onewhoturns

A/N Aug 2018: Just threw together this ficlet earlier (working on the rest of it now, but I liked it so much I thought I’d share). Eventual emsider. Feel free to stalk the rest of my work over on AO3 or FFnet. Buy me a ko-fi?

Title: The Rhyme of the Rosewater Hag
Chapter: 1/3
Pairing: eventual Emily/Outsider (emsider)
Word count: 2452
Rating: T (higher rating later chapters)
Summary: “That’s a lie.” // “May the Outsider claim my lying tongue if it is.”
next part (2/3)

“That’s a lie.”

“May the Outsider claim my lying tongue if it is.” Emily raised her hand solemnly, shooting a pointed look at the suspiciously silent Wyman. The smirk on the young Morleyan’s face was far too broad.

“You’re saying you’ve never used a bone charm? Ever?” The Tyvian ambassador’s daughter looked thoroughly doubtful.

“That’s heresy - she’s the Empress of the Isles, of course she hasn’t.” That was Horace Evelyn, the son of the host of the night’s party, and his tone was dripping with scorn.

The small group of young nobles sat about the lush salon, fitting the theme of the evening’s soiree, decked in gauzy silks and luxuriant pillows, harking back to the romanticized poetry and folk tales of old Serkonos. It was the season for fêtes and parties - the week before the fugue feast - and the seven young people, themselves draped in fittingly thematic dress, were all flush with drink and gossip

Emily herself wore the least exciting costume of the bunch, though she’d managed to convince the Master of Ceremonies for Dunwall Tower - the man who had final say on all of her formalities - that wearing a dress was perfectly harmless, and that red (not scarlet, of course not scarlet, something muted) was the only appropriate choice for such a themed evening. He’d relented in the end. And she’d arranged a slight distraction to stop him from interfering in the fitting for her (not as low-cut as she’d wanted) wine-colored gown. Still, she didn’t have the dramatic silhouettes and gaudy embellishments of her companions. Just the roses she’d stolen from the hall of the tower that she’d ordered Alexi to braid into her hair - completely undoing the complex weave of ribbon and hair that had been so tight as to hurt her scalp - one flirtatiously tucked in her décolletage, another fashioned into a minimalistic corsage. A piece of thin black ribbon, cut from the one had been woven through her former hairstyle, was tied in a bow at the side of her neck. They’d never take her knife, at least. The empress was expected to defend herself if need be.

“I agree. I think she’s lying.” Wyman’s voice was smooth, their smirk having been toned down for the moment.

Of course she was lying. They’d been together when she’d used one. The empress had secured it to the frame of the bed herself. Months trapped at the Golden Cat had taught her something about being responsible, at least. She was lucky the delegation from Wei-Ghon had left before the party, or someone else may have known the truth as well. At least most of her affairs were international… fitting for an empress.

Rosalind Dohertry - being part of the nouveau riche - held none of the prudish assumptions of the Evelyn heir. She stood in one fluid motion, rising from their little circle of plush cushions, and went straight to the bookshelves against the opposite wall. “Let her prove it then.”

Emily shot a glare at Wyman as the rest of their circle exchanged looks: confused, amused, and - on Horace’s part - affronted. “Where exactly are you-”

“Oh shut it, Evelyn, I snooped in here at your last party, don’t think your family’s so pure and faultless--” She reached into the space behind some books, groping around until a mischievous grin lit on her features. “Here it is.” She pulled out a dark well-worn volume. Every gaze affixed to it as the young woman returned to their little group, a wicked gleam in her eye.

This was why Emily found Rosalind one of her favorite guests at any event: the girl knew how to make things interesting. One of these days Em would stop feeling so intimidated and get the girl alone to see just how interesting things could get.

All parties leaned in, even as Horace spluttered about invasion of privacy, and Rosalind flipped with determined fingers, skimming a page or two and then skipping ahead. She seemed to know the tome well.

“This-” she stabbed at the page, a hollow thunk echoing in the newly silent room. “The Rhyme of the Rosewater Hag.”

