Chapter Text
Summary: So an Empress, a fatally wounded City Watch Captain and an Ex-Assassin with excess regret baggage walk into a bar mid-coup.
excerpts from the Empresses journal circa. 1850
This cannot be real.
A piercing scream is heard as the mechanical abomination effortlessly, cleanly, shears off a noble’s head with its bladed appendages.
This is all a dream; a nightmare concocted by distant childhood traumas of another time.
The face rolls to a halt at the foot of the throne room steps, face contorted in fear. Edith Abernanthy, she recalls vaguely, staring at the decapitated head in a mix of morbid fascination and horror. The world around her is white noise, everything muffled and slugging along at a snail-like pace.
This is just a bad dream.
She feels hysterical just thinking this; watching her father, Corvo, blink in and out of existence, carving a trail of red behind him.
Just like the old days, the small voice in the crevices of her mind unhelpfully supplies.
Corvo’s fine, this is all fake.
Corvo’s lunging at Delilah, who doesn’t even flinch as she raises her hand, casting him into stone.
It hits like a carriage just how real this is while she’s roughly dragged by the scruff of her coat by Mortimer Ramesy. His bitter monologue about her is interrupted by the familiar voice of Alexi Mayhew.
Alexi.
She wants to scream, to yell, to warn her as she feels the familiar comforting hands of Alexi grasp her shoulders, back to Ramsey, face full of concern. Emily tries to say something , anything, but a hoarse croak is the only thing to emerge from her closed up throat.
All she sees is red when the foldout blade pierces Alexi. The only indication of pain from Alexi is a surprised gurgle as she hunches over the blade before it's ripped carelessly from her body. There’s a shrill scream of despair and rage, which she soon vaguely realises is her own, eyes blurry as she tries to scramble to the slumped redhead’s side. She chokes on bile as Ramsey tugs her back roughly by the collar of her coat and scarf, dragging her away from the still form of Alexi. All she can do is struggle weakly, digging her heels into the floorboards. Her eyes never leave Alexi’s prone form, even when she can feel herself losing consciousness.
When her eyes next snap open, Emily feels an absolute primal rage. One she’s only ever felt back during the plague, when The Loyalists poisoned Corvo and dragged her to Kings Sparrow Tower against her will. She bares her teeth at Ramsey and lunges at him with all her strength, catching the older man by surprise and knocking him over onto the floorboards. She straddles his stomach before he can attempt to move, swiping wildly at his face with her neatly manicured nails. He yells out in pain as her nails snag his left eye, spitting profanities in her face as she lets out a triumphant sound.
It's that lull in her guard that gives the man a chance to retaliate, backhanding Emily in the face with a calloused hand. She cries out in pain, slumping off Ramsey's form to cup her throbbing cheek, curling in on herself. The meaty impact of the backhand rattles her, the sound eerily merging to ring like it did when her Mother had been murdered. Her chest starts to constrict at the memory, breaths growing more rapid and shallow. She’s almost thankful when the harsh pain emanating from her scalp breaks her reverie. Ramsey snarls down at her, tugging harshly at her hair.
“You stupid little bitch. I should put you down like that rabid curr of yours! You’re lucky the rightful Empress has other plans for you,” he snaps, yanking at her hair again. Emily yelps in pain, clawing desperately at the hand gripping her hair.
Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t do anything stupid.
She did something stupid.
Gathering all of the saliva in her mouth, she spits it into Ramsey’s face in one massive glob. His indignant squawk of disgust would’ve been worth it if it weren’t for the punch she received square in the face. The impact of her skull on the floorboards was her last moment of awareness.
The persistent throbbing radiating from her skull is what brings her back to consciousness. When her eyes open, the world is a kaleidoscope of blurry colours that dizzy her at even the slightest movement and shift. The sensation reminds her of being suplexed by Corvo during their sparring sessions.
