Work Text:
"Analina, my darling, I've heard the most shocking rumour!"
Analina Mandavas, the Capital's most famous hostess and its most notorious criminal mastermind, turned in her study chair to see who had dared so floridly intrude upon her inner sanctum. She had palmed a small pistol in one hand, and a rather lovely silver dagger in the other. She had never been overly tolerant of rudeness, after all.
Then she saw him. In the doorway, in front of her as she turned, stood the most ridiculous conglomeration of a man. He leaned against the doorframe, one hip cocked to display his sword, both hands spread in a wide, insolent gesture. His clothes were all of the most daring cuts, in all the most drab of colours. His dark hair was winged with silver, and his bright little eyes shone out at her like those of a particularly intelligent ferret. At the sight of him, the recognition, Analina found herself smiling, all her tempers forgotten. She stood from her chair, weapons falling behind her, and rushed over to greet him.
"Roget!" she cried, taking his hands in hers and leaning in to kiss and be kissed on both cheeks. "You old villain! How are you? Where have you been?!"
He laughed, pressing kisses to the backs of her knuckles joyfully. "Oh, tolerably well, as ever," he answered gaily, taking her arm to lead her back into the room. "I've been filching trifles up and down the north coast these last few months. Family heirlooms of the rich and barbaric. It's all been rather amusing, actually. A good bit of exercise for a villain getting on in years."
"Oh, shush," she said, slapping him lightly on the arm. "You've been 'getting on in years' for years now. It hasn't stopped you in the slightest. They'll find you dead of a bad chest with your fists around the largest gem in the vicinity, and no other way."
A strange little cloud passed across his expression at that, so quickly that she only barely saw it, but he shrugged it off almost immediately. He perched himself on her desk in lieu of acknowledging it, and smiled slyly up at her with those wicked little eyes instead.
"We are not immortal," he said lightly, waving one be-ringed hand negligently. "Everyone does get on in years, you know. Even yourself, I've heard. Or how else can one explain this terrible rumour that my lady Analina, my beloved Queen of Thieves, is considering getting married?" She blinked, almost finding a flush, and he stared at her in exaggerated shock. "You speak of my bad chest, darling. It almost offed me on the spot, hearing that. Do tell me that it isn't true. I don't know that I could handle anything else."
Analina glared at him for a minute, that horrible flush creeping inexorably up her neck. She would never have shown it for anyone but him. She would never have felt it. Roget had always had more hold over her 'finer feelings' than anyone else.
"Well, it's as you say," she grumbled defensively, looking away at her desk and fiddling idly with that silver knife. "One does get on in years. Look around you, Roget. I'm more the hostess now than the thief. I've been sitting on my wealth of years, rubbing it in the Capital's face, and they like it. They smile their sly little smiles and pretend to be happy to drink fine wine from the cups I've stolen from them. It makes them feel wicked and daring. It's exhausting, but I'm too old to spite them for it now. I want something of my own. Something offered to me. I want a man, to make me feel wicked and daring enough to put up with them. Is that really so terrible?"
She glared up at him, with an old expression that she had not worn in years, a sort of petulant mutiny that only appeared in his particular presence. He blinked back, something altogether grave and startled in those evil little eyes.
"... I suppose not," he agreed, after a moment. He seemed odd. Distant and dismayed, hiding it behind one of his old faces too. He looked hurt, and she hadn't wanted that at all. "Well then. I suppose I can only wish you luck with it. So when are you getting a ring on that finger?"
She scratched her cheek nervously with the hilt of the dagger. "I'm working on it," she said shortly. "It's not like I'm going to pick just anyone. I set a challenge, you see. A thief's challenge. Whoever steals for me the finest ring in proposal shall win my hand in marriage. And my wealth, of course. The laws of the land are what they are. But if they are willing to risk life and limb in search of something truly spectacular, then they should be worth at least that small surrender of power."
He blinked slowly. He didn't look hurt, now. She didn't know how he looked. This was not one of their old expressions. She'd never seen it on him before.
"Well now," he said, soft and thoughtful and not to her at all. "Well now. That puts a different flavour to it, doesn't it? That makes a difference indeed."
