Bond
"Forgive me, my sons," Oceiros began, "through no fault of your own, you have each grown into disappointments. A tragedy which weighs heavily on me."
Lothric's mouth twisted into a grimace at Oceiros's words, but neither he nor Lorian said anything. They had both long since moved beyond seeking Oceiros's approval, but to hear it spoken so blatantly still cut to the quick.
"Lothric, you were intended to be born with the strength of the dragons and the wisdom of the Gods - my heir. I placed upon you all my hopes for the future of this Kingdom and tasked you with becoming a Lord of Cinder. And yet, it seems that rather than gaining the strength of the Gods and dragons, you gained only their weaknesses." He stretched out a clawed hand, dragging it down Lothric's face. "It is clear to me now that as you are, you will never have the strength to link the First Flame as your birthright demands."
He lowered his hand before moving to Lorian. "And you, my firstborn, born cursed with the strength of the Gods but the weakness of Man. And yet, as if to spite my dismissal of you, you have proven yourself stronger than any dared dream. Indeed, you have even managed to kill that which was born of the Chaos Flame: wicked, foul, and terribly strong. You, my son, have the strength to link the First Flame, to ascend as a true Lord of Cinder. But you will never be a Lord of Cinder, for it is not your destiny. It is not your birthright."
Lorian shifted his gaze ever so slightly, but it was enough to catch Lothric's attention. Lothric undoubtedly was wondering, like Lorian, why Oceiros was forcing them to endure this false apology.
"I intend to have another child." From the corner of his eye, Lorian could see Lothric stiffen at that. It was not unheard of for Kings to continue having children later in life, but none had undergone such a radical transformation. "This child will be a true child of dragons! I will correct what I failed with Lothric and begin anew. But," he paused, turning his attention entirely towards Lothric, "the First Flame fades more each day and this child will not be grown in time to kindle it. Lothric, you must finish what you started. You must link the flame."
"I understand," Lothric said, bowing his head, ever the faithful son.
"I have discovered a way for you to link the flame yourself and to ascend. A way to provide you with strength."
Wulfred cut in then, "Prince Lothric, you may recall when we last spoke I alluded to the fact that you and Lorian shared what I called an echo of a bond. But that was not entirely accurate. Your parasitic soul, weak though it is, has somehow firmly affixed itself to Lorian's, draining it of strength for its own purposes. While it is a faint connection, it has proven to be quite strong. But I had no proof of such a bond existing, for how can one prove the existence for something that cannot be witnessed? Except," Wulfred paused, moving to stand in front of Lorian, "it was witnessed. Prince Lorian, when you fought the Demon Prince, you suffered extensive wounds, did you not?"
Lorian inclined his head.
"And they were healed by Priestess Burchwen?"
Another nod.
"I had a chance to speak with Priestess Burchwen recently, to ask her about your encounter with the Demon Prince so that I might record the tale for posterity. She described to me the most unbelievable tale. A single man, though half God in nature, was torn open from rib to thigh… and survived. But, it seems that you did not survive after all. The wounds did prove to be fatal. According to Burchwen you were no more than a rotting corpse wielding a blade."
Lorian felt his mouth go dry as he recalled it vividly; the feeling of the Demon Prince's claws ripping through his armor and into his flesh until the darkness rushed in. "It is impossible for us to be undead."
"Precisely. Your Lord Soul fragment guarantees you will live a long and bountiful life as a God - until you are killed," Wulfred agreed.
Lothric spoke, voice low and almost fearful. "I had a dream, shortly before Lorian returned. The dream was hazy, just a feeling that I had lost something; a sense of dread the likes of which I had never experienced before. Drowning me."
"Even across such a vast distance in the face of such grevious wounds, your fumbling grasp in foggy dreams refused to relinquish Prince Lorian's soul," Wulfred said incredulously. "Though it was, in part, made possible by Gertrude."
"The miracle?" Lothric asked.
