Bonfire

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry, I know it's been a while, but, here it is! I don't actually have any sort of schedule in place as of yet, so I don't really know when the next chapter of anything will be up, but, I'm working on it, I swear! Sorry if it's a little short. Anyway, hope you enjoy. So, without further adieu, I present the fourth chapter of Bonfire, Coming To Grips!

Coming To Grips

"It does go up, see?"

~?

When the Fire Keeper finally met her Chosen Ash, she was ecstatic. She had barely been able to reign in her glee when he all but fell into the shrine before her and then called her beautiful. A feeling completely alien to her fluttered through the core when her champion stood before in awe. She tried her best to ignore the comment despite her like for the new sensation bubbling in her core.

She explained to him that he needed to produce the blade that kept Gundyr stationary and he broke down. She couldn't see the tears that ran down his face, but she could hear the sobs rock his body. Apparently, Andre had heard them as well. She heard him stop his smithing and felt the vibrations in the earth from said action stop entirely. Eventually, her champion had a talk with both him and the tiny lord taking residence upon his throne. She had taken a seat on the stairs by the cold fire pit before she nearly jumped at his outburst.

The Keeper of the flame felt and most certainly heard the rather young ash storm out the shrine grabbing the sword he'd dropped on his initial way in in favor of the shield so he could return to the halberd-wielder's grave and procure the coiled sword that he'd left for a reason she couldn't fathom. Soon after he returned only to race past them and stab at the bonfire before fading away, presumably to Lothric.

Then, almost instantly, as if they were trading places, another traveled into the shrine, a watcher of the abyss that abandoned the legion. The Fire Keeper gave him a sympathetic look before he sat by himself on the opposite side of the shrine, discarding his blade and shield so he could rest with his head in his hands.

But, that was besides the point.

She hadn't expected her Chosen Ash to be… to be so… my, what was the word? Emotional. Ah yes, emotional. He was very expressive of his feelings for an undead if she used her experience as a baseline. But, that only proved her suspicions that he was something special. That he would be the one to sustain the flame and keep the world from plunging into the dark like hers had when she had been assigned the task of tending to the Fire.

Eyes were forbidden after all.

She had faith though, that he would complete his task. And when it came time for him to grow, she would be here for him to strengthen his soul.

She might not be able to do much, but, she would help the best she could in his journey to return the Lords to their thrones.

Oh, did she mention the dog?

She loved dogs.

(…)

He sat on his the throne of his castle restlessly, sitting up as straight as he could in anxiety. He'd halted his daily life ministrations ever since he felt the soul of Gundyr become cleansed of his disease. The Ashen One had begun their journey to bring him back to prolong the Age of Fire. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared of what was most possibly to come. His excuse for not returning to reignite the first flame was always because he supposedly knew better, that if the Age of Dark was to finally be ushered unto the world, then the Age of Man could fix it; that man would push back the Abyss to create a brighter world.

And he truly did believe in that, but, the bigger reason was because he actually valued his life.

Sure, he had his brother here to protect him with his life, but, he honest to Gwyn didn't think even their combined might could take down a determined Champion. With how weak he was and considering Lorian was all but crippled and not to mention the Chosen Ash all but had the strength of the flame guiding them with just a dash of immortality on their side, it was only a matter of time before his time was up.

Lothric held his head in his dainty hands, closing his eyes as he slowed his breathing.

No. It didn't matter how much the Ash had on their side, he couldn't let the world go on the way it'd been any longer. In order to pour more fuel into the first flame, they had to get past him, and Prince Lothric would not go down without a fight.

(…)

When the bonfire propelled him into one of the small towers atop the foot of the High Wall, he sat on the grate he was dropped on and let the waterworks flow. Yeah he poured his heart out before, but, the sheer gravity of the situation was just too much to bear. The fact that this-all of this!-wasn't a dream and was in fact reality, left his mind reeling and his emotions coiling.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Conner turned it on and with a touch of his thumb over the home button, he watched the interface slide into view. Wiping the cascade of tears from his face, he navigated into his photo gallery and lightly tapped a picture and watched it bloat up to fill the screen.

A sob promptly rocked his body to the core.

Through a pair of hazy golden orbs, he looked at the happy faces of the figures in the picture. Two woman stood between two men, each shorter than the last, but not necessarily in that order. On the far left stood a bald and pale white, tall man, nearly eight feet in his own right, wearing a specially tailored slate black suit. Beside him was a girl wearing what looked like a school uniform complete with a verdant green blazer and an onyx skirt that reaches down to her knees. Her long waist-length black hair that framed her face only served to further accentuate her striking emerald eyes. On the second from the right stood a woman only slightly taller than the other girl in the picture with a bob of thick shoulder length jet black hair that framed a fair skinned heart shaped face. She appeared rather young with her sky blue sundress blowing to the side as she held her hands together in front of her with a bright smile full of teeth lightening up the rest of the photograph, but, if one were to look close enough they'd see the expertly concealed bags under her eyes that'd accumulated through age. On the far right stood a man taller than the two women, but still a ways to go before matching up with the other man. A few bangs of his short and slightly spiky ashen black hair hung over his forehead and slightly obscured his hazel eyes while he held his hands in the pocket of his paper white pullover.

