onewhoturns

A/N Oct 2018: More of the faeU: and now things go wrong. If you’d like: my AO3, FFnet, and the ko-fi preview for 3-2.

Story Title: Iron & Gold
Chapter Title: The Usurper
Chapter Part: 1/3
Story Part: 9/?
Pairing: Emily/Outsider (emsider)
Word count: 2834
Rating: T
Summary: Ever since she was a child Emily had been cautioned: beware the fae. She’d heard the typical warnings – faerie rings, wishing wells, mysterious lights in the darkness. But they were just cautionary tales... [A Dishonored fae AU]
start here (prelude), previously (2-4), next part (3-2)

It was… overwhelming. Everything seemed sharper, brighter, more colorful even in the cool light of the moon. How Emily had stepped from the edge of the forest straight back into the maze she couldn’t quite know, but she no longer had any difficulty believing it. A small smile played at the edge of her lips as the traced awed hands over the hedge rows, seeing the smallest sparks of light where she never would have imagined seeing things before. Even as the moonlight covered everything in blue, every leaf was greener than she’d ever seen it, every bloom more vibrant.

She wanted to just stand and take it all in, soak in the beauty surrounding her -- or maybe sit down. Her head spun, and she wasn’t sure if it was just the sudden rush of wonder this new True Sight brought, or if it was something else. Either way, she should get back to the party. Her father would have an apoplexy if she went missing on their own property. (He’d probably implode if he knew she’d made a fae contract, as well.)

A small giddy laugh passed through her lips as she shook her head, catching tiny flecks of color in the small stones of the maze’s path. It was incredible. Her steps faltered and she lifted a hand to her temple. She was dizzy - a creeping nausea tightening her chest. Maybe she could excuse herself, take an hour to rest and let her body adjust, away from the noise of the--

Emily stopped moving.

But… that wasn’t right. She should be hearing music and soft conversation. Clinking glasses, maybe. All she heard was the spitting crackle of flames and a distant peal of harsh laughter.

Scrabbling at the fabric of her dress, she tore into the gauzy outer layer, slipping her hand into the hidden panel of her bodice and drawing out the thin knife sewn alongside the boning against her ribs. Not as good as a sword, but at least she had some kind of weapon. She moved as quietly as she could, every inch closer feeling warmer, making her skin itch even as she tried not to let her head swim.

By the time she reached the last turn, the path was bathed in thick orange light, loud snaps and roars coming from a bonfire far larger than the one she’d left. She adjusted her hold on the knife, flexing and waking her muscles as she took another step. Heat made the air around the fire shimmer, distorting the edges and completely blocking her view of the high table. If there even was a high table left to see. The bonfire had been built up with jagged splinters of wood, pieces of the tables that had held food and drink no more than an hour ago. Or she thought it hadn’t been so long ago… How long had she been gone?

No - no, the candles in their sconces hadn’t yet burned out. It was the same night. But so much had changed…

There were sounds coming from inside the palace, ringing out onto the terrace. Words were lost in echoes and shadowed by the noise of the fire, but bouts of grating laughter cut through it all. Emily felt her limbs trembling even as she tried to force her mind to focus, to keep on her feet, no matter how weak she was starting to feel. Some small part of her was reminded of five months sequestered in a brothel.

She should hide. Maybe she could turn around, go back to the forest, give herself some rest and come back once she didn’t feel so frail.

A shriek pierced through the night air, and Emily’s head shot up. That wasn’t a laugh; that was a scream. She should go to them - this was her palace, these were her people - whoever it was was her responsibility and she was letting them suffer. But-- but her muscles hurt. Whatever this power was, it seemed to need some adjusting to. She grimaced as another scream rang out. But she wouldn’t be any help like this. Not when her head was pounding and her stomach rolling. As much as it pained her, she had to retreat.

She sent an anguished look at the entrance to the palace even as she took one step back, then another.

Her feet froze as she heard crunching gravel. Her heart leapt to her throat: she wasn’t alone.

Quickly, quietly, she made one turn and then another, heading away from both the bonfire and the sound of footsteps. She would know this maze far better than any strangers. Ducking around a corner, she held her breath. Her knees shook as she crouched, but she flexed her hands and feet and tried to pretend she didn’t feel as off as she did. Footsteps moved past the entrance to her little offshoot of maze, but didn’t look in. Instead, she heard sounds like cracking wood and shifting rock-- the ground seemed to hum. It was all she could do to stay silent.

It seemed to go on forever, but it must’ve only been a minute or two, and then the footsteps moved back the way they’d come.