It takes Emily a few minutes to pull herself up from the floor, rubbing tenderly at her swollen face. Ramsey seemed to have gone to town on her face while she was unconscious, the bastard. She takes her time regaining her bearings to assess her current predicament. Her entire body feels stiff and unyielding with every step taken. Pushing through the pain, she ambles her way to her office door in the hopes that Ramsey was dumb enough to leave it unlocked. No such luck, however, the door knob rattling but remaining firmly in place.
She pivots around to face the room - her office, she realises - eyes glossing over the contents, then zeroing in on the many windows stretching across one wall. Emily selects one. Nudges it open. Then slides out onto the window’s narrow ledge with practiced ease - her rooftop ventures a testament to how much of a cakewalk this truly was to her. She carefully shimmies her way across the ledge towards another open window, the wind whipping her already mussed french twist, and making her coat flap and snap wildly behind her. She freezes at the window sill, hands white from how tight she is gripping it. She can see Alexi’s form propped against a wall, chest expanding erratically with every breath taken.
The lithe Empress vaults into the room, making a rapid beeline for her best friend. Alexi blearily blinks up at Emily, reaching a shaky hand out to grasp Emily’s own hand. Her pallor more pale than usual; a bad sign, Emily notes with dread.
“L-Lady Emily, you’re alright,” the redhead rasps wetly, head drunkenly lolling to and fro. “I’m glad…”
Emily hushes Alexi immediately, pulling back slightly to assess the damage done to her. Blood is seeping at a lazy pace from the wound from what she can see. She takes Alexi’s hand, guiding it to the wound and firmly pressing it on top causing the redhead to shudder in pain.
“Alexi, I need you to keep pressure on your wound to staunch the flow. I know it hurts, but it’s the only way to help. I’m going to check the bathroom for some bandages or clothes to use for it. Don’t move please,” she urgently whispers, cupping Alexi’s cheek to keep her focused. After Alexi nods her understanding, Emily begins to rise. Only to have a second thought, sinking back into a crouch. She reaches for Alexi’s cheek again, but gives it a mock stern pinch this time. Her voice is shaky and breathless as she declares: “I’m not losing you. Not on my watch. Even if it means carrying your sorry ass out of Dunwall, Alexi.”
Alexi lets out an amused wheeze, eyes crinkling at the corners in a smile. That had always been one of Emily’s favourite little traits of the other woman since the beginning of their childhood friendship. A small bob of the head is all the assent Emily needs before she is up again, gliding past the unsuspecting City Watch guard to the bathroom just across the hall. Emily wastes no time in rummaging through the drawers of the vanity as quietly and quickly as humanly possible. A washcloth and one of her clean, neatly tailored button up shirts are the prizes she emerges with.
Sliding back to Alexi’s side, Emily gently prods the red-stained hand off the gaping wound, immediately pressing the wash cloth firmly to her side. She hisses out an order to hold the cloth in place, grabbing her button up shirt and firmly wrapping it over the cloth, then tying the arms together tightly to keep everything firmly in place. At the end of the process Emily’s hands are shaking, stained crimson.
“Emily,” Alexi rasps, grasping Emily’s right hand with her own and nudging Corvo’s foldout sword into her awaiting palm. “There’s a ship captain, at- at the docks... They may know something...” She trails off, eyes growing distant.
Emily gives her a light slap on the cheek, anxiety mounting. “Alexi. Alexi! You need to stay awake, please. I need to get my signet ring back from Ramsey, then I’ll be back and we can leave. Together.”
Alexi grunts, but says nothing else. Emily bites her lip. Better then nothing, she supposes, rising up from a kneel to a crouch. Ramsey was her top priority now. She needed to get back her signet ring. There would be no mercy for him; whatever means necessary, she was going to retrieve the ring.
It was like a switch had been flipped, her demeanour becoming more focused and serious. All of Corvo’s gruelling lessons drilled into her mind, a constant reminder. She’s methodical and detached in dispatching the few City Watch guards loitering outside the throne room. Better to put the dogs down now than later. Without knowing how much of Delilah’s poison had spread throughout the ranks, no one could be trusted or spared.
