onewhoturns | [Dishonored] The Rhyme of the Rosewater Hag (emsider) 2/3

A/N Aug 2018: So I kept writing. And I’m still working on it, on page 13 now... It’s devolved. Gotten a bit... smutty. As expected, I suppose. Regardless, here’s some more. Feel free to find me on AO3, FFnet, or buy me a ko-fi.

Title: The Rhyme of the Rosewater Hag
Chapter: 2/3
Pairing: Emily/Outsider (emsider)
Word count: 2743
Rating: T bordering on M
Summary: “That’s a lie.” // “May the Outsider claim my lying tongue if it is.”
start here (1/3), next part (3/3)

“Your little friend was right, you know;”

She gasped in surprise, and immediately cursed herself, expecting to choke on icy water, but whatever she was breathing-

“The Hag isn’t someone to trifle with.”

The voice that met her ears didn’t belong to any of the members of the circle, either. Nor did it sound like a hag. It came to her like an echo, like a memory. She blinked what should’ve been water from her eyes, but they were dry. Instead of the silver basin, her hands (and her knees and feet, she noted) rested on stone. Stone that was decidedly not from Gristol. Or from anywhere in the Isles.

She looked up, and felt her stomach jolt as her eyes met pure empty space - an abyss that fell infinitely into nothing. Stone floated in great sheets and in tiny pebbles, suspended but still somehow moving, and she knelt on one of them. But inches away that all ceased to exist. It stopped, and before it grew… nothing. An abyss. The Void.

“You’re lucky I stepped in.”

The voice was coming from behind her, she realized, and quickly she fell back and rolled sideways, a motion that she would’ve modified to bring her to a standing position had her legs not been tangled in skirts. (Was this why her mother had stopped wearing dresses?) Instead, she stopped herself from falling forward and steadied herself on the heels of her palms before working on getting her legs in a more useful position. She didn’t need to look far to find the source of the voice. On a distant jagged rock on the far edge of her large platform. Seated, casually, arms steepled over his knees as he watched her. Seeing him made her movements falter. Her lips parted, as though she might say something, but she just frowned and snapped them shut again. In another few seconds she had her skirts bunched in one hand up to her knees, and her legs were soon under her. As she stood, she stumbled back again.

He was closer now. He hadn’t made a sound - the air was all quiet wailing winds and almost electrical hums, no footsteps had disturbed the dissonance of it - but he’d come closer. Quite close. He was no more than two feet away now, glancing at her struggle with a slight quirk of amusement to his lips, before he turned on a heel and began a slow pacing arc around her. “Yes well - it’s good to see you again, too.”

Her cheeks went pink and she scowled at his wry tone. He did look familiar. But he’d seemed so much older then, she’d lumped him in with her father and the ‘adult’ types. Another glowering presence, only this time in her dreams. Not quite stoic but still off-putting, always watching, observing. This ancient creature that had haunted her for, what, three nights eight years ago? Less? Now he looked - she felt the blush creeping over her neck and chest - well, not much older than her, to be honest. And… and attractive, to boot.

His smirk grew more pronounced, and she wondered if he could read her thoughts.

If you can, I hope you choke.

“A silent empress? That’s a first. Usually you royal types are so outspoken.”

Her lips pursed in irritation as he finally stopped moving, having drawn even closer, and he cocked his head to the side as bottomless black eyes glanced over her with mild curiosity.

“Perhaps you take after your father. He never talked much here, either.”

Her annoyance dissipated in an instant of complete surprise, and her mouth dropped open again, eyes wide, interest piqued. “My father? Here?”

His eyes had sparked as hers had, though how she’d seen it in their pitch black depths she couldn’t know. “She speaks,” he murmured, a hand lifting to her face, thumb brushing across open lips for a fraction of a second as he turned his wrist, fingers trailing lazily down her jaw, her neck, as he went on. “I was starting to think I was too late.” She stilled her head even as she glanced down, watching his sleeve as his hand closed gently around her neck. “That the hag had strangled your lying throat before I took you.”

She closed her mouth, swallowing hard and feeling the slight pressure he placed on that same lying throat. Firm enough she couldn’t mistake it for anything other than his grasp, but loose enough that she breathed unimpeded. Her head swam, his touch having chased previous thoughts from her mind. He’d never been so close. Even when she’d seen him before, he’d been elsewhere - further away, too far to read anything but keen observation on his face. But now…

He was distracting her. Regardless of how true his words were - and were they true? Had he really snatched her from death’s door? From the grasping vines of the Rosewater Hag? - he’d evaded answering. If she recalled correctly, he’d never answered her before, either. For all her questions - who he was, why he was there, where there was, what he was watching her for - she’d been met with silence. She was a child then. His silence, offered from afar, could only be met with pouting and foot-stomping. But she was grown now. He didn’t keep his distance. And he wouldn’t keep his silence if she could help it.

