Summary: Ornstein heals up. It is time to go on the journey. But first: Some preparations!
(Author's note: Damn, I've got over 40 kudos over on AO3 for this and I haven't even gotten to the action! Did you all like this fic so much? Well, I have a surprise for you, it is a nice, long chapter which moves things forward! Enjoy!)
The next few days the atmosphere between Ornstein and the idiot was what he would describe as awkward. Ornstein still needed to heal up and why his injuries weren't life threatening anymore, Gwyndolin assumed that they still would need two to three weeks to fully heal up and of course Ornstein should stay in bed to assure that they didn't open up again. He was used to Gwyndolin not being around a lot, but now the Undead was there pretty much the whole time. Even though Ornstein noticed that he started to look away when his bandages got changed, he could feel the gaze on him far too often and started to get annoyed.
"Would you please stop staring at me? It is annoying.", Ornstein snapped one day and the Undead winced like a hurt puppy.
"S... sorry.", he said and averted his gaze, staring very hard at the wall. It felt so intense that Ornstein had the assumption he wanted to burn a hole in the wall with his gaze alone. Somehow this was even worse to witness.
"Alright, fine, look at me if you must, but if you have some trouble with me, just come over and tell me.", Ornstein sighed.
"That's not why I stare.", the Undead said super quickly. "It's just... the whole situation we are in. I mean, having to work together after fighting to the death..." The Undead discontinued his sentence when Ornstein glared at him. "...sorry...", he whispered and stared at the ground. Even though he wore his helmet, Ornstein could feel the train of thoughts that must have raced through the idiot's mind now. He sighed. He didn't like the guy and he certainly didn't want to have to escort him through a land as perilous as Lordran, but he remembered the time when he had been a clueless knight and he wouldn't have been here in this position now if not for some help, so he waved for the Undead to come closer. The Undead raised his head, looking around as if confused, but got up and came closer, sitting down into the chair that was placed there. Ornstein frowned a bit at this, cause Gwyndolin was using this chair too and it felt just wrong for such a lesser being to sit down on the same space as a god, but Gwyndolin didn't seem to mind it, so he had to swallow his discomfort.
"You told me that you aren't one of Astora's elite knights.", Ornstein said, to which the Undead nodded.
"That is correct. I have been..."
Ornstein interrupted him. "I am not here to hear about your life story. What I want to know, when you haven't been a knight, how in the world did you made it here?"
The idiot stared at him, again, Ornstein had not trouble feeling it through the visor now. "I already told you, when I first came here? I am pretty sure you listened, you made snappy comments all the way through."
"No, that is not what I meant.", Ornstein said, his mouth turned into a grin, commenting on that idiot's story had been fun. "I want to know, why haven't you given up sooner?"
Ornstein expected a lot of things, the Undead being snarky or that he would just deny everything, but what he didn't expect, was the Undead going silent, head hanging low, saying: "...honestly, I have been close to giving up several times. When I fought the gargoyles, when I went down into Blighttown, when I was dying over and over in the fortress, … when I was fighting you..., but...", he raised his head again. "I pulled through cause I felt I could only go forward. That there wasn't any use into going back or staying put and wait for the end."
"So why are you ready to give up now?", Ornstein asked.
"Because I just couldn't pull through anymore.", the Undead snapped. "Suddenly I was tasked with killing these beings that once has been lords. How should anyone not lose the will to pull through after hearing this? And that after I already died a hundred times or more. I tried to go on, but I just couldn't anymore. It has become too much!" The last words the Undead shouted.
"Interesting... so instead of pulling through and get the last challenge tasked from you done, you decided to give up without even trying.", Ornstein said, rolling his eyes.
"You are one to talk.", the Undead said. "As if you haven't given up already."
Ornstein's gaze must have felt so sharp for the Undead as if he got pierced, cause he winced as if someone had just stabbed him. "Leave.", Ornstein said between clenched teeth, shaking with fury. The Undead jumped up, uttered an apology and stormed out of the room. Ornstein sighed deeply and closed his eyes, not wanting to deal with his intrusive thoughts, trying to drift to sleep.
