AN: Out of all the Dark Souls games, I have to say that DS2 will always be my favorite. IN MY OPINION, it has the best lore, some of the best locations, good characters, and the best waifu. I remember the first time I saw The Emerald Herald, that was when I matured from a young boy to a man. So I just had to write a chapter about my one true love, Ornifex. Just kidding, but I'll do that if you guys want.

A knight struggles with non-platonic feelings toward his maiden.

Chapter Two: Feathers

Resolve was the name of the game. His quest was essentially one long up hill battle, all it took was to solve his problems was clever thinking and perseverance. Luckily, those two things ran in the family, they were common traits for those whom hail from Mirrah. But now he was stuck at the biggest hurdle so far in his journey. The Fume Knight, the bane of his undead existence. In one of the black knight's hands was a fast and dangerous long sword. But in the other was a slab of obsidian that was the size of four undead and a half or probably more than that. Though the Mirrian was able to devise clever plans when taking on a obstacle. This one had no clear solution, he seemed resistant to most things. Fire was clearly no option, magic worked somewhat, lightning was a good idea at first but he seemed to adapt to it, he wouldn't dare try dark, as for poison and bleed. He had a better chance of plucking a scale from the dragon slumbering in the Aerie or poisoning the winged bastard in Shulva. Whilst he was stressing out over his most embarrassing defeat, he felt a familiar warmth in his palm. The feather that had been gifted to him all that time ago.

"No no no." He muttered strings of denial under his breath.

He attempted to clear his thoughts, but it was to no avail. The man was slumped against the wall with his straight sword's guard pressed against his shoulder. At times like these, he'd think about what a mundane lifestyle would be like. Perhaps he'd finally finish his training as a squire and would graduate to a knight. Maybe serve some form of nobility and be granted some land in the process of his service. Then hopefully the noble would grant him the permission to have a family when the time came around. But he wasn't so lucky, fate chose him to be this world's savior and now an eternal burden was placed in his shoulders. He couldn't even remember when he started this accursed quest. His thoughts were then inturrpted when he felt a sudden surge of pain in his shoulder.

"Blast it, I can still feel it!" He exclaimed as he pushed himself up the wall.

He still felt the pain of when Raime's monstrous "blade" immobilized him during their last battle. The sword slammed directly into his spine and paralyzed him, that attack left him open to be finished off with the burning slab pop his head like a grape. It was one of many painfully humiliating defeats, and there would be many more to come at this rate. Though he just wanted to throw in the towel and say "To hell with the crown!", his burning resolve kept him from giving up. That, or being constantly reminded he'd be the next Monarch.

"I'd be damned if I let this Fume Fucker get the best of me. I'll prove that I'm no weakling!" He pushed himself up, standing on his still strained legs. He slid down the wall a few seconds after standing. "Perhaps I'll try later, now is time for rest."

The sounds of machinery and underground shifting kept him up. No matter how hard he tried to ignore the ambient noise prevented getting any sleep. He'd grown frustrated with his lack of sleep, but before he could act out on his anger. He felt a warmth engulf him as his onyx colored armor shine. The light was almost divine in it's shine, the light was comforting, as if it were two arms wrapping around him. Should he go home to Majula? Maybe this light was one of realization, maybe it was time for him to face his feelings. He'd been gone for a while probably entire months now that he thought about it. It was bound to be rather awkward when he returned, for all the residents of Majula knew, he could've gone hollow and they'd be none the wiser.

He tossed his helmet off and ran his gloved hand through his hair. Brushing the ash from his thick black curls, he muttered under his breath about how annoying ash was.

He hated ash.

It was so rough and coarse.

But he sure loved Shanalotte though...wait what?

'Must be the estus talking...we aren't even on a first name basis. It's all this damn estus juice messing with my head. The hell does that woman put in this?'