“Why was my father here?” Her voice was hushed, though it didn’t need to be loud to reach his ears - if he even needed ears to hear in this place.

A flash of panic shot through her as his grip tightened, and her hands clutched at his wrist - not quite prepared to offend the god by clawing him off, but making it clear she expected him to let go. He held her like that for a moment, black eyes narrowed in some facsimile of curiosity as fear slowly blossomed in her gaze. Finally he let her go, turning his back, and in another instant he’d reappeared a few feet away, still pacing, examining his fingernails with disinterest.

“No ‘thank you,’ Your Majesty? No apology? How many times have I saved you now, two? Three? Most humans are lucky to escape death even once.”

She stared after him in growing horror, hand lifting to her neck as she tried to maintain composure instead of gasping for air. What was he talking about? Saving her? But hadn’t he just-- No. She turned her gaze to the ground as she rubbed her throat, mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings. He wouldn’t save her just to kill her himself, would he? Void, how could she possibly know: he was a god. The motivations of gods were incomprehensible. And twice? Three times? She didn’t remember being so close to death before… And she’d never been torn from her very reality like she’d been just moments ago.

When she glanced up, he watched her with a single raised brow, that same look of mild amusement. Waiting. Observing her reaction.

“I’m-” She stopped herself before she might say more, pursing her lips. She wasn’t about to apologize. And she wouldn’t thank him after he tried to choke her. If he’d tried, he would’ve succeeded, her traitorous mind nagged at her. It was a warning. But a warning to do what? To behave yourself. To submit.

Ha. No, she wasn’t about to believe that. She raised her chin defiantly, managing to adopt a tone almost as careless as his, filing her curiosity away to examine later. “I appreciate what surely must’ve been a real chore for you, all-powerful Void god,” she drawled, before her tone hardened. “Now if you’d be so kind as to inform me of why my father was visiting this hellscape, I’ll be on my way.”

The amusement was no longer so mild, both brows raised as his lips curved into a mocking smirk. “You’ll be on your way, will you?” He seemed to break into pieces in one location as he reformed in another, a swirl of black shards. He swept an arm out, gesturing to the edge of the stone platform. “Go on. Try.”

She seemed to feel the grating, shifting, ringing of stone as it moved, even though it made not a sound. A path formed. The suggestion of a path: jagged, yes, with a few ominous-looking gaps, but manageable. Emily’s eyes darted over it, suspicious. His voice drew her gaze.

“If you make it to the gate, you’ll be home before I can tell dear old Corvo what his daughter’s been meddling in.”

Again, he mentioned her father. Familiarly. As much as she tried to keep her lofty facade, her frustrated confusion wasn’t particularly well hidden. And when she looked back to the path there was, indeed, a gate. Some ways off, but located squarely at the end of the winding path. Two shards of obsidian that seemed dangerously poised against each other, as though they might fall at any moment. Her gaze followed the whole trail back from the gate, eyes spotting each precarious ledge and leap, until she looked at the start of it all: four feet away. A single, non-threatening two foot drop.

“Well?”

Her head jerked up again, to find him standing midway down the path, arms crossed over his chest as if in challenge. No, not ‘as if’ - it was a challenge, plain and simple.

“Afraid you might ruin your pretty dress, Your Imperial Majesty?”

She fixed him with a glare sharp enough to pierce skin. The black-eyed bastard just stared her down, still with that eerie vicious amusement. She scoffed. If he thought she was scared of a little physical strain, he obviously didn’t know her. She kept her eyes on his, her own brows lifting in brief challenge, as she kilted up her gown, getting the layers of fabric to cooperate and perch where she wanted them so she might move more freely. Two steps back, then she began to run.

One drop, a quick turn, planting a hand and vaulting sideways over another stone - she ran it fast, faster than was strictly necessary, gaze calculating each movement just before she had to make it, bounding lithely, the muscles in her arms and thighs burning pleasantly, quickly warming up to the motions she practiced every other night. But the next gap was big - bigger than she’d thought - a yawning chasm between stones--

“Emily-”

More speed-

She watched the edge, calculated, and flung herself at the last moment. As she hit she dove into a roll, even as her knee protested the unexpectedly harsh landing. Too late, she realized she’d miscalculated. Her breath froze in her throat as she tried to correct her course. It was sheer luck that let her weight shift just enough to shift back from the looming edge, pebbles scattering and freezing in air instead of falling off the sheer drop. She stumbled backwards, trying to steady her footing even as she cursed herself for hitting the wrong spot, angling her roll too much forward and not enough to the right-

“Emily-” Her back thudded up against him just before he closed hands around her arms, stilling her, stopping her from bowling him over and pushing them both off of the opposite ledge.