"Exactly so," Sulyvahn interjected. "A miracle that did not heal your body or your spirit, but the fading tether of the bond. There is a reason that the Miracles of the Gods are so coveted. But the effects of such miracles cast by those who are born with a Lord Soul are on an entirely separate scale than those cast by mere Men. It is also the reason that those who share a fragment of the Lord Soul do not cast miracles on one another. Prince Lothric, have you ever cast a miracle on Prince Lorian?"
Lorian was reminded of all the times Lothric had healed him over the years and the comforting warmth that settled in his chest each time. Lothric had healed everything, from the grotesque scars on his hands to the faintest of cuts; one look at Lothric's face told him that he had come to the same realization.
"Yes," Lothric confessed, voice barely above a whisper.
"Who taught you such a thing? How old were you when you cast the first miracle?" Oceiros demanded.
"We were barely old enough to no longer be considered children. I healed a small cut on Lorian's arm he had received during training." Lothric frowned, "Master Orbeck taught me shortly after you recruited his services as my tutor."
"You were raised separately, were you not?" Sulyvahn asked rhetorically. "A child, raised in isolation, desperate to form a connection, unaware of his own power and what it means to have a Lord's Soul. And just like that, a tiny fragment of soul finds itself a new home."
Lothric looked as though his world was shattering in front of his very eyes. Lorian would have given anything to know what wicked thoughts were crawling through his brother's mind. He was pointedly avoiding looking in Lorian's direction, as he asked Sulyvahn, "Can it be reversed?"
"Reversed?" Wulfred scoffed. "The damage is done already. Even if you could reverse it, Prince Lorian would likely not survive the process. He is living on borrowed time already."
Oceiros stepped forward, placing a grotesque hand on Lorian and Lothric's shoulders. "Do you see yet, my children, what a blessing this is? It is by strengthening this bond, this connection between you that will allow you, Lothric, to draw from your brother's strength, to link the First Flame and ascend as the Lord of Cinder just as you have always been destined."
Lothric visibly recoiled at the touch as he hissed, "I will not damn him to share this fate of mine."
"Damn him?" Snarled Oceiros, striking Lothric. "It is not damnation to be appointed the honor to become a Lord of Cinder, you ungrateful-!"
"How?" Lorian cut him off, fighting every instinct he had as he forced himself to ignore the wounded look Lothric cast in his direction.
Oceiros visibly began calming down. "The concept is based on the same sorcery that was used to bind the Dragon Riders to their mounts," Oceiros explained. "In this instance, the bond already exists, we simply need to nurture it, to tend to it like a garden using the same miracle Gertrude used before, but this time it will be Lothric who will cast it on you."
Sulyvahn stepped towards Lothric then, passing him a piece of parchment. "It is quite a beautiful miracle. Bountiful Sunlight."
"And if I refuse?" Lothric asked, even as he took the parchment.
"We cannot force your hand," Sulyvahn conceded before he approached Lorian. "What say you, Prince Lorian?"
"Bear in mind, we do not entirely understand the bond that exists in its current form today, and the impacts this might have in the future," Wulfred added. "While it undoubtedly will benefit Prince Lothric, and possibly even allow you to circumvent death, there are still many unknowns."
Lorian knelt down, staring directly at Lothric, grateful that the helmet he wore obstructed the others from seeing where his gaze settled. But Lothric would know, as he always did. "I have sworn my life to serve Lothric. I offer it now, freely."
"Wonderful, my son. A true act of sacrifice," Oceiros praised. "Of course for a miracle to be cast, there must first be a wound to heal."
It was then that Lorian felt the sharp blade piercing between the plates of his armor, embedded deep within his chest. He felt the blood pooling in his mouth, a harsh metallic taste that he spat out on the ground. The blade was removed and hazily he could feel his blood soaking into the tunic beneath his armor.