Still, Emily didn’t move. Something had changed, something that made her eyes itch. She waited in silence, but no footsteps returned. Finally, her head having slowed its spinning to some degree, she drew herself to her feet.

She could see the tiny specks of light, the ones that made her vision tingle, before she even peeked around the corner, but the reality of it was still shocking. Newly grown branches, roots, greenery had woven itself together into a barrier across the path. Her stomach sank. That was at least a third of the maze cut off from her. She might be able to climb over the obstruction, but examining the gnarled limbs revealed some vicious looking thorns. With how her knees kept wanting to buckle, there was no way she could make it over without at least a few scratches.

And why did she feel this weak? It was so frustrating, how her arms felt leaden and her head rang. All of this, the side effect of a small trick of vision? The idea didn’t feel right.

Climb or retreat. Make a choice.

She knew whoever had put up the wall was on this side. So if she wanted a better chance at not getting caught, she’d need to be on the other side.

Still clutching the knife hard in her right hand, she stared at her left. It’d certainly be useful if that ‘move as shadow’ business would go ahead and kick in. She tried to concentrate, tried to will herself to be something else, but she heard too much blood in her ears. For a moment she thought the edges of her hand blurred, fluttering like smoke, as cold shot up her arm, startling her. Just as quick as she’d noticed it, it was gone. And the nausea was back. She couldn’t concentrate like this.

No. She’d just have to grit her teeth and climb.

Her silken slippers, while easy to maneuver in, weren’t particularly sturdy. After her first two attempts to pull herself up resulted in a stabbed palm and a long scratch on one arm, she stepped back. This wasn’t going to be easy, then. That was fine. She could handle a challenge.

She retreated to her former hiding spot, pushing her skirt under her as she knelt in the gravel, sweeping off her cloak. As quietly as she could manage, she cut long strips from the fabric. Each palm was wrapped, as were her feet. When she returned to the blockade, she viewed it with a critical eye, picking out her route. She didn’t have time to waste. With a surge of determination she pushed down her nausea and made smooth precise nicks at the softer wood, carving away thorns where she could. The rest she’d just have try to avoid.

Swallowing hard, Emily let herself take one last long breath before starting her climb.

She hated climbing in dresses. Multiple times she had to reseat a foothold when her gown got caught under it, and by the time she was five feet up fabric trailed in ragged strips where thorns had caught the skirt. While the lack of sleeves was a blessing for not getting her arms caught on anything, there was little to protect her skin from the scratching and stinging of burrs and nettles and thorns. Emily clenched her jaw, breathing hard through her nose as she tried to move as quietly as possible. She ignored the blood that slid slowly down her arm, pulling herself up once more. She was nearly over the top. Maybe she could jump from there. It was only ten feet. Even with jagged gravel to land on, if she came down with the right form she should be fine.

One more foot, and she was able to rest her elbows on the top of the natural - well, somewhat natural - barricade. At this height, she could see the top edges of most of the rest of the winding hedge rows that formed the maze. She spotted two more fresh walls of boughs that had now interrupted the circuitous paths. If only she could spot who it was that had erected them, she might have an idea of what she needed to avoid. She shifted, twisting - maybe from here she’d have a better view of the palace--

She spotted the figure in the window just as a piercing whistle split the air. The sound hurt her head, but she was more worried about the movement at the terrace entrance. Something was coming out, and she didn’t want to learn what. Hurriedly she turned back to her task, wincing as thorns stabbed at shins that didn’t have time to be cautious. But her rush felt worth it as she crested the wall. She settled herself at the edge and took just an extra half second to poise and aim-

A sharp hiss of air left through clenched teeth as her cheek hit the gravel, bones jarring as her legs tangled like a rag doll. She’d gotten her arms up a bit, but she felt the rough hatching of skinned elbows as well as her face as she kicked and ripped herself free. Damned dress. Her vision was starting to pitch and yaw as she struggled to her feet. Keep moving. Where could she even go? She remembered squeezing through a spot at the edge of the maze when she was younger, but she doubted she’d still fit as an adult. Still, it was better than nothing.

A single step and she winced, shaking out her leg at the twinge of pain that meant she’d probably twisted her ankle. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t broken. It wasn’t debilitating.

Whatever had exited the castle had made it to the maze now, she could hear feet on gravel-- a single cruelly giddy laugh made her shudder.

“Ooh, a hunt! How exciting!”

The voice had none of the overwhelming otherworldly echoes of the stranger in the forest. It sounded at least mostly human, if slightly mad. More voices responded with laughter. They sounded drunk, maybe. Or somehow intoxicated - something that had them disconnected from reality, though she heard nothing like stumbling.

