, so then we've come to an understanding. How quickly you've convinced me." His words were sarcastic and perhaps a little bitter, but he seemed just as unamused as usual.
"So then, what is it you have in mind that I do? Would you have me lay on the floor, or perhaps sit in a display case? The radius of my presence isn't particularly large, larger than average by human standards only because of previous arrangements, but still not much to work with of course." He tilted his head but he still didn't turn to meet her gaze.
He was so ashamed.
"You'd rather I make my decision quickly, patience has never been your forte, especially when the Void is eating you from the inside out," he added.
His words, at first a relief, quickly turned on her. They hurt. But she reminded herself: skill and sword. He couldn't harm her with words. He wouldn't hurt her.
Yet he did.
But she hid her pain behind a neutral face, forcing her heart from her sleeve to bury it somewhere down deep. Somewhere he couldn't reach it. Maybe she could fix this mess. She'd find a better way to say what she meant. But then he'd know the effect he had on her - no, she couldn't give up that power. But-
Guilt stabbed at her insides, but the only change in her face was a slight glance to the side, a few quick blinks.
Skill and sword.
"Well then." Her words were nearly as hollow as he'd been. Freed of all emotion. "That's-" she faltered for just the slightest moment, "-good. That's good." It wasn't. It was horrible. It was twisting her up in knots, but she was too desperate to take the time to fix it. She'd make this better, she promised herself. She promised him, though not aloud. She would make this better, she just needed rest.
A/N: You may have noticed Void!Emily gets a bit of Emily the Vengeful in her. The Void devours, the Void corrupts. What else can I say?