Chapter Text
Hilda sat on the hard stone bench, shivers that had nothing to do with the cold of the cell wracking her frame.
She heard the door to the dungeons open and someone approached with measured footsteps, but she didn’t look up to see who. There was no point - whatever punishment they chose to dole out, she deserved all of it.
“Well, well, well. The queen of rats in the flesh!” Now that voice made Hilda flinch. She had been hoping that the case was not notable enough for the Head Inquisitor to personally tend to her, but luck had deserted her today. “Five people died in a failed robbery of incredible proportions; I thought they were mistaken when they claimed you had anything to do with it, yet here you are.”
The cell door creaked on its hinges when Charibert opened it, coming to stand in front of her without a moment of hesitation or fear. “You know how this works, m’lady. You can tell me what happened or I can make you tell me.”
She clenched her hands into fists and grit her teeth to overcome the sting in her eyes. “Get bent, Leusignac. I’m not in the mood.”
There was suddenly a hand at her chin, coaxing her to look up and meet his eyes with gentle pressure. He didn’t look angry or accusatory; they had been at each other’s throats for almost three years at this point, ever since she had become enough of a character that he had no choice but to take her seriously. There was no place for posturing between them when there were no eyes watching.
“It is unlike you to cut corners and mess up such a simple operation,” he said, voice quiet. “A minor noble, only two guards and the man himself; knock them cold, crack the vault, then out with the wages he ferreted away instead of paying his workers. He wouldn’t have reported it; his ilk knows well that I won’t stand for corruption and he would have no way to explain away why that money was still in his vault. But something is missing from this picture and it has five corpses instead. What is it, I shouldn’t wonder?”
Hilda sniffled and turned her eyes away, staring intently at the stains on his robes. A working man, the Head Inquisitor, the splatter of blood drying on his clothes still fresh enough that the acidic-bitter smell of dragon blood filled her nostrils when she inhaled.
He sighed and straightened up, hands on his hips like some noble dame rearing to lecture her headstrong daughter. “M’lady, it is in both of our interests that you tell me what happened. I would rather not resort to force, but you give me no other choice if you keep playing hard to get. And you know that our prior familiarity will not make me change my methods. What I want to know I will learn, one way or another.
He sounded exasperated. It was no threat, just a fact, plain and simple. Charibert Leusignac would put his friends and family to the flame if an investigation required so and still sleep soundly the night after.
Hilda pulled her legs up on the bench, hugged them close and rested her chin on her knees. Charibert, after a beat, sat down next to her, listening intently.
“They were heretics,” she said, voice barely audible. “The noble and his bodyguards were all heretics. Afrant, Elwin and the others… they gave their lives so I could flee and I ran right into the arms of the temple knights.” She squeezed her eyes shut to stop her tears from spilling. “We didn’t expect- we had no plan for it. We tried to run, but we stood no chance.”
She led her people into certain death. Charibert should just lock her in the deepest cell they had and throw the key away or push her into the endless abyss so she can die a slow, agonizing death. She deserved nothing better after she failed her men.
The elezen did nothing of the sort. He sighed instead and took one of her hands in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “The inquisition did not know of the man’s heresy, so there was no way for you to know either. Nothing more than a rotten, unfortunate chain of events.” His hand was almost feverishly warm and he absentmindedly drummed his fingers on Hilda’s wrist as he thought. “However, this changes the situation. The heretics must needs be uncovered and brought to justice, but this is not an accusation someone in my position can take at face value. I can only act openly when there is not the faintest trace of doubt remaining that you speak the truth.”
Charibert gave her a pointed look. In answer she tried to snatch her hand back, but his grip was much too strong, slender fingers encircling her wrist and holding her as secure as any steel manacle would.
“You son of a whore, I would not lie about something like this and you know it!”
Charibert simply waved her anger off.
“I don’t expect people to be truthful, but I know your tells well enough to be certain that you are indeed honest. That is not what I am asking.” He tightened his grip all of a sudden, well-manicured nails biting into Hilda’s skin, his palm slowly getting hotter and hotter. “I can accept your cooperation in light of your deceased men and rig the investigation so they will uncover the truth while scouring the mansion for signs of your blunder.”
