well, he definitely made it through the trial!! fun fact about Corvinus: he has a small tolerance to 90% of poisons! even the lethal ones. he doesn’t, like, mess with them — and no, he won’t go into how he acquired this skill — but if you dose him with something, he’ll hold up really well. he’ll probably be fine.
probably.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞
~ 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚, 𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧
content warnings : poisoning, nausea, vomiting (non-graphic), burping, hiccups, stuffing, water bloat, mentions of lactose intolerance; 2.9k words
“Come, Montefeltro!”
There’s something sweet in the beckoning hand, the outstretched arm, the lithe figure guiding him like a will’o wisp through the darkness. Aeliana often keeps to the shadows. She knows all the back hallways, the servants’ passages… the sections of Willowlake which aren’t quite tangible. They feel like a pencil sketch, never filled in with detail — an idea, not something made real. Corridors and staircases, whole wings of the estate which ought to be… the Lady just hasn’t gotten to them yet.
Corvinus doesn’t like it here. The liminal spaces unnerve him. For some strange reason, Aeliana finds them comforting.
“Down this way,” she urges, leading him down a winding staircase. More than once, her steps falter; she has to grip the banister, swaying and hiccuping. When Corvinus steadies her, firm hands on her upper hips (never too high, and certainly never lower) the former assassin giggles.
[[MORE]]
“You— you—“ she mutters at one point, pressing her head against his shoulder. “You are a strange one, Montefeltro. This place is in you. Leeched into your blood. That’s why she favors you, I think.”
With a huff, Corvinus shakes his head. The notion makes him uncomfortable in ways he can’t even fathom — like an itch burrowed deep under his skin, spreading only once it’s taken root. He hiccups once, then twice, covering his mouth. His stomach feels too tight, too heavy, like a boulder resting heavily within him. His overheated skin crawls, burning with a subtle fever. Yet, as Aeliana’s hands grip his biceps, he is completely preoccupied with her. She’s so sure of herself, even when the world itself is off-balance. (God, Corvinus envies her.)
“The Lady doesn’t favor me,” he answers. “She… knows me, that’s all. I’ve been here a long time.”
“Too long,” Aeliana muses. She traces the veins in Corvinus’s bicep, blue-grey beneath his bleached skin… and Corvinus can’t disagree.
His stomach suddenly flips over. He tenses, a soft grunt escaping him; the nausea he’s been battling with all day threatens a cruel reappearance. As always, the Lady knows how to get under his skin. Corvinus can function with drugs in his system; he has a strong head for liquor, and the Elixir of Dionysus only makes him tipsy. Sure, he’s vulnerable to Lady Adeline’s unique brand of influence… but magic on its own? No.
So, she had to poison him.
The other guards got to drink the Elixir, and that was that. A gaggle of giggly, woozy guardsmen, stumbling around the garden as they tried to complete challenges. Aeliana was able to fend off a small army of garden gnomes, even though she can’t see straight. Dorran dove into the lake and retrieved the Lady’s precious bracelet — but he sat on the shore afterwards, gazing awestruck at his own hands. (“Where did I… find all these fingers?”)
It took Corvinus three doses of “Elixir” to realize the trick. Lady Adeline cooked up something special for him. He was only drinking grape juice… with a few special ingredients mixed in. When his belly began to churn… when the hiccups began in earnest, and he found himself panting, clutching a too-bloated belly… that’s when it clicked.
Gods, he’s never been so nauseous in his life.
He must have thrown up twenty times as he stumbled through the hedge maze — pausing to bend over and wretch, stomach clenching mercilessly. Thick belches rolled up his throat, followed by a splash of sick. Corvinus stood there, panting, with nothing to even brace himself against; he could only clutch his belly, fighting not to keel over.
Yet he always stumbled on. Corvinus is a soldier, a sworn defender of Willowlake and its inhabitants. He will never forsake his oath. Even if it kills him.
And it very nearly did.