At once, Lothric was on his knees at Lorian's side, one hand holding the miracle in a white-knuckled grip as he pressed his other hand flatly against the front of Lorian's breastplate. Bountiful Sunlight. It was a fitting name. It felt like the soft summer sunlight in the gardens had soaked into his skin, wrapping around the core of his chest, leaving him pleasantly numb and comfortably warm. The bleeding stopped and he could feel the skin pulling itself back together.
"Again." Oceiros commanded.
They repeated the cycle again and again until Lorian lost all sense of time. Had it been minutes or hours? The blade's piercing bite became little more than a pin prick by the end of it all and Lorian felt as though he may actually be made entirely of sunlight. He could feel Lothric's blood soaked hands against his chest, could see the beads of sweat that slid down his face as he spent every ounce of energy concentrating on the miracle.
"How will we know when it is enough?" Oceiros asked.
"The miracle's effect has already reached a rapid pace, healing Prince Lorian almost instantly." Wulfred said in awe. "At this rate, there is only one step further we can take to test the limits."
"No!" Lothric protested, but no one was listening to him.
"Do it," Oceiros commanded.
This time the blade struck a different spot and all at once Lorian felt all the air rush from his lungs. He reached forward as his vision swam black, blindly grasping until he felt Lothric's robes in his hand.
x
And then-
Nothing.
x
And then-
An ember.
x
And then-
Fire.
x
Flames scorched Lorian's lungs as he gasped for air.
He saw Lothric above him with fear in his eyes and both hands clinging to Lorian's breastplate. There was a ringing in Lorian's ears as he tried to focus on the words around him.
"-remarkable." said a voice. Wulfred's judging by the tone.
Tiny embers danced across Lorian's armor and Lothric's prayer robes, and Lorian couldn't help but be captivated by the sight.
A hand on his face dragged his gaze back to Lothric, and Lorian placed a hand lightly over his brother's wrist. "I am fine." The words tore at his throat; his voice sounded foreign even to his own ears, dry and rough.
"You were dead." Lothric's voice was barely audible and Lorian could feel the way Lothric's hand - his whole body - trembled, "I felt…."
Lorian propped himself up on his elbow, wanting to calm his brother, assure him so that he would not stare at Lorian as if he had been the one to rip the life from him when he had been the one to give him that very life. But beyond Lothric's shoulder, he could see Oceiros, Wulfred, and Sulyvahn speaking together in hushed tones as they watched them. Cold and calculating. Lorian steeled himself in that moment, not wishing to give them the satisfaction of appearing weak. Never again.
"How long?" He asked, lungs burning from the effort.
"Minutes at most," Sulyvahn said, breaking away from Wulfred and Oceiros who had resumed their conversation, then knelt next to Lothric. "You each have been granted a rare gift - your very souls conjoined. You now share the burden of the fate of the First Flame; I pray only that you have the foresight to use this opportunity wisely."
Lothric did not even spare Sulyvahn a glance; Lorian couldn't even be certain he heard the Pontiff.
"Sulyvahn," Oceiros called, "there is still much to be done."
"Yes of course, there is still the other matter," Sulyvahn agreed, rising to his feet and returning to Oceiros's side.
Oceiros paused his conversation with Wulfred, and without even looking to where Lothric and Lorian still sat on the ground, called out, "Leave us."
Lorian slowly rose to his feet, the world solid beneath him while anger pooled in his stomach. For as quickly as they had been summoned and forced through such a reckless, life-altering experience, they were just as easily discarded again.
In a strange role reversal, it was Lothric who was by his side offering support as they began walking towards the Archive's exit, and the moment the Archive doors closed behind them a wash of light surrounded them and they were in Lothric's chambers. As soon as the room came into focus, Lothric was falling away from him, collapsing against the edge of the bed. "Apologies. I fear I did not have the strength to walk here."