Emily reaches the glass door leading to the throne room. Still crouched, she carefully cracks the door open an inch and peers inside. Ramsey is with a couple of other City Watch guards, thumb and forefinger rolling the signet ring around as he boasts to his fellows. She slinks cautiously inside, sticking to the shadows to avoid detection. Grasping one of the top corners of the smashed display cabinet of her mother’s portrait, she hauls herself on top of it effortlessly. Ramsey and the guards are too busy puffing egos to notice her steadily scaling her way up higher. Even when she mounts the chandelier then leaps to the adjacent pillar’s ledges, watching over them like a hawk, not one of them takes notice. She continues to bide her time, patiently awaiting the best time to strike.
When Ramsey finishes gloating and starts to make a beeline for the Royal chambers is when she finally strikes. Silent as a shadow, she drops from the ledge to land on top of the first unsuspecting guard. Corvo’s blade glides easily in one side of the neck and out the other. She’s not even surprised considering how effortlessly Corvo carved a path through the guards earlier. The man she ambushed doesn’t even have a chance to emit a sound, dropping to the floor like a deadweight. The thud of his body is muted slightly by the plush royal blue carpet, now slowly being stained crimson.
“No!” An anguished cry from the other guard spurs Emily into action, withdrawing the blade from the corpse’s neck. She brings it up just in time to block the second guard’s attack, his blow jarring and sending an aching jolt up her arm. She struggles under the man's denser weight, their swords locked and singing a grating song as both wielders vie desperately for control. Emily kicks out, heels making contact with the man’s shin with a crack. The guard howls out in pain, dropping his sword to clutch his injured shin. She uses this distraction as a chance to mute his whimpers of pain, blade gliding across his throat as easily as if it were softened butter, just like the previous fellow.
Emily takes a moment to collect herself, adrenaline still singing through her veins. How does Corvo do this so easily? She’s seen the worst during her childhood and yet, even still, killing these people is already starting to bear down heavily on her shoulders. But she is not afforded the luxury to brood, thoughts broken by footsteps rapidly approaching.
Whirling around, she is greeted by the shine of Ramsey’s sword thrusting towards her. She reacts a moment too late, and the sword piercing into her wielding shoulder. She lets out a cry of pain, jerking back in surprise, blade dropping from spasming fingers. Ramsey starts to prowl around her, a slow methodical pace to his step, eyes glinting sinisterly.
“Why, Your Imperial Majesty, I see you’ve managed to get out of your cage and murdered all of my men!” he barks sardonically, gradually moving closer to her with every word.
“Perhaps the rumours were true after all.” He circles around behind her, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. “Empress Emily Kaldwin… the culprit behind the Crown Killings!” He jeers, stopping behind her.
She makes a desperate grab for her sword. Too slow - Ramsey kicks it away before her fingers can so much as brush against the hilt.
Basking in his perceived victory, he leans in close to Emily’s ear, growling, “Any last words, Empress?”
“Just four,” Emily mutters, turning to face him slowly, eyes downcast.
Ramsey eyes her suspiciously, letting out an inquisitive grunt, his blade lowered but ready to strike at any false movement.
Emily remains quiet for a moment, eyes still downcast and hand covering her wounded shoulder. Then she thrusts her head up, closing the distance between them and slamming her skull into his nose. The distinct sound of a crunch rings out as Ramsey yells out in pain. He stumbles backwards, dropping his sword to grasp his now gushing nose. Emily wastes no time in seizing this chance to sweep her legs under his feet, knocking him down to the ground so she can tower over him.
“Eat shit, you pig,” she spits at him scathingly, bending down to pick up his sword.
She raises the sword, ready to deal the fatal blow. Only for Ramsey to startle her with a yell, hurling a glass bottle at her skull. Emily manages to swat the bottle away, but the distraction is ample enough for Ramsey, hands once again wrapped around Corvo’s blade.