Hilda tried to flinch away, but he didn’t let her. His eyes bore into hers and held her captive. “It will be a slow process. You will stay here, stewing in your own guilt and misery for weeks, all alone, until I get to the bottom of the matter. Or-” His hand started to become unbearably hot, her skin turning scarlet where he held her tight, but she was too mesmerized to try and peel off his hand or get away even as pain raced up her arm. “-I can be certain and act swiftly, build upon that certainty and bring all of the Inquisition's forces to bear. I always find the truth, even if I have to shatter a thousand lies before reaching it. He will burn before the sun sets the day after tomorrow and you will walk free, because attempted robbery is nothing compared to heresy and you'd have learned your lesson.” His face was calm as he spoke, his voice neutral; the very picture of professionalism and Hilda swallowed thickly to hide her fear because this was the most terrifying she had ever seen Charibert, making his offer like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“So the question is this: how much do you want it to hurt?”
The elezen took his hand away and she stared numbly at the imprint his palm left on her wrist, the skin an angry red and already bubbling up from the surface burn; a taste of what was to come if she said the word.
She looked up at Charibert, the most experienced and vicious torturer in the entire Inquisition and found the man watching her with a placid expression, waiting for her to decide.
She gripped her injured wrist, felt agony race through her nerves and with a sudden clarity, made her choice.
“Why did you do it?” Hilda asked a handful of days later, sinking into the soothing bath Charibert had prepared for her. The water smelled strongly of herbs and had a strange, greenish-yellow color, but she could feel the faint tingling of healing magics as soon as she submerged herself in the tub. “Why offer to- y’know.”
“I do not personally see the point in penitence, but I have witnessed what people sometimes do to themselves when they feel like they deserve to suffer.” Charibert sat on a stool next to the tub, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up past his elbows and he was holding one of Hilda’s arms - except this time instead of scorching flames he was applying a healing paste to her skin. “You had the look of someone who was about to jump off the Steps of Faith as soon as I let you out of custody. Despite your numerous flaws and almost barbaric conduct, this city is a better place with you living in it than it would be otherwise.” He allowed her to put her arm down and reached out for the other, applying the paste with the same meticulous care.
“I would have thought you’d be happy if I got the fuck out of your life.” Her fingers twitched with the urge to scratch and pick at the healing scabs, so she decided to grip the edge of the tub and not ruin Charibert’s good work.
“As far as my sanity goes I would love nothing more than to see you relocate to somewhere else. I hear Limsa Lominsa is lovely this time of the year.” He carefully tested the sore joint of her left elbow; it was still swollen and bruised from the way he dislocated it, but she could bend her arm almost normally if she cared to put up with the pain. “Alas, pragmatism says I should keep you around. I have the statistics to prove that the frequency of severe incidents has drastically decreased since you took over the Brume and who am I to argue with the numbers?”
“My word. Terrifying things, numbers.”
They shared a laugh, mirth softening Charibert’s harsh features into something almost handsome. She never understood where the Inquisitor found the seemingly endless number of men who were willing to take him to bed, but looking at him now made it a little easier to imagine that there were people out there - albeit ones with very questionable taste - who could find Charibert de Leusignac desirable.
His smile faded quickly however as he noticed something and leaned over the tub to look at her, his eyes drawn down to…
“Hey!” His eyes snapped up, one brow rising in question. “I hope for your sake that you are not ogling my breasts.”
He grimaced.
“Hardly. The only way I would have any interest in you is if you were at least four years older and a man.” That sounded about right for what little she knew about his preferences. He had mentioned it before that he didn’t have even a cursory interest in women, although she could no longer remember what the occasion was. “No, I was looking at this.”
He reached out and brushed his thumb over the soft part of her shoulder, close enough to her breasts still that if she didn’t know what he was looking at she would have shoved him away.
“It’s just a rash! Stop touching it, it’s itching again…”
“It’s not a rash,” Charibert said in a firm voice. “Have you been exposed to dragon blood recently?”
He asked it casually and his eyes only reflected concern, but the question still made her blood run colder than Coerthan winter. Hilda looked down, her hand flying to the itchy patch of skin - now she could see it too, the darker pattern in the irritated red, the forming scales hard under her fingertips.
The world seemed to freeze in place, the cold dread of a death sentence weighing heavy until even time crawled to a stop.
“Based on your reaction I’m going to assume that it was not direct exposure.” Charibert was oblivious to her inner turmoil, his demeanor unchanged, and it forced her world back on track. She exhaled slowly and sunk deeper into the tub, wishing that she could disappear under the water altogether.
“Are you going to kill me now?” It was probably not a common thing for people to ask him this bluntly, because her question prompted a confused blink and a burst of laughter.
