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jenn2d2 · 2 days ago

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Crow Parties are Murder

Summary: Illario isn't having the best of times at a party thrown by the Dellamorte family to celebrate Treviso's freedom when he becomes embroiled in bad manners and unsanctioned murder. Thankfully, Neve Gallus is on the case.

Chapter 1: Charm, Offensive -- House Dellamorte is hosting a huge party to celebrate Treviso's freedom, and Illario is not having a good time.

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Illaneve, Illario Dellamorte/NeveGallus, Antivan Crow Politics (Dragon Age), Party, Political Intrigue, Antivan Crows, Religious Imagery & Symbolism

I've got another chapter that should post tomorrow, planning on a couple of chapters at the end of each week (probably around 6-8 total?). Read below, or at AO3.

Throngs of the elite coursed through the Villa Dellamorte and the surrounding estate in numbers that hadn't been seen in decades to celebrate the last of the Antaam withdrawing from Treviso. Antivans liked a good party, and nobody knew how to throw one quite like the Crows. The rest of the city celebrated tonight as well, with fireworks, light shows, and more gondolas active on the canals than anyone had seen at one time in living memory. Lights hung from every tree, building and even in the sky as a tide of joy swept any and all in together.

Illario hated every minute of it.

Social gatherings of any kind were usually his forte, something he slipped into with ease like a pair of the best shoes. Illario always ensured he looked polished to perfection, put others at ease, and enlivened the air around him in whatever way served his needs best. Tonight began in a usual way, with a well-memorized list of important guests and their tastes viewed and reviewed well ahead of time. He dressed to suit the occasion and his position. A neat, dark suit, accented in silver and stylized jet feathers at his cuffs and lapels. It was less ostentatious than his cousin sported as First Talon, but something that clearly marked him as a Crow, a master assassin, and a member of House Dellamorte.

As part of the hosting family, Illario couldn't arrive fashionably late, so he moved in and around the reception line. He ensured it moved as it should, but that no one felt rushed, ignored, or bored. It was going well. It was also a special form of torture he had designed for himself, as each familiar face registered their surprise at his presence and then attempted to conceal whatever surprise, disdain, admiration, or outright loathing followed after.

"Illario, how good to see you!"

"What a night for the Dellamorte family, you must be so proud."

"You must find me later and we can share a drink!"

Even the faces he found most welcome could not compete with the casual insincerity and entitlement of the rest. After working through the guests several times, Illario was fairly sure he'd have at least a couple of bruises from pinches or prodding in places he would prefer not to. He also felt he had exercised the utmost discretion in not returning several unwanted caresses and at least one attempted stabbing with one of the many knives concealed on his person.

Weaving through the flock, he timed his return to his family as the most important guests arrived. For the first time he could remember, Illario actually looked forward to returning to where his family stood. He could not wait to close out this part of the evening.

"So how are our guests?" Caterina asked curtly as he took his place at her side. "You certainly took your time."

"They are all quite well," Illario replied, pushing the good will he did not feel into one of his better smiles. "Most have arrived and wandered to wherever they see fit. Your more anticipated guests should arrive shortly, hence my timely appearance."

"Don't be flip," Caterina replied, but her mouth shifted to the barest smile of approval. Whatever she privately felt, Illario could tell that at least in this she still found him useful. "Make sure not to monopolize any of our guests' attention this evening. They have their own obligations, just as you have your own."

Illario nodded. It wasn't a discussion and she wasn't asking for his opinion. Instead, he braced for the incoming crowd with an outward ease he did not feel.

Three-quarters of an hour later, the reception was over. Most of it was a blur of important people who Illario hoped to not meet again in person, and who probably also wished the same but for more personal health related reasons. The influential, deadly, and wealthy passed by into the waiting crowd, mostly unremarkable to him.

Some bright spots punctuated the time, with Professor Volkarin and his skeletal apprentice in attendance for the Mourn Watch causing quite a stir, especially when accompanied by his imposing paramour from the Veil Jumpers. Bellara had risked a small wave to Illario as she passed by with Strife, and he noticed she had managed to bring along some sort of notebook. The Papers in Minrathous rarely had first-hand accounts of parties thrown by the Crows, and he looked forward to whatever scandals spooled out of her pen when the night was over.

