#mute!corvo

He had practically memorized the stains and cracks in the ceiling above his bed. So often had Corvo lain, staring up at it, unable to sleep. When he had first arrived he’d stayed awake because of Coldridge. Or more accurately: because of the memories of Coldridge. Of the Spymaster. Of a hot tong and sharp blades, of four walls.

When it wasn’t unpleasant dreams, then it was the aches created by the events the memories portrayed. Blisters, healing gashes, bruises, slowly being knit together by his tired body. Corvo thinks back to the night he’d arrived here. Pendleton was eager to get to work. He wanted Corvo to go out the next hour so their plans could finally be set in motion. Havelock, being a military man, was far more realistic. He had known Corvo would be out of commission until he had fully healed.

“Healing is unhappy business,” said Callista, when she had tended to him, “Both for the mind and the flesh.”

He had looked up at the ceiling then, like he was doing now. During those most vulnerable days his anxious mind thought of two things. First: He thought about Emily. Over and over and over again did he turn his thoughts to her. Where she was. What was happening to her. How she was feeling. Then, second, he would think about the Loyalists. Their motivations. Their plans. Their members and their respective backgrounds. If he could trust them. Whether or not he could stay.

Even healed, even after meeting the bloody Outsider, even as he began doing missions, these two chief anxieties would rise up to the surface of his mind. Spinning endlessly round and round. Emily, then the Loyalists, then back to Emily again. First, second, first, second.

The ceiling above him remains unchanged. Recently one of these anxieties had been greatly reduced. He’d found Emily in the guts of The Golden Cat. Hidden away in some darkened corner. To his intense relief she had been in one piece, sound, and unhurt.

“They told me you were- Head chopped off, in the prison.” The words had tumbled from her, “Dead. Like mother…”

‘No.’ He’d signed to her, quickly, ‘I’m alive.’

Now that he and Emily were reunited, the second worry became the largest: The Loyalists. Throughout his stay at the Hound Pits Pub he had been a curious man. He grimaces. Describing himself as “curious” was too polite. He had been downright nosy. He had dug through all of heir personal effects, listened to their audio logs, and read through their journals. He had listened in on their conversations, too.

The disgraced body guard scrutinizes the cracks and peeling paint. He goes over the events of the past few months again. Words from the journals and audio logs turn around in his head. He thinks about Emily. The Loyalists. Emily. Loyalists. The stains above him don’t have any answers for him. Not as if they could divine if it were safe for him and Emily to stay with the Loyalists, or tell him if any of them were trustworthy.

He squints up into the dark. Pendleton had been willing to give up his brothers to the cause. The nobleman could just be power hungry. Havelock wouldn’t bend to Hiram’s orders in the Navy and so he was removed; he could equally have been discharged because he had tried to seize control of the military. Martin lost his position and prestige within the Abbey after breaking him from Coldridge, although it’s unclear if those were fairly won in the first place.

A picture of Emily is brought up in his mind’s eye, sitting at a table, doodling on some scrap paper. They say they’re loyal to her, or at least the Kaldwin legacy. It’s probably how they came to their pretentious name: “The Loyalists”. Loyalty to the fair Empress, now dead. Emily is too young to be put on a throne. Someone would have to take the position of Lord Regent. They must know that. They must know it can’t be any of them.

Corvo looks at the ceiling. These men could be trusted to be loyal to themselves. In the darkness of his room, he makes a decision. He and Emily would not be carrying out the Loyalists’ plans. He would take Emily away from all of this, to his homeland, maybe. Anywhere but here. Two rats leaving a sinking ship.