When Ornstein awoke the next time, he saw the Undead sitting in the chair again, without his helmet for a change and he seemed to be fast asleep himself. Interesting, so Undead still could go to sleep, even though they didn't need to do it anymore. Seeing the Undead sleeping there like that, at once with his face uncovered, Ornstein got curious and he caught himself how his eyes wandered to inspect the face of him. What he saw was... nothing spectacular to be honest. The Undead's face wasn't even very attractive, his feature felt too pronounced, his nose was a bit crooked and his eyes looked like they were drooping down, giving him the face of a sad sack. All of this was framed with messy, short rusty red hair. The longer he stared, the more he found to be the face charming. Ornstein huffed, averting his gaze, how could he find such an ugly face charming? His head jerked back to the Undead when he heard him move and he slowly opened his eyes, Ornstein spotted that they were blue.
"What where you doing?", Ornstein asked. "Watching me sleep?"
"More like watching over you while you sleep, Lord Gwyndolin has asked me to have an eye on you should you need help.", the Undead answered.
"I can take care of myself just fine, thank you.", Ornstein said grimly. "Besides, you fell asleep yourself, doing a very good job."
"Well... I don't have an excuse for that.", the Undead stammered. "You know, I know you don't like me and want to get this all over with as quick as possible, but for now we seem to be stuck having to work with each other. So why don't you teach me about the lords we have to hunt down? You knew them all personally, right?"
"Yes, that is correct, it must have been a thousand years already..." Ornstein could hear the Undead gasp at this statement. "Don't look at me like that, if you live as long as I do, a hundred years start to feel like ten years."
"It's just... hard to imagine.", the Undead said.
"And yet you are unable to die. Who knows, maybe there is an Undead who manages to not go hollow for a thousand years? But I don't think that is possible.", Ornstein smirked. "So, I am stuck in bed anyway, so I could tell you all what I know. But I will only say it once, so take notes."
The Undead hastily got to the table in a corner of a room, uncorking an ink pot, grabbing a squill and straightening a scroll. "I am ready.", he shouted. Ornstein took a deep breath.
"There is the Witch of Izalith. There had been a huge accident when she tried to recreate the first flame and now she spews out all kinds of demons. We send the black knights down there but they all died and the rest of them followed Lord Gwyn in the kiln and were nowhere to be seen anymore. Lost Izalith how we call it nowadays is a very hot place, so we have to find a method to walk on lava first. If that is even possible." Ornstein wrinkled his nose and continued with his story.
"Then we have Gravelord Nito. Pains me a bit to have to end him actually, he has been a good guy, always taking care of the deceased. But now we have reasons to believe that his powers are getting abused, sadly there is no other way than to end the old guy. He resides in the catacombs so bringing a holy weapon should be appropriate. Nito never could never necromance anything that was slain by a holy weapon, guess it was his weakness..." Ornstein stopped for a moment. Nito was one of the few lords he actually felt sorry for. Killing the Witch of Izalith felt like a mercy kill, but Nito had always been very calm and friendly, it felt hard to believe for a being that was a cloak filled with skeletons. Ornstein wondered what would happen to the souls of the deceased once he was gone? He took another deep breath and continued:
"Then we have New Londo, where the Four Kings used to reside. The city is drowned by now. They have been very close to spawn an abyss so we had to take some... extreme measures. It could be possible that we need to see an old friend of mine first before we can do anything there.
And last, there is Seath, the pale drake. Never liked him. He has long gotten mad and has been mad from the start. He is tricky though, so I guess we have to expect that he won't make it easy for us."
Ornstein stopped and glanced at the Undead. "Did you get all of this?"
"I... I guess.", the Undead said and Ornstein saw him scrawl notes on the paper, muttering some names and things and Ornstein was sure that he already mixed half of it up.
"What have I gotten myself into?", Ornstein muttered quietly to himself while observing the idiot.
The rest of the time it took Ornstein to fully heal passed quicker than he thought. The idiot sometimes attempted to talk to him, but Ornstein usually shut him off quickly. So most of the time he seemed to spend his time reading the books that Gwyndolin had in the tomb. Ornstein asked himself if books about moonlight magic would actually help this Undead out, judging from their battle he hasn't been the magic type, but was a bit delighted when he actually saw him picking up a history book. And there were always this glances in Ornstein's direction, that he couldn't really put anywhere. It made Ornstein feel a bit uncomfortable so he often would scold the idiot to stop this. And when Ornstein was finally allowed to get out of bed for more than bathroom breaks, it didn't got better, the staring got so far that Ornstein sometimes requested Gwyndolin to remove the Undead from the room to have some peace and quiet. Sadly, he came back every time.