“Oh goodness me, why would I do that? No, m’lady, this level of accidental exposure is not grounds for execution.” He wiped a tear from his eye and shook his head. “It is the nature of our war that exposure is sometimes inevitable. We have better things to do than waste resources on killing everyone who grows a handful of dragon scales. It will likely fade in some time anyhow.”
“Really?” She relaxed a little, the knot of fear and anxiety in her chest slowly unwinding.
“I am quite certain. ‘Tis one of those cases where your unfortunate parentage is an advantage; hyur and half-hyur are more resistant to the corruption than elezen.”
“Wonderful to hear that you are as tactful about my misfortune as ever,” she quipped, but Charibert wasn’t listening. He seemed lost in thought, head tilted to the side.
“All that said, it is strange… the placement suggests localized exposure rather than ingestion, and only on one side.” He lifted a hand to touch his neck, humming as he thought. “This is going to sound strangely specific, but has anyone bitten you recently?”
Hilda stared at him like he grew a second head. She opened her mouth, about to tell him how ridiculous that suggestion was and where to stick it, but the words died on her tongue as she remembered something. She averted her eyes instead, shivering, knowing for sure that a blush was climbing up her ears. “How did you know?”
“If someone imbibes often and is at an advanced stage of corruption it’s possible to cause minor exposure with a bite. Unless you have taken to playing with dragonets, this is the most likely cause of your patch of scales.” Charibert shrugged and absentmindedly dripped his hand into the water to reheat the bath - not the reason for her shivers, but appreciated nonetheless. “So. Who is she?”
Hilda sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face. “Just a pretty face.” She didn’t comment on Charibert’s assumption; just as he only ever sought the company of men, Hilda in turn preferred the embrace of women. “She was friendly and well-dressed, in that cheap maidservant sort of way. Didn’t notice my ears until too late, but she wasn’t gross about it. Didn’t put together the two and two about who I was until the next morning.” In hindsight, it all seemed to fall in place much too smoothly. “After she stopped freaking out about getting into trouble for associating with me we talked - about how she works for this nobleman who has been extorting money from the people who are reliant on his good graces. I realized that I could use her knowledge of the mansion to stage a break-in and you know the rest.”
“A trap, then. Not a very good one, but they clearly knew enough about you to exploit your fondness of a nice pair of tits.” Charibert sighed and shook his head with a condescending smile. “I realize that you likely have learned your lesson from this incident, but do I need Jannequinard to restart his safety lectures on how to vet your one-time hookups? Who knows what diseases that harlot passed to you.”
Hilda sputtered and glared daggers at him. “You would know much about harlots, being a prime specimen yourself.”
Her jab only made him chuckle. “My dear, I understand that this is embarrassing to you, but between the two of us I’m not the one who will need to have myself checked for diseases of the intimate kind.” He tutted at her, shaking his head slowly. “I can write you a note and have the Inquisition’s healer see to you. She is beyond discreet and knows how to treat even the most humiliating afflictions.”
If her ears burned any hotter they would have caught fire and he was smirking at her in the full knowledge that she didn’t have a good retort up her sleeve. So she acted on the first impulse that came to her, no matter how childish, and splashed him with water. “Shut up!”
On the one hand, it worked. Charibert fell silent, his expression turning to one of outrage as water dripped from his face. On the other hand, Hilda belatedly remembered that she was currently in the Inquisitor's personal apartment, at his mercy in more ways than she cared to count.
She held her breath, waiting for the repercussion that was sure to come.
Charibert slowly wiped off his face, his expression turning oddly placid.
“Well. I supposed I deserved that.”
Hilda exhaled, tension draining from her frame and leaving only shame behind.
“No, you didn't. You deserve a lot of things, but that was childish and uncalled for.”
“You have gone through a lot, m'lady.” He reached out and touched the long line of a scar he left on her back, tracing it down her shoulder where it disappeared under the water. It was the last mark he left on her that day - delirious with grief and pain, she begged him for something that couldn't be so easily erased by healing magic, a reminder that can’t be taken away, so he took steel and flame and carved one of Halone's spears into her hide. The question was on the tip of her tongue every time she met him since, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him what he meant by it. “You are allowed to be upset and act a little childish; ‘tis all part of healing.”
“What do you know about that anyway?” She meant the question to be defiant, but it came out small and far too sincere.