Emily felt her own heartbeat fluttering, but tried not to grin. She loved this sort of thing. She wasn’t allowed to, of course, what with the Abbey breathing down her neck at all times, but what girl hadn’t had a superstitious phase in her teens? She’d smuggled books from the library at Dunwall Tower to read under her covers at night, chilling tales of ghosts and ghouls and -- and the Rosewater Hag. She shivered, some part of her thrilling at the danger of it even as she reminded herself that 19 (or, okay, 18 and 9 months) was far too old to still be believing in superstitious nonsense.

If she’d thought too much about it she might be blushing, remembering the embarrassing moment she tried to summon the Outsider himself by chanting some stupid poem about whales and walking three circles backward around a hand mirror in a dark room… that hadn’t been a shining moment, for sure, but she’d collapsed in giggles telling Alexi about it. That was what she got for referencing the journal she’d written while sequestered during the Rat Plague. That whole thing was a mix of fact and fiction. She’d been an imaginative kid.

Another noble’s voice, this one coming from the usually quite quiet Serkonan Adiz, spoken in a wry hum. “Speaking of heresy…” A few more exchanged nervous glances. If she did this, they would be witnessing some truly shocking behavior from an empress.

Let them be shocked. “What exactly is the Rhyme of the Rosewater Hag?” Emily asked, as though she didn’t already know.

She did, of course. And the fact that she already wore materials she’d need had her far too excited. As much as she denied it, she still loved the supernatural. All tales and fiction, but even the idea of them would’ve made her squeal if she didn’t want to maintain her confident demeanor.

“It’s how we test to see if you’re telling the truth.” Rosalind’s grin was sharp, and Emily couldn’t help but find it very attractive. Why was she always attracted to danger?

“I am,” she lied.

“Careful, Your Majesty, the Hag isn’t someone to trifle with,” Wyman warned, though their tone was light and joking.

“As I said: it’s the truth. May the Abbey curse my bones and the Outsider ravage my errant mind if I lie.” She could hardly keep the smirk from her face. Wyman’s brows raised skeptically, but they shrugged.

Rosalind cleared her throat, drawing the attention back to her as she read aloud. “First, whoever is to be tested must find a fountain of standing water and cover the surface with fallen rose petals.”

“What a shame, looks like there’s no fountain is sight, you’ll just have to trust her and move on-” Horace reached to close the book, but Rosalind shifted her back to him, keeping the tome out of reach.

“We’ll make do.”

“Here-” That was Hettie Ashmore, a girl Emily had always found a bit too eager to side against her. Now Hettie upended a large bowl of fruit that had been resting on a nearby table, spilling the contents onto the floor and placing the bowl in the center of their circle.

“Thank you Lady Ashmore,” Rosalind grinned, and looked imperiously to the Tyvian ambassador’s daughter, Katya. “If you’d be so kind as to empty the water pitcher, that may be enough.”

When the first pitcher did little to fill the surprisingly large basin, Hettie was the first to volunteer to refill it. Listening to the faucet in the adjoining bathroom, Emily found herself cocking her head as she watched Rosalind. The Ashmore girl, Emily knew not to trust her, but Rosalind? Was this truly malicious? She may look like a fool - especially going face first into a bowl of chilled water - but surely her friend didn’t truly mean her harm.

It took four trips back and forth to the sink before the basin was full. The room grew progressively quieter. Suddenly, things seemed so… real.

As Emily moved forward to touch the bowl, Hettie slapped her hand away.

“Standing water. Let it come to rest.” She had the look of a cat who got the canary. That, even more than the slap on the wrist, annoyed Emily to no end.

Amber eyes narrowed at the Gristol noblewoman. Another moment passed.

“Em-”

The empress silenced Wyman with a glare. She was going to do this. No one would stop her. She’d watch the grin fall from the Ashmore girl’s face and be glad for it. And then she’d shame the girl for her belief. For piety triumphed over heresy, and she’d triumph over some silly superstitious ritual.

The surrounding guests watched in tense silence as Rosalind reached forward with confident but delicate hands, taking the rose from Emily’s wrist and holding it above the water to crumble petals onto its surface. She beckoned Emily forward until the girl knelt before the bowl, and then plucked the bloom from the neckline of the empress’s dress to add its petals to the other.

Emily found her face heating despite herself. Part of her was a bit embarrassed that she’d even agree to such a thing, but a larger part of her - the spiteful, cocky part of her - intended to scoff at the whole business, and then shaft Hettie Ashmore from any future plans.