Lorian struggled to remove his helmet before taking in the sight of his brother. He looked ill, worse perhaps than Lorian had ever seen him. If he hadn't known better, Lorian might have even been able to imagine Lothric was the one who had slipped beyond the veil instead of Lorian by his appearance. He was haggard, pale and covered in a sheen of fever sweat. As he looked closer he saw the dark crimson of blood - how own blood, he realized - staining his prayer robes and smeared across his brother's hands. Knew there would be a matching handprint on his face.
But the embers that had been there had vanished. A fever-dream imagination, perhaps.
And then, as though something had triggered within him, Lothric was pushing himself off the bed until he was standing in front of Lorian. "...how do you feel?"
"Exhausted," Lorian admitted. "But there is no discomfort or pain. I feel no different than I did when I awoke this morning."
Barely perceptible, Lorian saw a grimace flicker over Lothric's face.
"Why did you agree to it?" Lothric asked. "I would have gladly endured Father's rage to spare you such a cruel fate. This was never your burden to bear."
"No," agreed Lorian, "but it is my choice to help you bear it, to ease your burden."
"It is not worth the price of your very soul!" His brother's concern was rapidly sliding into anger.
"And who decides what my soul is worth?"
"It was a reckless and foolish thing to agree to. You were dead," Lothric's voice, laced with rage, was barely above a whisper. "You died and all I felt was this sinking endless void inside myself. Do you understand? I had no idea how to bring you back, I thought you might be lost forever."
"I am here, alive." He grabbed Lothric's hand, pressing it to his neck so his brother could feel his pulse, steady and strong. Another bloody handprint smeared across his skin. Lothric tried to flinch away, but Lorian held him there firmly. "Because of you."
"I am the reason you died!" Lothric all but shouted, ripping his hand from Lorian's grasp. He opened his mouth as if about to say more before shutting it and grinding his teeth together.
"Lothric," how could he get his brother to understand? "There is no blame for you to place upon yourself."
"If I had never-"
"Healed me?" Lorian pressed.
Lothric looked at him, his face contorted in distress as he nodded.
Lorian reached for him then, not sure exactly to what end other than to reassure him, to comfort him; but Lothric recoiled back at his touch and all at once Lorian saw and felt him closing himself off.
"You should keep your distance." Lothric's voice was empty as he took several steps back. "We still do not know the effects of what was done; what will come from what was done. If it is a more extreme version of what Wulfred has explained previously…"
Like a candle thriving on the air around it. "Your strength at the cost of my own."
"I would have you keep your strength." He turned away from Lorian. "You should rest."
Desperately, Lorian wanted to push the issue. To force Lothric to tell him what he was keeping closed off from him. But instead, he attempted to pierce through the shell Lothric was building around himself like a fortress. He gestured to Lothric's hands and robes, "You are a mess."
Lothric stared at his hands blankly before turning his gaze to Lorian. His voice was hollow as he replied, "As are you."
If Lothric wished him gone, he could ease his brother's concerns by accommodating that much at least. He turned to leave, only pausing when he heard Lothric call out, "Wait."
He turned, waiting patiently as Lothric crossed the room and reached a hand up, placing it in the same spot that he had earlier. Lorian searched for any hint of Lothric's thoughts in his eyes, but Lothric cast his gaze down, hiding beneath the hood of his robes.
"Clean yourself, and rest." Lothric said, and without waiting for any further discussion, Lorian felt himself, weightless, reappear far from Lothric, in the bathing chambers closest to his room.
x
Whether for the sake of understanding the nature of the bond or some other reason, Lothric had begun to entirely avoid Lorian. Of course they still saw and spoke with each other in situations where it was demanded - discussing the progress of the conscripts, logistics of the kingdom, and the like. But every interaction on a more personal level ceased entirely.
The exhaustion that he had felt after the incident seemed to have settled in him, regardless of how much he rested. But, it wasn't worsening and Lorian was already growing accustomed to it.
