The soft fall of footsteps,and the clinking of armor; 'twas the only sound that filled the air. Weaving between the swords scattered among the ground was a knight, dressed in brilliant golden armor, with a lion shaped helm. He stops before the huge headstone; where vines had slowly begun to creep up the sides. It hadn't been too long since the grave was erected, and the memories of Sir Knight Artorias were still fresh in Ornstein's mind. He kneels down now, taking off his helm and gently setting it aside.
No one was around, the grave was vacant save for him, and that was good. It was a shame, really. He had a reputation to keep, and he had kept it; even when he had first came to visit. He had stood with his back straight, and helm on. His head had been bowed to pay respect to his fallen comrade, though without a doubt the man had wept.
Just as he was doing now, but this time completely alone. He wept, Gods did he weep for his fallen friend. A gauntlet reaches up, and gently touches the gravestone; almost as if Ornstein was afraid of it disappearing just as Artorias had. Shoulders shook, as he lacked in posture, and his head bows just as it had done on the first day. Not a word leaves his mouth, not now. Not when it felt as if the air was getting squeezed out of his lungs.
It was still all too surreal. What a gentle, kind man Sir Knight Artorias was. Sometimes Ornstein had gotten strict with him, but without a doubt the man adored his comrade-No, Artorias was also a friend. A man Ornstein thought highly of, despite anything. There were times where he ventured Anor Londo, and still expected to see his dear friend there. He expected conversations, a smile...Even being pestered by the other. Each time was greeted merely with silence, and that silence bore into Ornstein's heart like a blade.
Just as gently as his fingertips touching stone, he then rests his forehead upon it. Opening his mouth, soft yet shaky words leave the man's lips;
"Here I am before thy grave, paying my respects yet again for a dear friend."
There's a pause.
"'Tis still hard, believing thou art gone from this realm. A shame, really. Thou were far more greater than many, and perhaps thou still are." He draws back some from the grave, only to readjust his position to lean against the gravestone in a casual manner. A sigh escapes, and he presses a hand upon his forehead. For once, the lion knight's pride was nowhere to be seen.
"I shall remain here for the eve, whether thou like it or not. The night is still young, and I find my time being occupied by thy memories." A soft laugh is heard, but it sounds tired, and sad. "'Tis different without thou...Truly, it is. Worry not, my dear friend. I shalt march on like I always have, but I shalt do so for thou as well."
How preposterous he must sound, speaking to a gravestone as if Artorias could actually hear him speak. He wonders if he was being too dramatic, he wondered...Well, he wondered a lot.
"Dost thou remember the times we spent together? Perhaps I had been too strict upon thee at times, but my adoration never left. "
And so on. The knight's conversation with his deceased friend carried on, in which most were words spoken of the times they had together.
Without a doubt, Artorias would never be forgotten by the 'captain'.