Rosalind tucked a strand of Em’s hair back gently, with a small and wicked smile, and took the final rose from where it had been placed, fingers that were a bit too rough for a noblewoman tracing Em’s jaw briefly as she pulled away. Then the petals sat on the water, and Rosalind sat across from her. She read again. “First, whoever is to be tested must find a fountain of standing water and cover the surface with fallen rose petals.” She glanced around at the circle, preening in the center of their attentions, before she went on. “Once there are sufficient petals so as to completely obscure the water, you must close your eyes firmly, and place both hands within the fountain so that they are submerged beneath the blanket of rose petals.”

Despite her confidence that the whole ritual was silly, Emily found herself noting that - well, the water wasn’t completely obscured, so it wouldn’t work. And it wasn’t a standing fountain. So it wouldn’t work. No, it won’t work because the whole thing is bullshit, she reminded herself. Rosalind wants attention, and we’re giving it to her. Hettie wants some petty drama and she’ll be sorely disappointed. She placed her hands into the basin, goosebumps immediately racing up her arms as she grit her teeth determinedly. The water was cold. Very cold. There had been ice in the pitcher, and Hettie had most definitely left it in as she filled the rest of the bowl. She felt the chill sinking into her skin.

“Then you are to recite the following verses:” Rosalind straightened her back, and her voice dropped, instructing Emily to repeat after her.

For once, the Empress did as she was bid.

“Petals, petals on the water
Tell me, tell me, where's your daughter?”

She set a fierce and haughty gaze on Rosalind’s face, her repetitions spoken confidently and without the sensationalist overtones of noblewoman who instructed her.

“Has she drowned beneath the mark?
Has she vanished in the dark?”

Doubt began at the base of her spine and worked its way up, like an itch she couldn’t scratch, but she kept herself still -- perhaps too still.

“Petals, petals on the water
Tell me, tell me, where's your daughter?”

She didn’t want to, but the sudden doubt made her shift her gaze for just a moment, catching the look of malicious glee on Hettie fucking Ashmore’s Voiddamned face.

“Has she trysted by the well?
Has she secrets left to tell?”

Wyman actually looked worried for once. A look she wasn’t accustomed to seeing on their usually impish face.

“Petals, petals on the water
Tell me, tell me, am I your daughter?”

She felt as though the water were humming, like something made it vibrate on her skin. The petals trembled, though Emily was sure she was keeping herself still.

Rosalind held up a finger before Emily, halting her. If she hadn’t been in the middle of some kind of occult ritual, Emily might have snapped at the girl for her insolence. Instead, she just glared.

“After this you must lean into the fountain, lowering your head fully into the water and under the rose petals, face first with both eyes still squeezed tight.” The girl was smirking. “Count to three and then open your eyes. At that moment, it is said that the Rosewater Hag will arrive. If you are without fault you will see nothing, except that you will feel her gentle caress on the back of your neck. But if there is a falsehood or wickedness in your heart,” she glanced up, eyebrows raising in delight at the morbid possibility, “you will see the terrible face of the Rosewater Hag, a creature of indescribable horror. The hag will drown you in the fountain with a cord made of thorny vines.”

Katya gasped at the word drown, but Emily didn’t react.

“Are you ready, Your Majesty?”

Horace Evelyn shot up from his spot on the cushions, “Stop this at once, I-” Hettie slapped him and he stopped talking, staring at her dumbly.

Emily nodded.

As she carefully leaned forward, she realized what a stupid idea it was to put herself in such a position - this girl could drown her right now, no hag need attend - but reminded herself that there were five other witnesses. Such a thing wouldn’t happen.

Eyes shut tight, she-- cold-

So Voiddamned cold!

But she forced herself to continue even as her back stiffened, not allowing herself to pull her head out, instead thrusting it further under the water until her hands hit the bottom and she stopped herself before her face might follow suit.

Her pulse had skyrocketed, with the added anxiety of being unable to breathe - even if it only was a few seconds - and the fact that she felt something in that water and it wasn’t rose petals it definitely wasn’t rose petals-

ONE.

This was a mistake, a huge mistake, she was going to die she was going to die-

TWO.

If she died, Corvo would kill her- he’d always been superstitious, had tried to instill a healthy fear of the supernatural in her as well-

THREE.

She hesitated a fraction of a second more, then opened her eyes.