Now was the time where Gwyndolin removed the bandages for good and Ornstein could admire his new scars. Only that he didn't admired them at all, thinking about who was at fault that he had them, a large one on his chest and a few smaller ones on his legs. Only one scar he felt like he could cherish... when he raised his hand and felt the scar on the left side of his head, gently caressed it, the last gift his boyfriend had left for him.
"It would be a good time to wash your hair now.", Gwyndolin said, undoing the braid, letting Ornstein's curls flow down his back. "It has been some time and your hair already starts to mat." Ornstein felt another one of these glances at him and turned his head to see the Undead staring at him, he frowned into his direction.
"Listen, we have to move soon, but I need to get a bath and a few things from the cathedral first, so collect your strength."
"Actually...", the Undead murmured from his corner. "...Can I come with you? Staying put here lately has made me so uneasy, I want to move out too."
Ornstein sighed while he picked up a tunic that Gwyndolin provided to dress himself. "Fine, but don't get in my way."
After having slipped into his armour, Ornstein said his goodbyes to Gwyndolin, thanked them for taking care of his injuries and then set off for the cathedral with the Undead in tow. The Undead sprinted straight for the elevator, but Ornstein just extended an arm and pulled him back, spear pointing to a back alley. The Undead followed him into it and Ornstein could quickly notice how in awe he was.
"What, you didn't think you have seen all of Anor Londo?", Ornstein said.
"Of course not. I am more in awe how you are finding your way in this labyrinth.", the Undead answered.
"Which part about having lived for over a millennia didn't you get?", Ornstein bantered and they soon were able to enter the cathedral through one of its many side doors.
"I will need some time and the silver knights in the cathedral will attack you on sight, so you probably should wait here.", Ornstein said, pointing to a chair, it was a lucky coincidence that the room had once been used as a waiting room.
"But how do I know that you will come back?", the Undead asked. Well, well, that idiot seemed to get some common sense at last.
"I give you my word that I will be helping you out in your quest and a knight of Gwyn will never betray an oath of theirs.", Ornstein said, spear raised, trying to look as tall and impressive as possible.
"And what if something happens to you?", the Undead asked.
Ornstein snorted. "What should happen to me here? There is nobody around to hurt me anymore. Granted if you don't suddenly decide to turn your blade against me."
"Why should I fight against you a second time when you recovered when I had all the chances back then where you had been injured?" The tone of the Undead sounded like he was offended. "Besides, I really want your help. I was just worried, what if some kind of accident happen and then there is nobody there to help you..?"
Ornstein sighed. "Fine, you can come along."
"Th..thanks.", the Undead said, sounding slightly surprised.
"Just don't get in my way and I won't do anything if the silver knights are hunting you down.", Ornstein grumbled, ascending the stairs in the waiting room.
"Can't you just say to them to not try to kill me?", the Undead said, having some trouble keeping up with Ornstein's long steps. "For your information, they are simply magic filled armour and will only carry out Gwyndolin's orders and even if they would listen to me, no.", Ornstein answered. He could hear the Undead's elite knight armour clink. It wasn't like Ornstein's armour wouldn't produce any noise, farm from it, but while his clanks were calm and adjusted, coming from having worn this armour for centuries, the idiot wasn't used to his armour at all and it made all kind of mismatched noises, which would draw any foe into their direction quickly.
"Can you try and make a little less noise?", Ornstein snarled at the Undead who once again winced under his words and then actually made less noise until a point Ornstein couldn't hear him at all anymore. He turned around only to see that the idiot wasn't in his tow anymore. And Ornstein had been sure he had passed at last one silver knight on his way.
