6. Family
Oolacile's stadium was a brilliant wonder of the world; built in honor of the Gods, it towers above the entire city, columns of golden stone that reach for the heavens lined the walls, built atop rounding parapets that held thousands of empty seats. Men, women, and even children from across the land would gather in those seats soon to witness Lord Gwyn's tournament with awe and applause. It'll be noisy soon. Artorias just wanted some peace and time alone with Sif before the entertainment began. His ears were still ringing from those damn bells.
The God's pulpit was sheltered in golden drapes, perched high above the rest of the stadium. It was here that Lord Gwyn and the Gods came to rest, though not all of them were present. Gwynevere was still in the township casting miracles for the sick and weary, and the Flame God was there as well, impressing them with his magical enchantments. Once they were out of earshot of the common folk, it became clear what the Gods thought of their actions.
"Irresponsible." scowls Allfather Lloyd with a drawl to his voice, "That woman is too reckless. She should be up here with us, what kind of message are we sending?!"
"Oh, come now, brother." cackles McLoyf, grasping Lloyd's shoulder, "You know her better than that. She can't help herself, it's in her nature."
"Well what of that fool, Flann? Arrogance is his nature!" Snarls the Allfather nastily, "Always showing off that half-breed stallion, as if it's a creature worth praise. Hah!"
"They're both fools." grumbles the God of Disease, who immediately sits in his throne at the far end of the pulpit where he belonged.
Artorias ignored them, looking down at his wolf, who was looking back up at him with a pout on his face. I know, Sif. Just hold on a moment longer. I must wait for the right moment to request my Lord's permission.
Gwyn was still standing by his throne in the center of the pulpit, overlooking everything with a narrowed gaze. He still hadn't said a word since leaving Anor Londo, and Artorias knew if he were to interrupt whatever was on the Lord's mind, he might face his brewing wrath.
The one who risked this first was the Queen of Oolacile herself, Lady Twilawn, who had parted from her family to join them. She approaches Lord Gwyn with traces of fear in her expression that she cannot hide, and Artorias prays that she knew what she was doing.
"My Lord, it will take some time for the tournament to commence. Shall I have servants bring up your royal feast? We prepared it ahead of time for your Grace and your family."
There's apprehension in the air as Gwyn turns his head an inch to gaze down upon her... and then nods his head with curt approval. The Queen bows with a relieved smile and departs quickly, snapping her fingers at the slaves that accompanied her. Artorias is also relieved for it appeared Gwyn was in an agreeable mood.
"Father!" cries one of the children, Priscilla, who was about the size of Gwyn's foot. She was tugging on the hem of his robe with her tiny hands, gazing up at him with wide eyes. "Father, can I play with my doll now? I was patient like you said."
With a swiftness unexpected, Old Man McLoyf steps in, kneading his hands together nervously, and says, "It's true, Gwyn. The girl hardly made a peep of it the entire way here."
Gwyn, The Lord of Sunlight, cannot bear to look his daughter in the eye. Artorias had noticed Gwyn's disdain for the child, as well as for Yorshka, since they were born. Their very birth is mysterious, for nobody knew who their mother was. Gwyn punished those who asked, making it clear that their birthright was never to be questioned again... but Artorias had his theories. Both Priscilla and Yorshka shared similar qualities. Each were frail, made of flesh and bone, and pale as the moonlight, as if not a drop of blood ran through their veins. Then there was their hair, white as Gwyn's yet thicker. Tufts of white hair grew from their cheeks and neck, and the children were forced to wear dresses that covered the length of the bodies, as if to hide more of their inhuman hair... and sometimes beneath their snowy gowns, Artorias thought he saw something move.
And Artorias wasn't the only one to notice. Only a fortnight ago, Ornstein had approached him when Artorias was alone in his chambers, and the two men shared their theories on the girl's true parentage, for there was a long while where Gwyn and his daughter Gwynevere were absent from the capital, never seen from anyone, until they both returned bearing two children.
Artorias was affronted that Ornstein would ever suggest that their Lord of Sunlight would commit a grave a sin as incest with his own firstborn daughter, but Ornstein was quick to correct him and say he did not believe this was so. No. Gwynevere was, indeed the mother, but Gwyn was not the father like he so claimed. The father, Ornstein said, resided in the Duke's Archives of Anor Londo. When asked why Ornstein thought this, the dragonslayer said very little. "A dear friend uncovered the truth. You know him."
Who that was, Artorias never figured out. He knew a lot of people, but one who uncovered a truth to Priscilla's birthright? If this was true, then the father could only be the Great Betrayer himself, Seath the Scaleless.
