4. Reunion

It was the first time Solaire had ever basked in the presence of Lord Gwyn. A brilliant radiance emanated off of his very being, as if a great fire was raging just beneath Gwyn's flesh. So this is the God of Sunlight... Solaire can hardly think straight. His head felt like it was full of soup and his legs had transformed into noodles. What a strange sensation. All my life I've dreamed of standing here before him, and now that dream has come true and I've regressed into a child-like stupor. Get a hold of yourself, man!

As the retinue continues forward through the city, every one of its citizens part like a great tide giving way for the Gods. Gwynevere stands from her throne and stretches, her bones crackling like a bonfire. Gwyndolin stands as well, though instead of stretching, she slouches, hands behind her slender back, trudging along as though every step was a hassle. Solaire would've guessed that Gwyndolin was quite beautiful to behold, but it was hard to tell with half of her face hidden away. Her pronged crown of the dark sun, which rests around her flowing white hair, shielding her gaze from all, passes by her older sister's knee as she strides to keep up with her father. The children, Priscilla and Yorshka, chased after Gwynevere, solemn and silent as to not make their father mad. The God of Beauty, the God of Struggle, the God of Craftsmanship—they all dismount their palanquins to walk the streets of Oolacile themselves, some of them even taking the time to speak with the commonfolk and hand out gifts of favor to the women and children. The only ones who did not do this were Gwyndolin, Allfather Lloyd, Galib, and Gwyn himself, as well as the Witch of Izalith and her daughters, all of whom were silent as they traveled to the colosseum.

"Well that's that, then." Siegmeyer mumbles at Solaire's side, snapping the Warrior of Sunlight out of his daze. "Perhaps we should hurry along as well? Or would you like to say hello to the Princess of Sunlight?"

"Ah, no, no, no need." Solaire stammers, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. By far, Gwynevere had the largest crowd gathering in her enormous shadow, not that it appeared to dissuade her, in fact she lowered her hands to them, allowing them to touch her fingertips. "I-I'm sure she's much too busy, I mean, just look at her, hahaha..."

"I can't help but look at her." Siegmeyer sighs, "Though I fear my wife wouldn't be too happy if she saw me drooling like a mutt."

They hurry along, staying well out of the way of the God's procession, taking the backstreets of the golden city instead, crossing over a sparse stone bridge that hovered precariously over the gorge. One false step and they'd fall into a chasm with no end in sight. It was no wonder they hardly found a soul back here. Everyone was in the township square reveling in the God's light, and a part of Solaire wished he'd remained with them.

"You know something," Siegmeyer says, "I never stood before a God before."

"I have, once upon a time ago." Solaire replies, "Or at least, I suspect he was a God. I never confirmed it."

"Oh really?"

"If you recall the Warrior of Sunlight I spoke of before, the one who felled the Evil Eye and saved Astora... Afterwards I approached him as he was readying his leave and, well, I must say I ungracefully begged him to train me. I must've looked quite pathetic in his eyes, for he took pity of my wretched soul and for one whole day he showed me how to fight, how to wield a sword and shield... He taught me a great many things in just that one day... and then, as quick as the sun sets, he was gone the next."

Siegmeyer stops for a moment at the end of Solaire's story, his onion-shaped head cocked at an angle. "Hmmm... Mmmm... How curious."

"I could be wrong." Solaire admits, "In fact, I'd say it's likely that he was no God at all, just a brave warrior from some unknown land. Yet I remember what it was like to stand in his presence, to bask in his warm light... it was the same feeling I just had when I stood before Lord Gwyn."

"Mmmm... Curious indeed." Siegmeyer tuts, before shrugging his shoulders, "Well, I must say... I'm quite jealous."

"Jealous?!" Solaire suddenly doubles over, grabbing a stitch in his side as laughter escapes him.

"I'm quite serious, good man!" Siegmeyer huffs, "There are many in this world, some I know personally, who would do anything for the chance to train under a God, even if only for a single day. Just imagining the strength you'd find under such tutelage is..."

"I fear if he saw me now I'd only disappoint. I'm still nowhere near the knight he was, and don't you dare try and convince me otherwise! Hahahaha!"

"You two sure are noisy."

The feminine voice comes from nowhere, making both men jump in their boots. They spin about, convinced whoever had spoken was standing behind them, but the bridge was as barren as when they crossed it.

"Who's there?!" Siegmeyer shouts bravely.

"Calm down."

There it is again, a woman's voice, right in Solaire's ear this time. He jerks his head around, instincts driving him to grab the hilt of his blade, but stops when he finds himself face to face with the very witch who once teased him about coming to Oolacile.

"Beatrice!" Solaire exclaims with joy, "My word, you gave me a start!"

The Witch Beatrice stands before them dressed in old robes of black that were in tatters around her ankles, and a giant, pointed hat atop her messy, auburn hair. Her catalyst looked like an old branch of a long dead birch tree, with its head spreading out like gnarled fingers, reaching for something unknown. It wasn't every day you stood before a witch, especially a rogue such as Beatrice. He'd met her in his youth while crossing through a treacherous wood and they'd remained friends ever since. Normally she wore a grim, thin-lipped expression, her eyes narrow with suspicion as if danger loomed around every corner. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen her smile, but he was delighted to see it now.

"I thought I recognized the sound of your dimwitted laugh. You really came to Oolacile, you big fool." Beatrice sighs, shaking her head, trying hard to erase her smile, but it was too late. Solaire embraces her in his arms before she can react, squeezing her thin frame against his bulky, armored chest. She gasps and pushes against him, growling, "Unhand me!"

"It's been so long! My dear friend!" Solaire weeps, "Last I heard you'd perished under some crumbling tower somewhere!"

"You heard about that, huh?" Beatrice frowns as he finally lets her go, "I made it look like I died in order to get the drop on this assassin that was tailing me. Never managed to kill him though, the bastard."

"Well you're alive! And you're here! Praise the—"

"Don't you start with that!"

"—Sun!"

"Ahem..." Siegmeyer clears his throat, stepping up beside Solaire to greet the witch.

But Beatrice takes a step away from them both before the onion knight can so much as utter a hello, plugging her nostrils with her fingers. "Gore blimey! The two of you stink worse than Basilisk breath!"

"Oh my!" Siegmeyer gasps, attempting to sniff his armpit but his heavy, rotund armor was preventing him from getting anywhere close.

Solaire doesn't need to try and smell, he believes her, knowing just how bad he must reek after not bathing for near a fortnight. "She's right, Siegmeyer. We're in no state to be in a lady's presence."

"Don't call me that." Beatrice grunts, "I'm no lady. Nevertheless, if you wish to compete in the tourney you're going to need to wash yourselves first or you won't make it through the gate."

"How did you know we're here for that?" Siegmeyer asks, and Solaire laughs.

"Don't bother, friend. She knows what you're thinking before you think it."

"Is that so?"

"No, that's not so." Beatrice glares at Solaire, "Stop feeding this man lies about me. He'll think I'm some kind of Vinheim rabble."

"Forgive me, M'lady. Hahahahaha!"

Solaire earned a bonk on the head from her gnarled staff for that remark, and even wearing his sturdy bucket-shaped helm, it was quite painful.