"What are you talking about?" she growled, leaning over to punch him on the shoulder. She pulled it a bit, out of care for his bad chest, but he toppled off the side of the desk regardless, spilling onto her floor in a tangle of gangly, fashionable limbs. He blinked up at her, and she all but snarled. And then, abruptly, he laughed, a great surge of manic energy such as she hadn't seen in him in years, and sprang joyously to his feet.
"Nothing!" he cried, windmilling his spindly arms. "Oh, nothing, darling, don't worry about it at all! I've had an idea, don't you mind." He grinned, and spun himself in a circle. "When is this thing? You've set a time limit, I trust. This I simply must see."
She stared at him. He was ... Goodness, she'd always said he'd lose his marbles one day, but she hadn't honestly expected to watch it. What the devil had gotten into him? Still. She shook her head, and pulled herself together enough to answer him.
"The Spring Review," she managed, still staring at him. "I wanted to give them the long nights and the winter revels to get the best thieving in. It's only a month away, but if they haven't managed it by then they're not worth my time anyway. Roget, dearheart. What is the matter with you? You've come over all ..."
"Lively?" he said, with a dazzling sort of grin. "Oh yes, my darling. I've come over all lively indeed. A month, you say. Well then. I'll try to be back in time. It's not every year that one sees their most independent and misanthropic darling being courted. Oh yes. I'll be back within the month, my dear. I wouldn't miss this for the world."
... Maybe this was a bad idea, she thought distantly. She hadn't come to it lightly. She'd had misgivings from the start. As he said, she'd never been much inclined for marriage, and there were few enough that she could tolerate for a few hours, let alone her remaining years. Add to it, now, whatever was putting that blithering expression on his face, and she wasn't at all certain that this was a wise venture any longer.
Oh, but whatever. She wanted a bit of something, didn't she? Comfort, dazzlement, amusement in her old age. Why shouldn't she have it? She'd always had just exactly what she wanted, and she could see no particular reason to stop now, Roget's bizarre mood notwithstanding. Even if it went badly, even if she hated the man she ended up with, she'd have had a bit of a pageant first, and she could always kill him and start again later. Far lesser women than she had managed that. There was no point dithering about it now.
So she nodded at him. She put on a bright and cheerful smile, exactly false enough for him to see the alarmed incredulity beneath, and kissed her oldest friend on both cheeks once more.
"In a month, then," she said, and tried not to worry too much about whatever idiot idea he'd gone and gotten into his head now. He'd get himself out of it, whatever trouble he landed in. Bad chest or no, ageing limbs or no, one could always count on Roget for that.
She hoped. Gods, she damn well hoped.
---
When it came to it, she almost didn't see him at the Review. He was late. Roget was never late, not when he actually wanted to be somewhere. For some odd reason, the thought worried her enough that she almost found herself ignoring her prizes in favour of it. She found herself ignoring gems, and that was something that had never, ever happened before. She'd never in her life been compelled to ignore riches as they paraded in front of her. She'd damn near gotten herself killed, more than once, for that fatal attraction to the shine of a lovely ruby or a glittering diamond.
And yet, here she was. Smiling absently at beautiful young men (and the odd enterprising young woman) offering her beautiful shiny rings, and thinking instead of some ancient peacock who had to have gone and gotten himself into trouble even he couldn't get out of.
Why did she put up with him? Why hadn't she killed him years ago, and spared herself all this trouble? Analina had no idea. She really didn't.
And then, almost at midnight, long after the bulk of her suitors had offered up their pilfered wares for her perusal, she finally caught a glimpse of him. She saw browns and greys and olive greens, cut with flash and style, lurking behind a pillar in her grand social hall, and she knew he'd finally arrived. The relief almost swamped her, and the anger quickly after it.
Roget, the bastard, must have noticed her noticing him. He swanned out between the pillars, making his way towards her through a crowd of the best and worst criminals in the Capital, nay, the country, and granting them not even a second's notice. He'd always had a gift for mortally insulting everyone in the room with nary a word. That had almost gotten them killed a time or twenty too. If he wasn't careful right now, she was going to see to it that that talent caught up with him in a very great hurry.
"Where on earth have you been?" she hissed, as he climbed her little dais with flamboyant calm. "I thought you said you wanted to see this, you old goat. You're too late to see much of anything now!"
He grinned at her. It was an old expression, and one of the most worrying ones you could ever see on that ferret-like face. It was the face he wore when he'd done something spectacularly insane, and expected you to congratulate him for it. It had never, ever, been a good expression. Not once. He saw her recognise it now. He saw her dawning alarm. He only grinned more widely.
