Fandom: Dragon Age the Veilguard
Pairing: Illario Dellamorte & Original Female Character
Rating: Mature
Summary: Even as Illario plans for the future, the past still haunts him.
Words: 1216
Additional Tags: Illario Dellamorte Week: Day 6- Despair/Joy, Family, Canon Typical Violence, Abuse TW, Blood CW, Gore CW, Mourning, Love, Ruminating On The Past, Trauma, Pre-Canon
Day #6 fic and my third for Illario Week. AND it’s also my 300th fic posted on AO3. Kind of insane. Thank you @illarioappreciation for hosting! I decided to go with Despair for this one and use one my own Dellamorte OCs (who has now begun to take on a life of her own).
Read on AO3
One of the earliest memories Illario Dellamorte had was of violence.
Of screaming. Of blood.
Of running into the hall outside of his bedroom only to find the walls splattered with crimson. The echoing gurgle as his sister choked on her blood, throat slit by their enemies, a consequence of her trying to protect him. His parents… the Cantori Crows who’d come to aid them wouldn’t even let him see their bodies.
He’d been six years old at the time. His entire family, a family of assassins, slain as they lay in their beds. The household staff, the other Crows that lived with them, all dead. He’d remembered escaping in the chaos only to hide beneath his bed and wait for his turn, praying to Andraste, to the Maker, that when it came, it’d be painless.
It’d been his first failure.
He’d lost his protector, his best friend, the only person besides his parents who actually cared for him. Loved him.
The shame hadn’t come until weeks later, when he was in the sitting room with Caterina and Lucanis, the only surviving members of House Dellamorte. Three of them were left out of hundreds. Most had been slaughtered in their beds, not even the children spared. Yet here they were, the First Talon and two of her grandchildren, the only ones the Maker deemed worthy of saving.
Or had it been luck that kept him from the assassin’s blade, his life worth only as much as his grandmother felt it was, Lucanis taking the mantle of her favorite now that her children were in the grave. Whenever Caterina turned her stern gaze on him in those early months, or caned him for misbehaving, or withheld food to punish him for failing one of his training sessions, Illario began to wonder if she hadn’t wished he’d died so that his sister could live.
Perhaps if he’d just thrown himself at Alessia’s assassin before the killing blow had landed, she’d have survived instead. Then she could have been the person subjected to Caterina’s torture, and in the end, Illario knew his elder sister would’ve been the better assassin as well.
There was also the loneliness to contend with.
Not a single touch since his childhood had been out of love. Convenience, perhaps, but there was no kindness in Caterina, only punishment when he didn’t live up to her expectations. The violence, death, the occasional sexual advance with a stranger (or a contract) and the resulting climax… none of it meant anything. No one meant anything.
What would Alessia think of him now? To see him in such a state? Betraying his family for power, for an modicum of respect.
Illario remembered the first time he’d asked Caterina about the slaughter. About the how and the why. And specifically, why Alessia had died for him. His grandmother had only stared down at him with those hawk-like eyes, almost as if the question disgusted her. As if he disgusted her.
He remembered the exact moment she glanced away from him, gaze fixed on the portrait of his family. His parents sitting upon the fancy settee that still sat in the receiving room, Alessia nestled between them with those multicolored eyes, the same ones that had haunted his childhood nightmares. A baby Illario was cradled in his mother’s arms, sleeping as the artist finished the painting.
When Caterina finally spoke, his heart broke for the final time, his entire future decided in a single terrible moment.
Alessia made a mistake. It was she who was meant to rule House Dellamorte after my death. Not protect a helpless child who can barely hold a knife.
No, perhaps Illario shouldn’t have survived, but he had. And he’d vowed to one day prove Caterina wrong.
And with the help of the Venatori, he would.
The cemetery was eerily quiet, not even the usual carrion haunting the grounds. There was a slight breeze in the air, but even as it shifted the leaves of the trees overhead, not a sound reached his ears. Death had never scared Illario once he’d become a Crow. In fact, he reveled in it most days. But this… this was harder than it had any right to be.