He needed to take his mind off the Herald, he drew the knife from his belt and chucked it at the stone wall in front of him. Luckily for him he managed to fit four hundred knives in his deep deep pockets. It didn't take long for one hundred fifty knives to be planted into the wall, he really needed a hobby. From what he could remember of his old life, he enjoyed fine arts, but he can't remember which fine art exactly.

Reading?

Drawing and painting?

Music?

Poetry?

Perhaps poetry, he did know a lot of big words after all, impalement, skewering, dismemberment, annhilation, and his favorite being fuckingshitcockass! That's what poets were known for, right? Saying big words and talking about love, one of which he knew absolutely nothing about.

'Asides from semi fine arts, what do I like actually?' He asked himself.

He liked women, but a lot of people liked women, and his attraction to females was something he never forgot.

He liked fighting, but most knights like him did, and it was also something he never forgot.

What set him apart from others?

What made him special?

"Hmmm..." He hummed to himself as he entered a state of deep thought, he was smart but that wasn't an exclusive trait.

There was one thing that he remembered, before all this Chosen Undead nonsense began, he remembered being quite fond of sightseeing. It was an interest that he some how managed to keep after losing so much of his memory, and Drangleic was filled with beautiful sights to see. But for every Dragon Aerie and Shrine of Amana, there was a Gutter and Huntsman's Copse. A beautiful sight in Drangleic was something he had to savor, but the most beautiful of places tended to have the ugliest of creatures.

"It's like every nice place I go to has some kind of wicked monstrosity, so much for the ideal vacation spot."

In a random act of boredom the knight began fishing through his pouch. He found a random assortment of items due to his nature of picking up and shiny thing he came across. He stopped when he drew a small orange burr from his bottomless sack, it was a item that increase his fire defense temporarily, but there was something about this item that caught his interest. After gazing into the item for about five minutes, he realized that it was the color of the item that captured his attention. Something about it gave him a sense of warmth, feeling of warmth one would receive after reflecting on a fond memory.

Where had he seen this color before?

Perhaps in a dream?

He thought for a while about what kind of dream it had to have been? Or about what would be a better question.

The cursed one couldn't relate the color to a place or thing, but when it came to people he easily ruled out may possible suspects.

Then the realization hit him harder than Raime's sword ever could, asides from this one person, who else had this color hair?

"You have to be kidding me..." His gloved hand came in contact with his forehead, it was as if the fates themselves were trying to force his love upon Shanalotte, anything he thought of or even looked at would somehow remind him of the woman.

He entertained the thoughts of his hypothetical love for Shanalotte for a brief moment, what would he have to offer that woman? The Herald probably didn't have time for a relationship, even though time was very abundant, she probably didn't want a relationship. There's was also the fact that when it came to appearance, she was way out of his league. The maiden was sculpted by the Gods themselves, with beauty that rivaled Princess Gwynevere and a physique that put many women to shame. He found her personality just as beautiful as her appearance, many would say she's just a blank slate of a person, but many didn't know her like he did. Her straight forward nature often clashed his dry wit and would spring the most bizarre verbal exchanges. The quiet moments they shared by the bonfire are spent by having causal conversations, whether it be about his recent exploits in Drangleic or the victories in fight clubs. He found in audience in Shanalotte, though she didn't ask many questions and often scolded him on his careless behavior. If it weren't for her he never would've made it this far, the root of his strength was found in her. Now that he took all of this into account and thought about it after a while, just maybe he was a little bit in love.

He looked a the burr once again and came to another realization.

"Her hair is brown. Only the ends of it are red..."

Leaning back against the stone and kicking her feet out, something she only did when her champion wasn't around to see it. The Herald found herself quite bored when the Chosen Undead wasn't around to tell stories. Though she didn't mind some of the residence of the village, and often struck up conversation with the other girls. Things just weren't the same without her champion around and she was willing to admit she missed him a fair bit. It gets quite annoying hearing Chloanne and Rosabeth go on and on about how dreamy of a man he is, that and something about him being built like a "beef cake", whatever that means? Though she refrained from thinking such thoughts about her champion at the end of the day she was still a woman. With very womanly needs, and sitting at the bonfire all day did little to help with those needs. Most of all she was very lonely and her job as his maiden made her feel quite ostracized from all the other residents.