Thus, it is of no surprise that Gwyn ignores his daughter's pleas, turning away from her and swatting his hand in the air as if she were some inconvenient pest. If Priscilla is a cross-breed and not a daughter of Gwyn then she is cursed to live a life of falsehoods and contempt. That is the way of things... Still, Artorias cannot help but feel pity for the child as her eyes well up with tears and her lips quiver. Why would Gwyn give his daughter to the scaleless dragon? Surely Gwyn must know of the rumors about what goes on in those archives. Surely, right under his very nose... was such a heinous act committed?
Gwyndolin sighs from his throne directly in his father's shadow, gazing from behind his mask down at little Priscilla. He too knew what it was like to have his Father's contempt. Gwyndolin was born with an affinity for the moonlight, and as such, Lord Gwyn raised him as a daughter instead of a son. To any who cast their gaze upon him, they would see a beautiful woman instead of the frail, meek man that he truly was. Gwyndolin was a master of illusions, and whether it be by a spell or some bauble he wore, the illusion of his gender was convincing beyond measure. Sometimes even Artorias forgot who the boy really was.
"There, there, child." says Old Man McLoyf, bending down and scooping the child up in his hands, "You can play with your doll later, alright sweetling?"
Priscilla just sniffs, holding back her tears, and gazes sadly down at her own small, empty hands.
Gwyn may not be in such an agreeable mood after-all, Artorias thinks with a plummeting heart. The Lord of Sunlight did not look happy at all to sit in his high throne, nor did he look impressed with the arena below, or the colosseum even, for all it's magnificence and golden light. Nothing, it seemed, could change the disparagement of Gwyn's expression.
Artorias looks at the other three knights of Gwyn. Ornstein is standing as still as a statue, arms crossed over his chest, staring straight ahead of him like a determined lion. Behind him, Hawkeye Gough is hunched over, his head scraping the roof of the pulpit. The poor giant was taking up much too much space, and if any one of the four was to request their Lord's permission to leave first, it should be him. Then there was Ciaran, who was standing behind Artorias like a ghost. When he looks over his shoulder at her, the single eye on her mask stares right back at him. What an unnerving woman... Artorias thought. More than once he wondered what she looked like beneath that helm, for he suspected she wasn't human like she appeared to be, but he was too afraid of her to ask.
Despite his misgivings and disagreements and sometimes outright fights with the three of them, Artorias looked at each of them as his brothers and sister, for they had fought alongside him in the war against the Dragons and they'd each saved each other more than once from the brink of death. They were his family, and they meant more to him than he could ever put into words.
Though there might be one he loved more than them, and he was starting to whine ever so quietly at his side. Artorias wants to reach down and pet Sif, to let him know he wanted to leave too, but he looks at Gwyn to see if he noticed his wolf's cries and to his disappointment the God simply sat there, frozen in endless thought and misery, his narrow eyes gazing down below in silence.
Fine then. Artorias whistles to Sif and turns heel, marching past Ciaran who is startled by his sudden approach and jumps in place, gasping under her breath. He strides right past her wordlessly, Sif at his heels. I won't ask permission. Gwyn clearly doesn't care, he's too busy in his own head.
"Where are you off to?" asks Gwyndolin casually from the shadow of his father's throne. Artorias stops and looks at him, debating if he should bother explaining, but then Gwyndolin chuckles and waves his hand. "No worries. Off you go. I was only curious."
"I'll return before the tournament begins. You have my word, My Lord." Artorias says, respectfully bowing to the Lord of Moonlight. Sif barks at him, waiting by the arch that would lead down the stair they ascended before.
"A-Artorias, you can't just—" Ciaran stammers, but Artorias interrupts her.
"Sif needs attending to. I won't be long."
"Well, if thou is leaving then I might as well go stretch myne muscles." says the giant Gough, his deep voice a booming drum as he follows Artorias out and down the spiraling stone stairs.
Once they reach the bottom and emerge out into the glorious, golden city where hundreds of commonfolk are rushing to get in line to meet Gwynevere, Artorias bids Hawkeye Gough farewell and takes Sif away from the excitement, where a white birch tree is rooted over a grassy cliff overlooking the great canyon. It was a beautiful sight, and the shade of the tree gave Sif a place to spread out and roll around in the grass, kicking his paws at the fireflies that swarmed him.
Leaning against the tree, Artorias finally sighs with relief at being away from everyone, alone with his wolf at last. These were the moments he lived for the most, the quiet before the storm, for surely this tournament was to be a storm for the ages. Still, with everything he'd learned from Ornstein swirling in his mind, he wondered why Gwyn decided to hold this tournament. The announcement came from nowhere one day, Lord Gwyn demanded a Champion of Fire, and would seek one worthy through a life or death tournament where any and all from around the world could participate. The details of the rules for this tournament were unclear to Artorias, who was not involved in such decisions, but he had some ideas as to what might be about to happen. With so many warriors from every land arriving here, Gwyn must have some plan as to how he was to divide the combatants up, otherwise they'd be in Oolacile for days watching one on one fights.