Maevaris Telani cut in impressive figure in a stunning gown that seemed to be made of whatever gave the shine to diamonds, representing the will of the Archon, but clearly bringing the hopes of the Shadow Dragons with her as well. At the back of her retinue, Illario spied Neve in a gown of green and pale yellow, her hair swept up along one side by a stylized golden fascinator in the shape of a flowering tree branch with a green lace veil shading across her face. Catching his eye, she smiled and gave him a wink, which earned him a discreet elbow in the side from Rook.

"Neve looks nice," Rook purred quietly as she smiled slightly, not moving her mouth. Illario had never quite mastered that trick, but he usually didn't say things in the open that weren't intended to be overheard. "I really like the hair-clip thing?"

"Fascinator," Illario answered absentmindedly, letting his eyes trail after Neve as she exited the to the main hall. Golden branch, pale yellow flowers, green leaves. Lemon blossoms. He could feel a familiar tightness in his chest, pulling and twisting him out of shape. "And yes, she does. Neve always has style."

"Hmm," Rook returned with entirely too much nonchalance.

Illario really was going have to have a word with… someone. Probably his own reflection at this rate.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter," a woman's shrill voice intoned near his ear, and Illario swiveled to face a thin, sour looking woman. She was young, pale, and dressed in the robes of the Orlesian Chantry, the fabric far too sumptuous to hail from one of the poorer sects. Her accent wasn't Orlesian, but more likely Ferelden or the Free Marches with a tinge of … something else.

"Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just," Illario responded automatically, his early childhood lessons calling forth the remainder of one of the more well known Benedictions. He nodded his head towards the woman, and she returned it in the most cursory way.

"Sister Gabrielle," Caterina inclined her head towards the woman with the barest flicker of annoyance in her eyes. Behind her, Lucanis raised an eyebrow in Illario's direction, and the two shared a moment of shared relief, as her irritation was clearly aimed at the disagreeable young woman. It was short lived as Caterina continued. "You and Mother Thomasina are most welcome this evening."

The Sister gave a far more composed bow to the older woman, all traces of whatever had been in her face smoothed away.

"It is so kind of you, Madame Dellamorte," an older woman behind the sister strode forward, looking every inch a Chantry Mother. Her face was lightly lined, but strong cheekbones and piercing green eyes left a formidable impression. "We were traveling for most of the day, and have not had a chance for some quiet reflection."

"Should you require it, my grandson Illario would be happy to show you our family chapel off of the south gardens," Caterina placed her hand lightly on his arm, message clear.

"That would be most welcome," Mother Thomasina smiled, giving a nod to Illario. "Our travel was arduous, and she spent much of that time working diligently. I know she would appreciate some time to rest before rejoining us."

"My grandson will show Sister Gabrielle the way while you and I join the rest of the party, " Caterina nodded, and gently pressed on Illario's arm again. "Lady Cousland has been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

Mother Thomasina laughed, and the two older women began walking towards the main hall with the rest of the Chantry Mother's retinue in their wake. Lucanis nodded to Illario as he and Rook continued to chat with the few remaining guests waiting to greet them.

Taking his cue, Illario gave Sister Gabrielle a small bow, catching her eye as he straightened. He stifled the urge to recoil in disgust as naked malevolence rolled off of the woman in a brief, arresting wave. She returned the slightest of bows, and recomposed her face as he looked away to gesture in the direction of the chapel.

"If you will follow me, Sister," Illario strode forward, his own face a mask of amiability while he furiously reviewed his knowledge of this woman he was saddled with guiding to his family's often unused chapel. Attaché to Mother Thomasina, who was originally Ferelden Chantry with a tenuous connection to Divine Victoria. Currently in Orlais, influential with some of the pro-Circle and Templar advocates. Sister Gabrielle joined her some time in the last two years, but the resurgence of the Blight during the rise of the elven gods had made proper information on the woman difficult to track down.

"The chapel itself is quite restful," Illario chatted pleasantly, walking around and through the remaining late-arriving attendees on their way to the main hall. "While the garden will have guests, it is situated to ensure that you should have as much solitude as you need."

Several of the people they passed turned to follow the unusual sight of a Chantry sister attending a party thrown by a Crow House. While the clergy often attended galas and parties thrown by the nobility, they rarely deigned to grace the halls of the famous assassins, even when cordially invited with the most sincere assurances for their safety.