“You’ll make a full recovery,” Lady Adeline assured him, gently lifting Corvinus up from a puddle of his own sick. He found the wraith lair and was able to slay them all… but the battle took its toll. As he lay in the middle of the grove, stained black with foul blood, gnarled bodies laying all around… the Lady smiled down at him.
Somehow, that smile washed everything away. The exhaustion. The nausea. Corvinus was able to forget the fierce cramping in his stomach. Lady Adeline was the entire world, all that existed, all that mattered.
When the world faded back into focus, the wraith corpses were gone. The blood, too. It was never real, he realized distantly. All a game. A challenge she cooked up… for fun.
Corvinus belched openly into the air. His shirt was still stained with bile. Gentle as a dove, the lady wiped his face with a silken handkerchief. When she pressed the back of her hand to his brow, she tutted.
“You need some medicine, dearest. Before that Vinum Dolores toxin catches up with you.”
Corvinus panted heavily. His black eyes were dull, unsurprised. “Suppose I’ll die?”
Adeline chuckled, clicked her tongue, and waved him along.
“You’ll fine what you need in the kitchens. Provided you get there in time.”
When Corvinus tried to stand, though, his belly cramped violently. He fell to his knees with a low moan, clutching his middle for dear life.
“Shhh…” And suddenly the Lady was by his side, kneeling beside him in the grass. His first instinct was to flinch from her — she did this to him, the creature of his dreams and nightmares — but when she laid her hand upon his back, all hesitation dissolved away.
Adeline’s touch was gentle. Her fingers never forced. They coaxed their way beneath his layers of clothing, easing the heavy wool and leather aside. Her palm laid flat against his belly. By then, it was rounded out, roiling with gas and cramping with every movement. The Lady’s touch forced a low moan out of him… then something like a sob as she pressed down.
The agony only lasted for a second. Corvinus could feel his insides shifting, hear the rumble of revolt over his own stifled cry… but as the Lady massaged, the pain began to fade. It was like she knew exactly where it felt worst… and could coax the discomfort out with nothing but her touch. Adeline eased deep, slow circles into his abdomen. The nausea ebbed. The sharp gas pains abated. Corvinus breathed heavy, unsteadily… until his tormentor pulled away.
She took the pain with her. The worst of the nausea. The roiling. Something swirled faintly around Adeline’s hand, like a fog of foul nicotine smoke… but when she clenched her fist, it dissolved into nothing.
Corvinus doesn’t question the ways of magic by now. He’s just grateful it worked.
So, here he is. On his way to the kitchens to find this cure, being “escorted” by another one of the estate guards. Trouble is, Aeliana can barely tell which way is up right now; he’s the one escorting her. Keeping her from somersaulting down the stairs, at least.
“You’re like… an old man…” Aeliana muses, words drifting as though she’s far-away. When she notices Corvinus gripping the banister, though, she’s suddenly wide awake. “What’s the trouble?”
Corvinus opens his mouth. A wet hiccup escapes.
No further explanation is needed. With a grim nod, Aeliana tucks an arm around his shoulders, and continues to usher him down the stairwell.
“I forgot. I’m sorry, Montefeltro. We are saving your life.”
“I’m not going to die,” Corvinus grouses. The Lady would never allow it. It would be like throwing out her favorite toy. (Gods, he hates that analogy.)
By the time they finally reach the kitchens — on the ground floor of the estate, behind a set of wide oaken doors which are never fully closed — they make quite a pair. Corvinus is the one holding up Aeliana, who keeps giggling at the paintings on the walls. Sporadic belches bubble up from Corvinus’s belly, and there’s no holding them back… but he hasn’t vomited. That’s a good thing.
They’re not expecting company. When they enter the kitchen, though… they’re surprised to find one of their fellow guards hunched over the kitchen counter. Dorran’s raven curls are a disheveled mess, his gaze hazy. Usually such an imposing figure, his mouth is now dusted with powdered sugar, and a bit of jelly stains his chin.
“Here!” Aurora, the estate’s petite librarian, is saying as she pours Dorran a glass of milk. “This will wash it down nicely. All those doughnuts, and the pie… you need something to soothe your tummy.”