“I am not made of stone, as you know. Can’t say I have ever been in your situation, but I had my fair share of experiences I needed time to recover from.” Without really meaning to her eyes slid down to his arms, scripture carved so deep into his skin that the words left clear indents. He never acknowledged it, but she knew others who were marked like that; none of them voluntarily. “Although my brand of recovery involves less deliberate self-harm.”
That got her curious.
“What does it involve, then?"
Charibert shrugged. “You know of my personal reputation as well as my work one. Would it surprise you to hear that I find healing in the arms of men?” A grimace found its way to her face that made him laugh, the sound clear as the morning bell. “Come now, there is nothing strange in it. To seek pleasure to dull the edge of pain, to find comfort and reassurance in the company of one's lovers; these are both common enough steps on the road to healing.”
Put that way it sounded sensible, but in a way that made Hilda all the more miserable.
“What would you do if you didn’t already have a lover?” If she had anyone of the sort she would not have gotten in this situation in the first place. It was her longing for a lady friend that drove her into the arms of that viper.
“The first time it happened to me, I spent the entire reparation the church paid me on a week with the most expensive man I could afford; that is how I became friends with Jannequinard.” Hilda, of course, knew about the Red Fox and the extraordinary amounts of money people paid to spend time with him - Jannequinard would have been hard pressed to keep the veritable money sink that was the Astrologicum running otherwise - but she wasn’t sure what surprised her more: the fact that Charibert ever had enough money to rent him out for a whole week or that the Durendaire nobleman found him agreeable enough to consider him a friend afterwards.
Charibert simply waved her surprise aside. “It is a long story I might tell you one day, if you are still interested. But this is what I would do and you, m’lady, are no orphaned wretch like I am. You need not seek comfort in the dubious graces of strangers when you can simply go home to your family.”
Hilda paled at the mention of her family, averting her eyes in guilt. Her mother, bless her, must be so worried if the news had reached her about her capture, she would surely welcome her home with open arms and…
No, she had swore not to go home anymore. Her life was too dangerous, she couldn’t bring that danger home to them.
“Hilda dear.” Charibert’s voice was sickly sweet and absolutely terrifying. “When have you last visited your mother?”
“Not since… not since I took over the gang.” It was better to get the words out quickly, before he could start prying in earnest.
“Hilda.” There was enough ice in his voice that it could have frozen the sea over. “You took over the gang when you were sixteen.”
“Yes,” she said with great reluctance.
“That was four years ago.”
“Yes.”
He sucked in a breath, ready to chew her out, but she interrupted before he could even get started.
“It was better this way! I don’t want her to live in fear because of the choices I made about my life!” She was almost shouting, desperate to make him understand that it was not out of selfishness that she was avoiding her family.
Chariberts expression softened and he reached out to tip her face up so she had no choice but to look him in the eye. “My dear, do you think I don’t know who your mother is?” He spoke softly, his expression still gentle, but the words made Hilda’s blood run cold. “I know where she lives, what she does for a living, when she walks to the market every other morning. Were I so inclined I could have clapped her in irons and dragged her to court for no crime other than being related to you.”
“You wouldn’t!” You wouldn’t dare , she wanted to say, but the last word got stuck in her throat and she found that the words rang true all the same. Charibert would sooner jump on the pyre himself than stoop low enough to attack her family to get to her.
“I wouldn’t and neither would Aymeric. Or do you doubt the honor of our Knight Commander?”
“No, he seems… nice?” Beyond nice, in fact. Aymeric de Borel seemed to be knightly virtue made flesh. Hilda’s people looked into his affairs trying to find some dirty secret, but they had to conclude that he was exactly as honorable as he seemed, which was a rarity among noblemen.
“Glad that we agree. Now let me tell you what is going to happen.” Charibert stood up and flashed her a sharp smile that left no room for argument. “You are going to finish your bath while I make you something to eat. Then you will take a box of my best tea, go to the nearest florist to buy a bouquet of your mother’s favorite flowers and then you will go home and apologize for letting your concerns get ahead of your common sense. Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal,” she ground out, sinking back into the water. She usually made a sport of arguing with Charibert, but she couldn’t find it in her to try today. Much as it grated on her to be ordered around, she wanted to be wrong this time. She wanted to eat her mother’s cooking again, to hug her goodnight before retiring to her own room, her own bed instead of a moth-eaten mattress in their hideaway or a cheap bed in an even cheaper room. And if the price of that reality was letting Charibert boss her around a little, well, there were much steeper prices she had paid for much less dear causes.