"Look! Look! It's a wolf! A wolf!"
Artorias jerks, suddenly on edge at the sound of a child in his midst. Sif stops rolling and sits up, his ears perked and his snout pointing straight behind them. Standing there is the fabled child of the royal family, Princess Dusk. She is pointing at Sif and grinning with joy from ear to ear while a man in white leather and golden jewelry stands by her, glaring apprehensively at Artorias and his wolf.
"Come now, child. That's one of the Four, best not to disturb him." says the man under his breath.
"But Halflight! He's so cute! Can I please pet him?"
"No, Princess, you mustn't. Come now, I must see that you are delivered to your family straight away."
"Awww, c'moooon." Princess Dusk moans.
"It's alright." says Artorias kindly, "You can pet him. He won't harm you, I promise."
"See, Halflight! He says it's fine!"
"No, Princess—" but the man's efforts are in vain as the young princess sprints up to Sif and collapses on her knees while the wolf encircles her, sniffs her, and finally laps his tongue across her face.
She laughs and Artorias is elated with joy at the sight of it, wishing he could give Priscilla and Yorshka the same happiness but under Gwyn's gaze he fears the repercussions of such an act. Sif is more than happy to oblige the child while the man who accompanied her joins them, apologizing profusely to Artorias.
"It's quite alright. Sif loves the company." Artorias assures him.
"No, to disturb the company of one such as you is shameful. Princess Dusk, apologize at once."
"I said it's fine." Artorias says, losing his patience with the man. Why must so many adults treat children like slaves?
"You're a good boy!" Dusk laughs, ignoring them both as Sif nuzzles his head into her belly, pushing her over onto the grass.
"Your Mother will hear of this, Princess. I will not be blamed again for your impudence." the man scowls, stamping his foot down.
"What's your name?" Artorias asks him.
"Halflight, sir Artorias. I am one of the Royal Family's Personal Knights of Light, and I am responsible for this child's safety and well-being before the tournament begins. I apologize on behalf of Princess Dusk for—"
"Are you a deaf knight? I already told you, there's no need for that. It's fine. Run along, Halflight. I'll see to it that the girl is looked after and I'll even return her for you."
"Th-There's no need for that, Sir. I would never hear the end of it from Queen Twilawn, and I could never abandon my duties." Halflight frowns, his eyes shifting away from the Wolf Knight and down into the endless canyon below, as if reconsidering something. Then he says, "However, if you insist on allowing the girl to stay then I will be back to fetch her from you before the tournament begins."
So much for never abandoning your duties. I wonder what crossed his mind to make him change it. Oh well. Artorias is thankful to see the back of the man's head as he walks off, leaving him and Sif alone with the Princess.
"Thank you, Sir Artorias." says Dusk, sitting upright with Sif's slobber running down her face and grinning at him, "You've rescued me from that man. He's a terrible bore, and he never lets me have any fun."
"It was my pleasure, Princess. Any time you need rescuing, I'll be there." Artorias says warmly, "It is an honor to be in your presence."
"The honor is all mine, Sir. If you don't mind my asking, are the legends about you true?"
"Legends?" Artorias chuckles, "Are they legends already? I thought I needed to be dead first."
"Not legends, but stories. I've heard so many wonderful tales about the Four Knights of Gwyn!" Dusk's eyes sparkle with admiration as she recounts the tale of the Lord's Blade Ciaran and her assassination of a King who dared rise up against Gwyn, and of Hawkeye Gough who could shoot a dragon out of the sky from miles away, and finally of Ornstein who is said to have slain more dragons than the Gods themselves. "Are they all true? The Stories?"
"Every one of them." Artorias smiles, "Though what about me?"
"Well, you're Artorias the Wolf Knight. You and your great wolf are fierce warriors who fight side by side in combat against any foe!" Princess Dusk pretends to attack Sif with an invisible sword while she describes him. But then she stops and looks at the knight with a frown, "But now that I think about it, I don't know much else about you."
Artorias laughs and says, "That's refreshing. Thank you, Princess."
"Aww c'mon, tell me!"
Artorias didn't much like talking about himself or his past triumphs, but he was willing to make an exception for this child. He sits down, leaning his back against the white birch tree, and tells the young princess all about his endeavors, about how he met Sif and trained him to fight, and of all the deadly battles they took part in, leaving out the more gruesome details for her innocent ears.