"Oh gods," she said, dismayed and almost laughing. "Roget. What have you done now? What have you done, and who do I have to kill to get you out of it?"
He tapped his mouth with his finger, standing before her with his back nonchalantly exposed to the criminal collective. "Well," he mused. "That depends, I suppose. Judging by the faces here, you may have to kill a great many people indeed. Providing this works, of course. If it doesn't, I suspect you'll only be killing me, instead."
He smiled again, a flash so light and lively, the boyish grin of a much younger man. Analina blinked up at him. He was ageing, she thought absently. He really was getting on in years. She noticed it now for how young he seemed, how much the youth from their long-ago misadventures. He hadn't been like this in years. He'd gotten so very old. They both had. She really hadn't thought it properly until now, though she supposed the knowing must have been there for years, somewhere inside her.
She'd wanted marriage, after all. Was there any greater sign of it than that?
"... You'd best tell me, then," she said, watching him with a strange, exhausted fondness from her seat. "I'm a busy woman these days, and not so patient as I once was. If I must shortly be arranging mass slaughters, we should get to it all the quicker. Old age, you know."
He knew. That's what his face had been, that quick thing she'd almost seen a month ago, that thing he'd hidden from her almost immediately. Roget had known long before she did how quickly they were ageing.
It didn't stop him from kneeling, abruptly and with casual grace, before her now. His knee crackled, abused joints protesting the motion. So close, she could hear it happen. He knelt anyway, masking the discomfort with florid gestures, and held his hands abruptly before her in the pose of ...
In the pose of a penitent. Or a suitor. Good gods, what had he gone and done?
"I'm told you've set a challenge, my darling," he said, grinning all the while, and she shook her head mutely. She stared at him in mute denial, because he couldn't have. He couldn't. But he grinned, and pulled a small box from his sleeve with a magician's gesture, learned from a pickpocket forty years ago. "I'm told that you have promised that whosoever steals for you the finest ring in all the land shall have your hand in marriage. Is that true, dearheart?"
"You old bastard," she hissed, leaning forward in her seat so that they were nose to nose, and her teeth just perfectly place to bite something. She felt ... hurt, oddly. That he would make a game of this. That he, of all people, should mock her this way. "Roget, don't you dare. I will kill you. Don't think for one second that I won't."
"I wouldn't dream of it!" he laughed, those wicked little eyes shining out at her like diamonds, oddly gentle. "But won't you at least examine my offering, my dear? You never know. You might find just pleasing enough to let me live."
He opened his little jewel box as he said it. With ever-insolent nerve, he held up his offering for her to see. For everyone to see. He had no shame at all.
There was a hush of offended silence, at first, as her other suitors hissed in annoyance at this old popinjay come to steal their prize. Then, following it, there came a round of disbelieving titters as they caught sight of what he held. And after that, there came outright, mocking laughter, braying at him while he knelt above them with casual disregard. But then, he knew something they didn't. Smiling up at her, meeting her shocked stare, he knew a great deal more than any of them ever would.
It was shabby sort of ring he offered her. That was why they were laughing. Compared to the jewels and exquisite craftsmanship of their offerings, it was pathetic looking thing altogether, only a tiny, black pearl in a ring of plain gold. Valuable enough, in its way, but nothing compared to what else had been brought this evening, at least not in monetary terms.
Money was not the only sort of wealth in the world, though. And there were two things about this ring that made it by far the finest thing in this room.
She recognised it. That was the first thing. She knew it well. They'd stolen it together, he and her, just over thirty two years ago now. It had been part of their first great haul, the beginning of their legend, all those long years ago. They'd chosen their target for it. As relatively valueless as it was, it had caught her eye, that little black pearl, and Roget had willingly obliged her. Out all the other wealth they'd won from that target, that ring she'd kept, as a trinket or a souvenir, a symbol of what they'd become, and she had carried it with her ever since. For the weight of nostalgia alone, it had more value to her than almost anything else. That was one thing.
The other was that it belonged to her. She had kept it, she had cozened it, she had squirrelled it away with all her greatest treasures. As she rose in power across the years, she had moved it to better and better hiding places, kept it perfectly secure. It was hers, and he had stolen it from her, only to offer it back again. This great grey cockatoo had stolen a ring from her own bleeding vault, with her none the wiser, in order to propose to her. A thief's challenge, and that had been his answer.