"It's been almost an entire month, where in Izalith is he?" She muttered under her breath and let out a defeated sigh as she threw herself onto her back. She closed her eyes and retreated into deep thought, which was why she didn't hear the all too familiar sound of him warping into Majula.

However, she felt those butterflies in her stomach she'd receive upon his arrival in the quiet village. Her eyes opened to see the man's towering figure standing over her, and she pushed herself off the stone to throughly scold him. The size difference between the two made her motherly scolding comedic, the maiden stood up on the tips off her toes and looked up at him. All he could do in response is nervously laugh and apologies for his absence in the village.

"At the very least, come by every now and then to let us know you're okay!" With Shanalotte's rant now over, she lightly panted and was a little red in the face from scolding him in all one breath. The champion in response to this planted a hand on her shoulder which surprised her, since the two never once made physical contact before this point. He reached into his sack and withdrew a yellow burr, his other hand came up to the side of her head and planted the burr in her hair. Her eye twitched in confusion, she attempted to come up with a logical reason for this gesture but there was none. "W-Why would you do-"

A very quick and sudden peck on the bridge of her nose cut her off. She was so busy thinking to herself about why he'd put something in her hair, that she didn't notice the man lift up the visor of his helmet. Shanalotte had entered a sudden spur of word vomit and her face was flushed a bloody red from the sheer amount of embarrassment. Her head buried into the onyx steel of his chest piece and he chuckled at the sight of this. His hand stroke her brown locks and took in the lovely smell of her strawberry scented hair.

"Why would you do all this?" She asked him, still very bewildered and surprised by all this.

"I guess you could say I did a lot of soul searching!"

"I don't know what's I should be mad at, the pun or this cheesy love confession?"

He let the woman out of his embrace and proceeded to get down on a knee. He drew a claymore his favorite weapon at the moment and rested its blade in his hands. Shanalotte knew what he was doing, the man was quite cheesy after all.

"My dearest maiden! I truly wish to devote my mind, body, and soul to thee. I, Sir Ezra of Mirrah wish to stay by your side forever. In both sickness and health so tha-"

"Bearer please...this is too cheesy for me even." Ezra rose from the ground holding the claymore by its blade still.

"I was never officially knighted back in Mirrah, why not knock out two birds with one stone here?" He pulled a ring from his pocket and held it out to the woman, she shot him an unimpressed glare and he looked down to see the ring of thorns. He nervously chuckled once again and swapped out that ring for a plain looking golden one. "Here take this as a sign of my love and devotion."

"Ezra...you don't have to."

"I insist."

Shanolette held out her hand allowing the man to gently slide the ring down her finger, he flashed that triumphant smile of his and for a moment she returned a smile as well. But then that smile was replaced with her all too familiar confused expression.

"During these things, don't I put a ring on you?" She asked.

"Don't worry, I already have my rings." He held up his hand to show four uniquely designed rings on each finger. Shanalotte looked down at her ring and felt a bit envious of her lover's rings, thinking to herself she couldn't get one of those. Once again she briefly smiled, for once she truly felt a genuine connection to another person. She felt proud to announce that she loved this man...or at least as proud as she could be.

"I think I love you, Bearer of the Curse."

"I think I love you too, Emerald Herald."

The two entered a tight embrace by the flames of the bonfire, watching from the statue on the cliff side was Rosabeth and Chloanne. Both watching with a pair of binoculars and very much invested in the scene.

"I told you they'd get together, now you gotta pay up." Rosabeth held out her hand and Chloanne placed the brave warrior soul in the pyromancer's hand.

"Damn! I was hoping to get a piece of that Mirrian ass!" Chloanne exclaimed as she slapped her knee.

Oh Chloanne!