Alexi being stabbed by Ramsey with the same blade flashes before her eyes. Now all she can see is red, snarling as she lunges at him. Ramsey manages to parry the blow. Barely. He jumps in straight for the counterattack, pace more brutal and harsh in comparison.
He really has no technique besides being a brute, Emily notes derisively, as she parries blow after blow, biding her time.
She feints a direct strike, disengaging at the last second in a semi-circle arc and thrusting her sword into his lower abdomen swiftly. His eyes are wide and disbelieving, for with that single move, she has brought their dance of blades to a swift end. Emily releases the hilt and steps back. Ramsey lets out a grunt of pain, falling to one knee and grimacing. Gingerly, he reaches to where the blade is still lodged in his lower abdomen. Blood is already welling from the wound in an expanding splotch of crimson.
“You…” he wheezes, eyes blazing with hatred despite his rapidly paling pallor.
Stubborn old fool, she thinks bitterly, as she kneels down to yank her sword from his slackening grip. Emily circles behind him and places the blade over his throat horizontally, holding tight with both hands - her left hand palm down on the blunt side of the blade. Ramsey’s breathing becomes loud and erratic, chest heaving as what she plans to do slowly starts to dawn on him.
He reaches up, clawing at her hands as she starts to push the blade down on his throat. He begins to act more animal than human in his mounting panic; gargling around the weight bearing down unyieldingly on his throat.
“Goodbye, Ramsey,” she intones, like a death counter who’s been working for days on end and has become detached to everything around them.
She yanks toward herself hard, shearing off Ramsey’s head cleanly. The sudden lack of an ugly, sturdy anchor to keep her in place causes her to stumble backwards and fall on her ass. The rest of Ramsey’s body collapses onto its side, blood pooling rapidly. His head has rolled not much farther away from it, features now permanently marred in wild-eyed panic and rage.
Emily takes a moment to compose herself before crawling over to Ramsey’s corpse to search out her prize. Patting around through his jacket pockets soon unearths it; her signet ring. Slipping it onto its rightful place on her finger, she briskly makes her way back up to the Imperial quarters, eyes sweeping the area in case more guards emerge. She chances a glance at the frozen statue of Corvo, his hand stretched out and face permanently stuck in an open-mouthed yell. That’s all she allows herself, ducking her head and marching an even brisker pace out of the throne room. She can’t bear seeing Corvo in such a state… She’s lost him again.
Alexi isn’t where she last was when Emily first left her. She stops short in the hallway, gut dropping in despair.
“A-Alexi..?” she stammers, hesitantly moving forward towards the royal bed chambers.
“Lady Emily… over here,” Alexi calls out in a strained voice.
Rounding the corner, Emily finds Alexi leaning against the cupboard next to the bookcase leading into the safe room. The other woman is hunched in on herself and gripping her wound tight. Blood is already seeping through the makeshift bandage, and she looks more pale than she was when Emily left her. Emily is at her side in an instant, grasping her free hand firmly.
“You shouldn’t be moving around without my help,” she scolds Alexi. Though she’s smirking ever so slightly because she knows she’d do the same if their roles were swapped.
“H-Had to move. Someone was coming... Had to prepare for the worst.” She gestures to the cupboard she’s leaning against, her Watch pistol lying on top of the cupboard.
“I’m glad it didn’t have to come down to that; you’re badly wounded enough as it is.” Emily wraps Alexi’s free hand over her shoulder, giving her a gentle nudge towards the bookshelf. “C’mon, the sooner we get out of here the better. We need to get you medical attention as soon as possible. Hopefully the ship captain can help us.”
Emily inserts the ring into the lock, turning her wrist until she hears a click from the lock. The bookshelf slides open, revealing the safe room. Carefully, she shuffles in with Alexi in tow, ensuring she locks the safe room behind her. The descent down the stairs is a slow one, Emily carefully guiding Alexi down one step at a time.Once they reach the room at the bottom, she immediately guides Alexi to the couch, lowering her down carefully so as not to aggravate her wound.