He spent most of his days managing the knights: overseeing the training of the conscripts, assigning and coordinating patrols, and dealing with the logistics of those sent to work the fields and High Wall. Lorian relied heavily on the Knight Captains, Lieutenants, and Commanders to help oversee the various work, sending them each in week-long shifts and rotating them between their duties.
All of the new conscripts had been integrated into regiments and Lorian was doing all he was able in order to keep an eye on them with the help of Gotthard's hunters. So far, they all seemed to be well behaved, there were no rumors of secret meetings or contraband in the barracks and Lorian intended to keep it that way as long as he was able.
Those sent to work were another matter entirely. Those on the High Wall were unruly and several had already been required to be locked up. Lorian had recently had to increase the number of guards overseeing their work as well as assigning some of the hounds to prevent those who were caught from trying to run away.
In the outskirts, Lorian lacked trustworthy knights to assign to oversee the labor sufficiently. There were several already who had tried to escape and nearly succeeded. It was much more challenging to restrain the unwilling in an area with no walls. There was nothing that could be done. The only reason most had not attempted to leave was due to the fact that they seemed more fearful of their fate at the hands of the Evangelists than working the fields.
So he focused his efforts on the integration of the conscripts. They were simple to keep track of, the gray of their unembroidered uniforms stood in stark contrast to the rich reds worn by those who allied themselves willingly into service.
Off to the side of the barracks, tucked almost entirely out of sight, Lorian could see Eadric speaking with one of them. The conscript spotted Lorian then, still speaking low and watching for any recognition that Lorian might be observing them; so he continued to face where two conscripts were sparring all while keeping an eye on them. Barely noticeable, the conscript passed something to Eadric who quickly tucked it away in the belt of his armor before they dispersed.
It was hardly subtle. But there was a reason they were knights, not hunters.
He turned his attention to the spar in earnest this time. Even though they were inexperienced, Lorian was still incredulous at how poor the form of one of them was. To the side the knight overseeing the match pulled off their helmet in frustration and Lorian was pleasantly surprised to see Wynfrith as she stepped forward, trying to give guidance.
"You should demonstrate proper form," Lorian said as he approached.
"Knight General!" The three of them echoed, saluting.
"You want me to show them a spar of my own?" Wynfrith asked, setting her helmet aside.
Lorian nodded. "A proper spar between two seasoned warriors. Eadric," he called out just loudly enough for the other man to hear him, knowing he was still close by.
Eadric approached, looking carefree and innocent, and perhaps he was. Lorian couldn't know for certain what the conscript gave him. "Knight General?"
"Let's spar!" Wynfrith said, brandishing her blade and waiting for Eadric to ready himself. He was armed with a spear and shield and was quick to arm himself as Wynfrith ran towards him, aiming for his side. He parried the blow with the spear before she could even close the gap.
As they fought, Lorian listened to the two dictate their fight, explaining their strategies as they did so. Most of the conscripts had only been wielding training weapons, understanding the basics, and many had not been in spars where two drastically different weapons with unique advantages and disadvantages were used.
Soon enough several of the other knights and conscripts had gathered around, listening to Wynfrith and Eadric as they traded blows, the spear time and again successfully holding her at bay. Once she managed to get close after a feint, the spear was hopeless against her and she held her blade to his throat.
"It will not always be a situation where you are able to face your enemies one on one," Lorian said, stepping forward, sword in hand. "You will likely face well-coordinated opponents that will use their numbers to their advantage."
Without being asked, Wynfrith and Eadric instantly reset, putting distance between themselves and Lorian. It would be interesting - Lorian had fought alongside Wynfrith for the entirety of the campaign; they were well acquainted with one another's strengths and weaknesses. But Wynfrith and Eadric had known each other for far longer.
Lorian waited, keeping an eye on Wynfrith in front of him and Eadric who had circled just out of sight behind him. Wynfrith raised her blade, feet poised to begin running forward, but Lorian heard the footsteps behind him. Blade bursting forth into fire in his hands, he turned and deflected the spear as Eadric thrust it towards him and continued sweeping his blade around, turning with it to intercept Wynfrith's blade.