The wisteria tree he’d planted nearly fifteen years before was in full bloom, it’s petals scattered along the ground in front of the headstones, violet against the dark green of the grass. It’s scent tickled his nose, a reminder of freer days when he, Alessia, and Lucanis would roam the gardens of Villa Dellamorte while their parents handled Crow business. Picking wisteria blossoms and tucking them into their hair or behind their ears, pretend sword fighting with the branches, laughing loudly as they took their bruises and scrapes.
He hadn’t felt that free in a long time.
Kneeling before the thick stone, Illario reached out to brush some ivy from its face, the names etched there haunting him as much as their memories did.
With a finger, he traced over Alessia’s name carefully, the stone rough where it touched his skin. As much as he’d wished it as a young boy, his relationship with Lucanis, his dearest cousin, didn’t even compare to the one he’d lost with Alessia. And it’d made him bitter. Made him angry. Each time he tried to prove to Caterina he was as capable as Lucanis, he failed time and time again.
No matter how hard he tried, she never hesitated to express her disappointment and level her comparisons.
His eyes stung as his mind conjured an image of his sister, her hooked nose and raven colored locks nearly the same as his and yet, it was those heterochromatic eyes that always dazzled: one eye as blue as an ocean, the same color he possessed himself. The other was a deep brown, dark almost like a fresh cup of coffee, and though it appeared that many of the born Dellamorte possessed this color of iris, Alessia Dellamorte had been the only one born with two different colored eyes.
A tear rolled down his cheek, as much a weakness as the affection that still squeezed his chest at the thought of his family, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Then he placed one of the fallen wisteria branches, full of blooming flowers, at the base of the headstone, a tribute to a family who still lived on his heart nearly twenty years after their deaths.
But he was still failing them.
Tears blurred his vision as he read the headstone engraving again, knowing deep in whatever was left of his soul that if any of them were alive now, they’d condemn him for what he planned to do. Because he was tearing what was left of his family apart.
And he didn’t care.
“Alessia, I hope one day when we meet again, you are able to forgive me for what I’m about to do.”
With one final look, he got to his feet, dusted the dirt from his pants, then turned away, heart hurting and stomach sick. But he continued on, one foot in front of the other, towards the future he deserved.
Nan's whole body was store and everything was numb. The adrenaline was still pumping through her but she felt the aftermath and consequences of what had just happened starting to sit on her chest and it felt like an elephant was stomping on her. Fighting for life had never been the dream she'd had when reuniting with her father. She stared at him laying there lifeless and for the first time in her life she understood why people smoked cigarettes.
She had felt like someone had been watching her for the past few days, but tried her best to ignore the feeling. The texts kept coming and she knew whoever it was whether it was actually her father or someone else, they were keeping track of her. And so when she felt someone following her on her bike ride home from work she started to make shortcuts. Hiding but enough to catch a glimpse of the man who she resembled. Texting Francis, she'd slowly tried to sneak her way home and Frank had caught her.
First thing to happen was her bike was demolished by the car, and then when she went sprinting her apartment building he came after her. There was a scramble of movement as she went for her fire escape. He knew what she knew about him. But he wasn't there to talk to her. He was there to end her, because as soon as she started climbing the fire escape he was dragging her down. She'd finally kicked him away but by the time she got to her balcony she didn't have enough time to pull the fire escape up. And he was on her again, tears filled her eyes as he'd cut off the air in her lungs but she kept kicking and punching and scratching and one finally landed and he was falling backwards. And there was a cracking and crunching noise she'd only heard on TV.
She was watching Frank still when she heard her apartment door open, slowly she looked to the door from the balcony to her apartment and then down at herself wondering if she was injured. She was pretty sure she was, but at this point she still couldn't feel her body. "He found me." Her voice was raspy as she said the words aloud to her brother. "I haven't checked his pulse."