Conner stared at the picture of him smiling back at himself.

This was back when he graduated from high school, more specifically the day he left to go to college.

He stared at the smile that matched his mother's beside him. Conner couldn't make a bigger difference in their expressions if he tried. He looked at their smiling faces and wept at the thought of never being able to see them again. He shook with sorrow yet again before a voice-that same damn voice!-spoke to him in a hushed manner as if trying to hide from something.

Of course, that didn't come to mind until later.

"Do not worry young one, you will find your answers if you press on."

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Conner shut the device off to preserve battery and thought about what the voice told him. He… honestly didn't know what to think of it. He'd long since ruled out the possibility of his insanity and after what he saw oozing from Gundyr, he figured magic or some semblance of it existed here. But, that only served to fuel the question of where exactly is here? Briefly he took note of how well he was taking the situation at hand, but quickly snuffed it out of his mind as he navigated the mental picture of his family from the grief box and into the motivation folder. This was no time for weakness, it was time for strength. Time to focus on what was ahead of him. He had no choice but to listen to the voice. If it told him that he could find the answers he so desperately craved than he ought to listen shouldn't he?

Picking up the shining shield and the whipping the sword to rid it of the blood of his adversaries, he braved the outside world, pushing the door before him open and promptly pushing the twisted sword sticking out of the ground further into the earth, watching the sparks ignite before the small inferno at his feet swirled into existence to provide him with warmth and guidance.

Then, he looked up.

And promptly walked back into the tower, shutting the door behind him.

Turning, he opened the door to peek again, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't having delusions.

Then, he closed it again.

Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Open.

Closed.

Open.

Was that a fucking dragon?!

Closed.

Well, he could polish hyperventilating off the ol' bucket list.

Gripping his chest through the ripped remains of his white v-neck, he struggled to slow his breathing, his face growing red through the process. He barely caught it when a slight burning sensation trickled through his chest to extend outwards and slow his breathing for him. A real, live-relative, that term was nowadays-fuck mothering dragon! For god's sake this day just kept getting better and better! It was then he noticed, he'd all but clawed what was left of his ripped tee to shreds, bits of cloth still hanging from beneath his respectively short fingernails. Couldn't rightly use that anymore now could he? Sliding the cloth hanging loosely from his shoulders off of him, he nearly began hyperventilating again. No, that would be a pleasant surprise because then he would still be awake.

Because, there was a rather large, rather unsettling, pitch black hole in his chest.

The sword and shield clattered to the ground beside him as Conner slumped to ground, unconscious.

And thus, the second bonfire was lit.

A/N: So? Whaddya think? Leave a review and let me know if you'd be so kind. Now, enjoy the preview(s)!

He fidgeted under her stare, face as red as a tomato as she stared at him with those eyes he swore left, right, and center that could see everything.

"What is this?"

Steam practically erupted from his ears as the crackle of the bonfire at his back broke through the oncoming silence like a gunshot in the night.

"It's... well..."

His eyes traveled down to her hand to see her holding it out to him, general curiosity managing to goad the full force of his embarrassment. How could he explain this without seeming like a selfish fool?

"From where I come from, a man gives a woman a ring when..."

He explained the rest to her, quick enough that his embarrassment died down a bit while he watched her own face heat up. She looked at the golden band cradled in her hand before looking back up at him.

Wordlessly, she slipped it on before lunging at him.

A voice rang out in the distance, "That's my boy!"

(...)

He looked up.

And up.

And up again.

A whistle broke through the storm as the massive creature leered down at him, big beady eyes examining him frivolously.

"Well, you're a big fucker aren'tcha?"

The spear came sailing at him first, the telltale crackle of pure energy warning him of the hailstorm of lightning bearing down on him. He dodged, bobbed, and weaved, those few months of training serving their purpose, as he rolled underneath an overhead horizontal swing before launching himself up into the air, narrowly avoiding the fireball.

He couldn't, however, dodge the massive reptile barreling into him at top speed.

The knight hung on for dear life, wheezing, gasping desperately for air as the wind was quickly and forcefully knocked out of him in one foul swoop. It was when the dragon landed and tried to forcefully throw him from its head that he realized it.

He ruffled a feather out of curiosity and the mighty beast quickly stopped its ministrations, surprise evident in its eyes.

The boy smiled when the king of the skies let him down, his body sliding down its sharp beak. He quickly returned to ruffling the feathers on its head and neck.

"She's so fluffy!"

A silence rang out as the King of The Storm began to purr.

"She?"