Corvinus considers Dorran a friend, at this point. His fellow guard is a man of few words — but he distinctly recalls Dorran mentioning dairy doesn’t agree with him.
Apparently, he hasn’t mentioned as much to Aurora, and has no intention to. Starry-eyed, the guardsman accepts the glass of milk, exhaling a soft “thank you”. Then, a stifled belch. He raises a fist to his mouth, shoulders jolting. A low moan slips out of him. “Shouldn’t have eaten that last slice, love…”
“You were hungry,” Aurora replies, shaking her head. She’s pulled up her mess of curls into a loose bun… and, as Corvinus sniffs the air, he catches the faint scent of another pie cooking. Cherry this time, he muses, observing the filling stains on Aurora’s apron.
“I thought… you didn’t have to…” Aeliana slumps against Corvinus’s side. She’s practically hanging off him like a monkey, lean arms twined around his shoulders — and the thought of sober, stubbornly independent Aeliana looking back on this brings a smirk to Corvinus’s lips. “You can just wish for food, and it’ll just… just…”
She trails off, brows furrowing. The mechanics of Willowlake are impossible to grasp. Corvinus only understands the golden rule: if you want it, you can have it. No need to say ‘please’ to the powers-that-be. If he was craving an entire roast chicken right now, all he’d have to do is speak it into existence. Hell, he could think it strongly enough—
“Oh!” exclaims Aeliana, gaping at the platter of roast chicken. It wasn’t there a second ago; now, it sits in the middle of the counter, gently steaming. The skin is a succulent bronze, glazed with light gravy and garnished with rosemary. Inside, Corvinus can already tell, the meat is tender enough to fall off the bone.
His stomach flips. He grimaces, gripping the counter’s edge.
“Oh, gosh— hi, you two!” Aurora pivots on her heels, bouncing like an excited kitten as she gives them a wave. Clearly, she and Dorran weren’t expecting company either, but they don’t seem disappointed. Dorran acknowledges Corvinus with a solemn nod; Corvinus tilts his head in return.
“Where did you come from? How were the trials?”
“Went well,” Aeliana declares, and taps her chest with a fist. “Garden gnomes have no blood to spill — that was disappointing — but I left a trail of broken pottery and crushed spirits! They will not threaten the sanctity of Willowlake again!”
She looks so damn proud of herself. It’s easy to ignore how she’s swaying on her feet.
Aurora gives the guardswoman an uncertain round of applause. Ever since her arrival in their domain, the former assassin has displayed a… delight in violence that her comrades don’t share. She’s not cruel, Corvinus knows — he’s seen Aeliana chasing the children around the garden, and watched her bandage Hans’s hand when he nearly severed a finger with his gardening shears. She simply loves a good brawl. He can respect that.
When all eyes turn to him, Corvinus just shrugs. “Poisoned,” he says. “It’s fine.”
“It— you what?”
At least Aurora is sober, and competent in a crisis. Corvinus didn’t realize how essential these qualities are until he’s sitting down on one of the low kitchen chairs, a bucket placed beside him, and a gleaming glass vial being pressed into his hand. Aurora ransacked every single cabinet (no small task, considering the kitchen is the size of a ballroom) until coming across the medicine, conspicuously labeled ‘Corvinus 💗’ resting on one of the counters.
He could have found it on his own. Really, it wouldn’t have been much trouble. He doesn’t need to sit down, and certainly doesn’t need anyone fussing over him.
That… doesn’t mean he minds.
“Drink,” Aurora insists, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Before it gets any worse.”
“It isn’t bad now,” Corvinus insists… but his face is colorless, and there’s a steadily-increasing burn at the center of his belly. Perhaps the librarian has a point. A very small one.
He uncaps the vial, and is immediately hit with the sharp smell of winterberry. Corvinus grimaces, a visceral shudder wracking him.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he grits out. Slowly, he raises the bottle, fist clenched tight around it. His stomach spasms. Corvinus shudders again, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Oh my god,” Aurora gasps, “is the poison—“
“Nope,” replies Corvinus. “Just can’t stand liquid medicine.”