"Is it a place you find comfort?" Sister Gabrielle hissed, her voice pitched just too loud to be discreet. "I am sure that as a failed parricide, you have had many occasions to pray to the maker for forgiveness."

This last line was delivered as they stepped into the library, in clear earshot of guests lining the entryway in the hopes of observing new and interesting attendees arriving. Illario could hear an audible gasp off to his right as a red heat began thrumming in his ears and sketching an unwanted scowl on his face. He made no attempt to answer or change his expression as they continued to walk through the house.

Behind him, the horrible woman began quoting freely from the Chant of Light in a sonorous voice, to the delight and disdain of many guests within earshot. Illario wondered idly if Caterina had advance knowledge of Sister Gabrielle, given the annoyance she'd barely concealed at the woman's presence. He could imagine that her reputation would run ahead of her if this is how she moved through society. The drone of her recitation washed over him as they walked, much as it had in almost every Chantry service he'd attended as a child. Most of it left little impression.

"…Spite ate away all that was good, kind, and loving till nothing was left but the spite itself…"

Illario paused just at the door to the gardens and wheeled on the woman so quickly she barely had time to stop before running into him headlong. She recoiled sharply as if he'd struck her, leaning back with melodramatic flair. A small part of him admired that bit of theatrical performance, but he was too fed up with her behavior to give it much thought.

"That's an odd choice," Illario quipped, feigning cutting amusement as several guests turned to stare at the commotion at the garden entrance. "It's not every day you hear some of the dissonant verses grace these halls."

"You cannot tell me that none in this house know spite coiled 'round their heart like a great worm," she replied with a haughty sneer. "Unlike the Betrayer, repentance does not appear to grace your halls."

"I would prefer that you did not blaspheme to our guests, Sister," Illario stated a little louder and sharper than intended, his words echoing out and away into the house and outward into the garden. He knew he was feeding a spectacle, as two more of the guests in the hallway turned to listen and began talking rapidly. He continued anyway. "We are not as comfortable in Antiva with the self-serving words of Maferath as some are in Ferelden."

"I am not from Ferelden," Sister Gabrielle spat, abruptly charging forward. "But I would not expect knowledge or care of such things in such a house as yours."

Given the choice to move or make physical contact, Illario slipped aside at the last moment, causing the clergywoman to hurtle into the garden. Her momentum threw her forward and into a well manicured azalea bush as one of her feet caught the edge of a flagstone. Robes, cowl, hat and stole all conspired to wrap the woman into the foliage like a lost kite tangling up raccoon in a tree.

It was amusing to watch her growl and struggle with the shrubbery, but after a moment Illario snapped his fingers. A younger Crow appeared instantly at his side, as if she had been only a step or two away. He recognized her from Rook's normal detail, elven girl, particularly good with a garrote, part of House Egrativi. Reliable, if incredibly likely to report every single facet of this encounter to his cousin as soon as possible.

"Julietta, see that she reaches the chapel as intact as possible," he pointed at the woman still struggling to free herself. Illario could hear the swirl of conversation start to spread out from the onlookers in the garden and cursed his temper, but it was a bit late for that. The girl sprang forward, and he saw another shadow detach itself in the garden and join her.

"When you're finished, please make sure give my apologies to the First Talon."

"No need," Illario froze as Caterina's voice drifted down the nearby stairs along with the sound of her cane as she descended. "I will let him know myself."

Illario turned to face his grandmother and bowed briefly, his face a mask of perfect stillness. His heart pounded hot in his ears as the disappointment and irritation clearly etched itself into the lines of her face. Trailing behind her were Mother Thomasina and Lady Cousland, both staring at him intently, the Chantry Mother scowling with anger. Beyond were several other faces he recognized, including one pinched with concern and sporting a golden lemon branch in her hair. The ache in his chest became a vice around his heart, and he could feel his composure eroding away with his patience.

Bowing again, Illario turned on his heel and quickly exited towards the service hallway without comment. What could he say? At least Lucanis and all of his friends wouldn't have to wait on the news of his abject failure. How convenient.

#illario dellamorte #neve gallus #illaneve #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age veilguard #antivan crows

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