Training kicked in, and she stomped down, then jammed elbows and head back-- He’d disappeared again, and once more she stumbled, this time tipping backward, and she quickly tried to lower her stance, spread her feet and get stable once more, arms braced to help her balance-

He grabbed her wrist - whether to steady her or force her further off-balance, she didn’t know and she didn’t care - she wrenched out of his grasp and let herself fall to the ground -- at least there it would take more than a misstep to fall into the Void.

“Emily. That’s enough.”

His voice had lost some of its mockery, its amusement, instead sounding cross. Emily’s heart was racing, the terror of nearly plummeting into the Void mixing with the sheer exhilaration of the run beforehand. She was panting, limbs surging with pent-up nervous energy, all wound up. When she met his eyes, his lips twisted wryly.

“I’ll admit, you made a valiant effort-”

“I’m not done,” she insisted, dragging herself to her feet. She clenched her fists, rolled her ankles, flexed her toes, glaring at the next edge.

“Yes you are.” He was in front of her once more - close, incredibly close - and a strong palm pressed against her sternum, stopping her from moving forward.

She blinked, eyes that had been on the stone now staring at his chest, and she quickly refocused her gaze, tilting her head back just slightly to meet his eyes again, angry and stubborn.

Whatever annoyance or anger that had been in him had softened, and his smirk was almost patient. “I admire your tenacity, empress, I really do.” Every time he spoke it was disorienting, sounding as though it was both burrowing into her skull and echoing from miles away. As he reached a hand up to cup her cheek she only managed to stop her body from flinching, though her features still twitched, showing her desire to recoil. “But you are done.” Fingers grasped her chin firmly and he directed her gaze toward the gate, his eyes not leaving her face even as the stone path curled in on itself, leaving the primordial archway standing alone, too far for any jump she might attempt.

She felt her shoulders sag, and this time when she turned her face away he let go of her. Her tone was bitter. “You didn’t even make it possible-”

“It’s possible. Just not with your… current skills. You’ll be able to reach it, one day.” The words seemed to amuse him for a moment, but he shook his head, and in another instant was a few feet away again. “But no, I didn’t intend for you to leave so soon.”

She glanced once more at the distant gate, fidgeting for a moment, then sighed as she looked away. Undoing the knots and folds she’d used to keep her skirts out of her way, she smoothed the gown free of wrinkles as best she could, but made no effort to approach the god. “Do you intend to answer my questions, then?” Despite her relatively unassuming pose and even, almost casual tone, her glare was intense.

He turned to face her again, meeting her piercing amber glare with a black abyss that would drive her mad if she wasn’t careful. Again, that smirk. He held her gaze for far too long to pretend he hadn’t heard her query. Just as the air grew thick, unease shooting darts of warning through her body, he disappeared again.

A cold hand tucked under her hair and cupped around the back of her neck, and she swallowed her squeak of surprise, attempting to step away from the presence that loomed once more at her back. Another hand looped around her waist, holding her still. She stiffened, skin rapidly reddening, and she realized with some chagrin that his cool skin was almost a welcome relief. Once she stopped trying to move away, his arm retreated. She had to admit that, after her run - and after such a close call - the chill of his touch soothed her heated skin. Emily shifted foot to foot, hands balling into nervous fists, but gradually her breath became even again, quiet, her limbs no longer trembling from the shock and exertion.

She hesitated, and was about to voice her question again when he spoke.

“You know…” he mused in a low murmur, “I would’ve stepped in either way.” His arm circled around her again, the fluidity of the movement emphasized by the smoke that seemed to waft off of him. It wasn’t an iron grip - she was sure she could break it if she tried - but graceful fingers drummed against the dip of her waist before coming firmly to rest. His hand peeled away from her neck, pushing aside hair that had long come loose from its styling, skimming down the curve of her neck, her shoulder, cupping her arm, and she felt him shift until his chest pressed against her, breath curling like smoke around her ear.

She closed her eyes for a moment, brow furrowed, unsure if this was fear she felt or- or something else.

“...But then you made all those oaths…”