Of all the bleeding cheek she had ever seen in her life ...
"... You unmitigated evil bastard," she managed, almost dumb in her furious, joyous admiration. "You great blithering idiot. Of all the gall."
"You said a thief's challenge," he interrupted, following her thoughts with ease and grinning blithely at her for them. "A thief's challenge to win your hand. The greatest of thefts are measured not only in their size, but in their daring. In their skill and their gall, and the sheer offence they cause. We've made our names with that, you and I. So I thought, for my dearest Analina, it would have to be a great theft indeed. And then I thought, what could be more daring than to rob the very Queen of Thieves herself? Would that not be a theft truly worthy of her hand? And, well. Here we are. A stolen ring, for my beloved queen, in the hopes that she will accept my suit."
She stared at him. Mute, dumb, more discomposed than she had ever let herself been seen in public since she'd become the Queen of Thieves. She couldn't help it. She had no idea what to do with him at all.
"... But you don't even want me," she said at last, with distant, petulant mutiny. "Winning a challenge, I understand, but ... but you don't have to prove yourself to anyone. You've always been the best. Why do this? You've known me for years, and never wanted me before. What on earth ... What have you been thinking?"
She stared at him helplessly, wondering just when he had become so strange. He'd been there forever. Roget, who had learned to pick pockets with her as a child, who had stolen inside their first great mansion with her, who had shared in her first haul. Roget, who had turned down administration years later, ever the lonesome thief, and only supported her while she had gathered power and connections around her. Roget, who had watched her become the Queen of Thieves, and offered only gay, laughing congratulations, and the offer of light fingers whenever she might need them. Roget, who had always and only been her friend. When had he ... When?!
"You did not want me," he said simply. He knelt in front of her on his ageing, aching knee, ignoring the confused, evil stares directed at his back. He had eyes only for her, and a familiar, stolen ring in his hand. "You have never wanted anyone, and I have never wanted what did not want me in return. I would have been content. And then ... then I heard you wished to be married. I thought the worst. I felt betrayed, that some other had stolen your heart before me. But it wasn't that. You don't want someone. You want something, and that I can give you. Anything you want, I will always steal for you. You want a thief, to make you feel wicked and daring again, and there has never been a better thief than me. I can give you that, Ana. If you'll let me."
And he meant it. She could see that. He ... he had always meant it. She had always had just exactly what she wanted, and he had always been part of the reason for that. Together, there had been nothing ever denied to them, for between them they had always found a way to take just what they wanted. There had never been anything they would not give each other.
Except, apparently, the one thing that he had always wanted, and she had never even realised.
"We're old partners, you and I," Roget went on, low and wry and prompting. "There has never been anyone but you. We're getting on in years, Ana. I could use someone of wealth and taste to keep me, when I'm too old to filch things for myself. And you, I think, could use someone you can stand for more than three hours at a time, someone who knows enough of your history to remind you of its wickedness. What do you say, dearheart? Will you take back your ring, and marry this old fool?"
There was only one answer, wasn't there? It wasn't a bad one, either. It was a happy one, in fact. She looked at him, this ridiculous conglomeration of a man, this grey peacock with his ferret eyes, who had always been by her side. She had never wanted him. But that had always been, she thought, because she had never not had him. She was a thief. She wanted what she could not have, and he had never been that.
And perhaps, now that she was getting on in years, now that she was more the hostess than the thief, it was time to enjoy, to want, all that she already had.
She stood up. She felt a bubble in her chest, a bright and shining thing, more glorious than diamonds. He blinked up at her, hopeful, wary, as foolhardy as he ever was, and she grinned down at him. An old expression, her old expression, and boding no more well than his. He gulped, laughing, and she grinned at him.
"Well," she said, as she drew him stiffly to his feet. "It's either that or kill you, isn't it? I think we've already decided that that's not how Roget Devuy breathes his last. So yes, you old monster. Yes, I will marry you, and may you never forget that, whatever happens henceforth, you damn well up and asked for it!"
When she leaned in this time, it was not to kiss two cheeks but one mouth, and the wicked, familiar grin of a thief who had won his prize.