His friend is quiet for a long, long moment.
“I prefer pills,” Corvinus grunts. He tries to think very hard about the potion turning into a nice, palatable gel capsule… but his luck, or the powers-that-be, have deserted him. There will be no reprieve today.
“I never took you for a coward, Montefeltro,” Aeliana observes, around a mouthful of chicken. She’s sitting atop the kitchen counter, her legs sprawled under her like an unruly colt, gnawing on a drumstick.
“Watch your tongue, Silvestra,” he snaps back — and has the pleasure of seeing Aeliana’s lips curl.
Across the kitchen, a timer resounds with a crisp ‘ding!’ Aurora startles, spinning on her heels — then casts Corvinus an apologetic look. “Sorry, I just— the pie—“
Corvinus waves her off. The fewer people who witness this, the better.
He does manage to get the medicine down, in one determined gulp… and is left retching over the bucket, drool dripping from his lips as he shudders forcefully. He will not be sick. He will not expel the cure that may very well save his life. The urge, though, is strong. He cannot help the way his stomach contracts, or how that foul taste in his mouth triggers an automatic gag—
“Here! Here!”
The next thing he knows, a jug is being pressed to his lips. Corvinus drinks greedily, gulping down huge mouthfuls. The water is chilled enough to make his teeth ache… but the cold numbs the pain while the foul taste is washed away.
He’s not even conscious of what he’s doing until he reaches the last mouthful. Blinking hazily, Corvinus sets the empty jug down with a clink.
Perched in front of him, still dripping with chicken grease, Aeliana looks intent — like a warrior ready for battle. “Are you alright?”
It takes Corvinus a long moment to answer. He’s not sure himself, honestly. “I… survived,” he manages, with a shaky shrug. “My gut feels like a— ruUUuurp— water balloon, though. And I— hicCulp! — don’t relish the thought of standing.”
“Do not stand, fool.” The former assassin gives him a light shove to the shoulder. This is Aeliana’s form of caretaking. Intensely competent, but not gentle. “You must give yourself time to recover.”
Corvinus stifles another hiccup. When he shifts, his belly sloshes; he feels dizzy from the abundance of water, a few residual shivers coursing through him. Still, he can’t complain. After what he’s been through today, a full belly feels like a mercy. He’s still much too sensitive to stomach food, but the water feels like a balm to his ravaged nerves.
As his gaze wanders across the broad kitchen, it lands on Dorran. Aurora has taken the pie out of the oven, and she presents it to her lover with a flourish. Although the dessert is a bit messy (she didn’t get the crust right, and it’s a tad burnt on top) the little librarian is glowing with pride. Dorran is glowing, too… although he only has eyes for her. Beneath the table, his pants are unbuttoned, the swell of his belly exposed beneath his tunic. He licks his lips, murmuring something… and Aurora giggles, cheeks coloring. When Dorran pulls her into his lap, she doesn’t resist.
Aeliana’s gaze lingers on them too. She looks faintly wistful.
“He is adjusting well,” she observes. “When he arrived here… he wore his trauma like a shroud. You could barely see him beneath is. The true him.”
Corvinus isn’t sure their friend knew who he truly was before arriving at Willowlake. Yet Dorran is steadily growing into himself (even as he grows out of his current wardrobe, thanks to Aurora’s influence). It’s… a privilege to witness.
“I have been here,” Corvinus murmurs, “for a very long time. But the people still surprise me.”
Aeliana tilts her head. “Not the place?”
No. He’s used to Willowlake, by now. When Corvinus tries to remember the details of his old world, the place he once called home… it’s all a vague mass, a blur of half-memories and emotions that jab like needles. All he knows for sure is, he doesn’t want to remember.
Perhaps he’s grown into himself at Willowlake, too. And he rather likes this version of himself.
With a languid shrug, Corvinus leans back in his chair. “You get used to it, Silvestra,” he mutters… and grins up at Aeliana’s skeptical face.