It was a good tactic, one that may have even worked at one point, but over the years Lorian had grown confident in his skill with the blade. It was a massive and unwieldy greatsword that allowed him to have a much greater sweeping radius than most would expect, allowing him to compensate for his blindspots as well as his lack of shield.
Wynfrith locked her blade with his, sliding it down to the guard and attempting to kick him. Lorian twisted the hilt of his sword, rotating the guard caught on Wynfrith's blade and forcing it from her hand. Her kick landed, not against his chest but against his knee, collapsing his leg beneath him.
She used the moment as he recovered his posture to grab her sword from the ground, and it had bought her enough time that Eadric had been able to circle around again, this time on his left side.
Lorian fell all the way to his knee, using the stability to grab the spear and force it's path away from him, pushing it so Eadric went staggering by him. Now the two of them were in front of him as Lorian rose to his feet, not wasting a moment before surging forth and bringing his blade down towards the side of Wynfrith closest to Eadric.
Predictably, he moved to intercept, blocking the strike with his shield, but the timing was wrong and Lorian's force behind the strike was greater than the man could have anticipated as he crumpled under the weight. Lorian hit his shield, then a third time, and on the fourth feinted the blow and turned to Wynfrith instead. She barely dodged out of the way in time as his blade embedded in the ground.
They continued trading blows, Lorian managing to consistently fend off their attacks and get in close for what would have been lethal hits. Eadric and Wynfrith made a well-coordinated pair, and despite Lorian's success, it was not easily won.
It was clear that they were all tiring, their moves getting sloppier as time went on. But they all pressed on. Wynfrith dodged out of the way of another strike, giving Lorian plenty of space to close in on Eadric, striking him with the hilt of his blade and knocking the man to the ground.
And there it was.
While Eadric was incapacitated, Lorian pressed forward, driving his blade into the ground at Eadric's feet and using the motion to obscure his true objective, the object that had been so hastily tucked away earlier, knocked free to the ground. Lorian slid it into his gauntlet before grabbing his sword and pulling it free.
"We yield!" Wynfrith said, breathing heavily.
Still on the ground in front of him, Eadric ripped off his helmet, lying back against the ground, sweat-soaked black hair a mess atop his head.
Lorian stood back up, waiting for Eadric and Wynfrith to collect themselves before turning to those who had gathered to watch. If they weren't stretched so thin, Lorian imagined there would likely be even more than the few dozen who were there currently.
"Wasn't a fair fight." Lorian heard one of them say. "You got a flamin' sword."
Wynfrith laughed at him. "You think your enemies are going to play by the rules? Fight fair?"
The man had the sense to look ashamed. "'Suppose not."
"Come on then Rumwold, let's see you give it a go." She looked out over the group, which was mostly conscripts since most of the knights were assigned elsewhere. "In fact, everyone pair up. Let's see if you managed to learn anything!"
Lorian stepped aside, staying for a while longer to watch Wynfrith and Eadric critiquing the various pairs sparring. Once he was confident that they had things handled, Lorian left, heading towards the Keep.
He reached into his gauntlet as he walked, pulling out the object. It was a long and slim wooden block with some sort of pattern of notches carved into it. Lorian ran his fingers over it, curious of what each notch represented. It was likely a code; but for what?
A sudden wave of light-headedness stopped Lorian in his tracks, leaving him leaning against the stone wall beside him. His legs felt as if they would collapse beneath him at any moment. Lorian focused on breathing and waited for the world to settle around him. It was not the first outburst of this nature, and he suspected they were likely to become more frequent if it was indeed being caused by the nature of the bond. But Lorian wasn't concerned with the repercussions. What good would it do him after all? He chose to undertake it - a choice he would make again, a thousand times if offered.
No, he had more pressing matters to deal with, ones that he had an option of changing. The answers to which he suspected were concealed in this small piece of wood.