“Come now, queenie, we have a present for you-” One of them was calling, mocking, and another giggled.

“Bring down the wall.” Those words weren’t directed at her but someone else. Emily heard more cracking and shifting behind her as she stumbled on.

One left turn, skip an exit, a right, then another left.

She drew out the knife again as she pushed herself onward, trying to focus on the route she needed instead of way her bones seemed to creak.

“Should we call for the barghest?”

The suggestion was met with a derisive laugh. “Unnecessary. She bleeds.”

Emily glanced down, and realized that, indeed, a few drops of blood flowed intermittently from her wounds. Marking her path. Making her an easy target.

She loosed the bindings on her hands and quickly wrapped the messiest bits, teeth digging into her lip and curses filling her head as she inadvertently scraped another small stinging welt with the knife as she worked, though luckily no blood was drawn. There was nothing she could do for the scratches on her legs, except hope the evidence might be soaked up by what remained of the traitorous gown.

The worst part was, there were no rushing footsteps, no feet pounding gravel. They weren’t even chasing her, so confident were they that she was done for.

“Such a sad sparrow with a broken wing… Nowhere to fly…”

Her words were whispered between gritted teeth, angry and desperate, as she made another turn and then another: “You said a day. Give me a day. Don’t let me die.”

“You’re just making it worse, Your Majesty. We can help you. We can heal you. Why fight when it hurts so much?” The voices were louder now, footsteps closer. She’d picked out at least three distinct voices, all female.

“Where is that goddamned power you promised-”

“Don’t you want to join father dearest?”

She staggered. They had Corvo? He was the strongest person she knew, the cleverest - for all the destruction at the palace, she’d just assumed he’d escaped. She’d assumed most of the guests had escaped. No bodies had littered the terrace, no blood - at least, she hadn’t seen any - there was no reason to think he’d been in danger. Except the scream. It wasn’t a man’s scream that she’d heard, so it wasn’t Corvo. ...But they had him.

The footsteps were even closer now. They would round the corner, they would see her - “Please-” She tried to focus all she could on sending out the plea, her vision fading into splotches of color, begging the darkness, praying he’d give her whatever it was she needed to turn on her foes and destroy them. Or just escape. At this point, that would be enough. The fear she’d tried to push down was quickly falling upon her.

She could hardly see as hands grabbed her arm. She struck out blindly with the knife, and they retreated for a moment, letting Emily blink to try to clear her vision. Three women. One of them shifted in her sight between a young beauty and something else - sharp teeth and claws and eyes like a rat - and the flickering change only made Emily sicker.

“Why aren’t we just killing her?”

“Shh, you know she wants the girl alive.”

Emily tried to focus on who said what, but the other two looked so similar - dark hair, dark lips, decked in flowers the color of stale wine.

“You’re injured, Your Majesty.” The nice one - the wicked laughing one, the one who shifted - edged closer, and Emily brandished the knife again. “Come with us - we will heal your wounds.”

The shifting -- she was fae. Fae couldn’t lie. But why would they heal her, after their farce of a hunt?

The next voice was the serious one - the one who’d ordered the wall down. “Walk or be dragged.”

She swayed on her feet, and closed her eyes for a moment, sending one last prayer out to the forest--

The knife was wrenched from her hand, tossed to the ground. Emily stumbled, blinking to clear her eyes from the spots that threatened to blind her, and felt hands wrapping around her upper arms, jostling her back the way she’d come. She let her legs buckle, falling to the ground as dead weight. She would never make things easy.

“Walk or be dragged,” the woman repeated, sounding annoyed.

Emily looked up, her sudden lack of movement letting her head settle and vision clear for just a moment. They looked so wild. All wore clothes for movement. The only one wearing a skirt was the fae woman, and hers was more decorative than functional, some kind of animal hide. They were dressed to move, and Emily was not. She spotted knives on the belts of the two humans. If she let them take her - if she walked on their level, if she wasn’t dragged over the stones - she might be able to take one. It looked long enough to pierce a heart if she found the right spot on her first try. She could take down at least one of them. Maybe the fae. She was probably the biggest threat.

The woman who was scowling now rolled her eyes, turning her back. “Just drag her.”

The other two shifted their holds, but Emily pulled against them. She grit her teeth, once more forcing away the pain, the nausea. Her voice was clipped, but free of fear. She may not be wearing her crown, she may have been hunted in her own home, but she was still a queen. And her words were firm. “I’ll walk.”