“Sit tight, I’m going to grab anything I can.”
Alexi gives a shaky nod, leaning her head back to rest on the couches’s headrest.
Emily scours every inch of the safe room, stuffing anything she can into what limited storage she has. She goes to grab her spyglass and gun - important necessities - but her old small journal catches her eye. The leather cover has wear and tear to it, edges creased and bent, but still usable. She flicks open the cover, ensuring her pencils and charcoal are still stuffed in there before tucking it into her breast pocket. She clips her spyglass, gun and sword to her belt before striding back to Alexi’s side.
“You ready?” she asks softly.
Alexi only nods again in reply, wrapping an arm around Emily’s proffered shoulder. As Emily hoists her up, she takes one last look around the safe room before heading to the door leading to Dunwall’s exterior, unlocking the door with her ring.
Now the real challenge begins, Emily muses to herself as she closes the door behind her. This was the final nail in the coffin; they were fugitives now.
The journey from Dunwall tower to the docks is not an easy one, having to scale down pipes and jump down from questionable heights while holding an injured Alexi bridal style proving to be quite a feat. But the guards proved to be an even greater challenge. The memo of the the Empress’s murder spree and escape seemed to have spread like wildfire already; guards swarmed every nook and cranny of the tower district on the hunt for her. Though it seemed they were unaware that Alexi was also with her. One positive to outshine all the negatives, she supposed bitterly.
It had taken what felt like hours to arrive at the Black Pony Pub near the docks. Perhaps because in addition to having to haul her injured passenger around, she had spared a moment to help the Dunwall Courier’s printer, Simon, from being harassed by theCity Watch. After scaling the vents to the terrace across from the pub, Emily places Alexi against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. She inches them both closer to the iron gate to ensure they’re cloaked in shadows. Intently, she watches the two guards patrol a few rounds until she has roughly mapped their patrol path. As soon as both guards have walked out of sight of the pub, Emily helps up Alexi and makes a beeline straight for the building. No time is wasted in scurrying in quickly and closing the door behind them with a soft thunk.
Emily knows she’s taking a risk showing her face in a public area where everyone knows who exactly she is and what events are currently transpiring. But most of the citizens she’s run into seem indifferent, not even batting an eye in her vicinity. Just another day in Dunwall, evidently.
Emily rests Alexi down on one of the chairs, and heads to the door leading into the pub’s back room . She glances into the keyhole before opening the door a crack and slipping in. She doesn’t waste any time, grabbing everything she can and slipping it into an old satchel bag she found while quietly scavenging through the pub's back room. She grabs several bottles of Dabokva Vodka, as well as some other alcohol, just in case she muses flatly. A few tins of whale meat, clean dishcloths and any coin she can see within the vicinity are also swiped without alerting the man tending the bar.
The sound of the back door being roughly opened makes Emily snap to attention. She cautiously slinks around the corner of the back room to get a view from behind the bar. Someone could’ve tipped off one of the City Watch Guards about her whereabouts. She halts in her tracks when she hears the voice, low and sand-papery from disuse. Lowering the satchel bag to the ground, Emily begins to awkwardly crab walk so she can get a view on the male with the sand-papery voice. All the while her stomach clenches and mind screams at her not to look; to get Alexi and run.
Emily can’t quite see the man, the bartender obscuring her view from her crouched position of the shorter man with the distinctly rasping voice. She stands and instantly regrets it, legs on the verge of giving out under her weight when she sees just who the man is.
He’s significantly aged since she last saw him on that fateful day, brown overtaken with large patches of grey peppering hair that is slightly longer than she recalls. He’s sporting a rough, overgrown beard, yet it can’t conceal the distinct scar, old and jagged, that runs along the right side of his face. The steel-piercing grey eyes that have locked onto her, rapidly and comically widening in surprise. She would’ve found this reaction far more amusing were it not for the fact of who those piercing eyes belonged to: The Assassin Daud.