//I have learned some terribly sad news at work today about my colleague and the lab is mourning. That is beside my cat Charlotte passing away on monday. However, I would like to bounce back anyway, I'm hoping to get some slack on sunday to write some replies.
I love my job but sometimes it's hard in that some people just really hit you right in the heart. There's this guy who's just a little bit older than me who's wife around the same age passed away unexpectedly and he's having the hardest time and he's in a lot of pain and I've been the one who's been in contact with him the past few days and it's just so sad I wanna hug him but it ain't my place. just damn.
family: mother, father, two younger siblings, son relationship status: widower
personality
+ compassionate, colourful.
- abrupt, pedantic.
If there’s one thing that Matthew prides himself on, it’s his caring nature; even as a small child, he was the one looking out for everyone and doing what he could to help. Being the oldest in the family, he made it his mission to look after his younger siblings, always available for babysitting duties. He would spend his time entertaining his family, so on nights like that, it came in handy. He was the type to get all the neighbourhood kids together and spend a sunny Saturday coming up with a play that would be performed later on that evening in either his or someone else's backyard. As fun as he is, however, he can also be a little blunt. He says what he’s thinking without ever really considering other people's feelings. He is, quite simply, always straight to the point. Attention to detail is important to him, too, he likes everything to be just so, something he’s convinced that his wife actually encouraged at one point.
Six months after his birth, Matthew was adopted by Damien and Antonia Ames, anything that came before completely forgotten by most. They had been struggling to conceive and wanted to find a way forward at that point in their lives; Matthew was that way forward. In the future, things would change, but for several years, it was just them and him —- the perfect upbringing in the small coastal town of Merrock, Maine. He was eventually joined by two younger siblings, making the Ames family complete.
It became apparent rather quickly as Matthew grew, that he was curious about the world around him. Nature became a prominent feature. By the age of ten, he was spending hours and hours exploring the countryside and the coast of Merrock, a newly obtained camera clutched tightly in his hands. It was quite obvious where it was going even then. During high school, he started his own photography club, which turned out quite popular in the end. He was the chief photographer for the school newspaper and would often find stories before the student “reporters” even did. At the time, he was convinced it was his calling, but in the end, he chose to focus on the photography side of things and made his way to college in New York.
That was the only time he left Merrock. Three years were spent in the Big Apple, where he met his wife-to-be, Amy. He worked several jobs, spent every second of his free time taking photos, and he fell in love. His time away was worth it as far as he was concerned. But he came home again pretty quickly and she came with him. By the time they were both twenty-three, they were married out in the countryside. An idyllic wedding with flowers and lace absolutely everywhere, rose petals floating on the breeze, and the horses that she loved so much featuring prominently.
The age of twenty-five brought new challenges. A baby. Their son. Fatherhood came as a shock, but he embraced it like he had everything else in his life. A year after that they took over Gull’s Landing, another fresh start, another exciting way forward. Amy adored it, taking time to make each room perfect and unique; Matthew adorned the walls with photos he’d taken out in the countryside and at the coast that lay before them. It became a real gem, somewhere everyone wanted to stay when they were visiting town. The years that followed were dedicated to raising their son and running the B&B. There wasn’t time for much else.
It wasn’t until 2015 that things took a dramatic turn. A diagnosis too late and three months of hell. Amy was diagnosed with stage four cancer in March and passed away in early July. It left both Matt and his son devastated, and for almost a year, the B&B began to slide slowly downhill
A wake-up call from several friends and family members got Matthew back into gear. He dedicated his time to the place then, to Amy’s memory and to making it a real home away from home for anyone staying there. The family feel was present from the very second you walked through the door. It’s been that way for the last nine years and he hopes that he can keep it that way for as long as he is able to. Life in general is quiet, he spends time with family, friends, and walking his dog, Rocket. Even now he’s still rebuilding, but he thinks he might have finally almost got there.