"Shit, where did that idiot ran off too?", Ornstein growled and backtraced his steps, falling into a trot when he heard the scraping of metal on each other, like a sword banging against a shield and he found the Undead locked in a battle with the silver knight he had passed. Ornstein considered intervening into the battle. If the idiot managed to die, he would appear at the last bonfire he had sat on and it had been the one in the Dark Moon Tomb and Ornstein didn't want him to have that near to Gwyndolin without him being present. He grabbed his spear and entered a battle stance, when the Undead managed to parry the next strike of the silver knight and riposted right through their armour, the ghostly armour falling to the floor with an unholy screech, only to rise again after the magic holding it together would come back.
"I always tried to train them to not be parried that easily.", Ornstein said, leaning against the wall. "You have fallen behind. Don't let this happen again."
The Undead gasped, sword covered in some icky white goo. "You were the one who wanted less noise and made me tiptoe and didn't slow down.", he ranted.
"Well, we weren't in this situation if you had waited down there in the first place.", Ornstein took a deep breath. No, that idiot wasn't worth it for him to get worked up about. "Just follow me and try to not draw another silver knight's attention.", he reluctantly said, continuing on, with the noisy steps of the Undead behind him.
They eventually made it into the quarters Ornstein had inhabited with Smough. A certain hollowness was spreading in his chest. It felt weird for him to return there and Smough not being there. Not being in the kitchen preparing their dinner, not waiting into their living room, reading a book or cleaning up, not scooping Ornstein up to carry him into bed, not tending to his herbal garden, not waiting in the bathroom for Ornstein to join them for some fun time. Ornstein thought that tears would come, but his eyes were dry. Had he cried out all his sadness already and only emptiness remained? He wondered if going hollow felt like this for the Undead.
Speaking of the Undead, he still was with this idiot. On the way they had encountered a few other silver knights but the Undead had managed to parry and riposte them all. At least one thing he was skilled in apparently, even though Ornstein didn't exactly like this skill, cause it felt for him like he had failed in training his silver knights. Even though these silver knights weren't real, their fighting style consisted of the memory of the owner of the armour and Ornstein had trained each and every single one of them. At least the idiot had failed a few times and needed to sip from his Estus afterwards, which made Ornstein partially feel at ease. Now, the Undead was standing behind him, looking around, he clearly hadn't seen this part of the cathedral before.
"So.", Ornstein started. "I need to get a few things and get myself ready, so you have some time for yourself. I would prefer if you would just wait here..." Ornstein pointed into the living room. "..until I am ready. There are books in there if you get bored."
The Undead simply nodded to him and trudged into the room. Ornstein watched him carefully until he sat down on the bench that was fluffed up with pillows. Ornstein felt a tug on his heart when he looked at the bench, how many evenings had he spent there with Smough, cuddled against his big frame while the executioner stroked his hair. He quickly detached his gaze and strode into the direction of their bedroom.
As he closed the door behind him and turned around to take a look, it washed over Ornstein that it truly was over. That he would never see Smough again. He started shivering and knew it was coming. It had happened already shortly after Gwyndolin had saved him, when he had to face this truth the first time. Back then Gwyndolin had been there to cry with him and comfort him, but now... Ornstein was all alone. He did the few steps to the bed and collapsed on its foot, his armour clattering on the ground, while he just felt the tears streaming down his face, his breath going short, his shivering didn't want to stop. Usually Smough had been there for him, helping him getting out of the breakdown, but now Ornstein was alone. Again. Damn, he had gotten too used to having Smough around this last 100 years. Or maybe it had been 200, he had long lost count. As he sat there on the ground, shivering, crying, feeling like an absolute mess, his gaze fell onto a few items on the shelf.
A dragon carving, a dragon shaped hairpin, a scarf with a dragon motive, a dragon shaped tea service and a potted catnip plant. Looking at them, he couldn't help but feel a smile creeping on his face, his shivering managed to stop. Their mementos. From the other knight and his master. And now, also, Smough. Thinking about him like that made Ornstein's heart drop again, but this time he managed to compose himself.
"I just need to keep it together for a little while longer.", Ornstein murmured to himself. That had been his mantra before Smough entered into his life, often repeating it like a charm, to help him get through it, manage to keep his composure, to not be weak but instead be the symbol the people and his knights needed.
"Now nobody needs a symbol anymore.", Ornstein murmured farther. "I wonder if people even would recognize me when another 1000 years passed?"
Ornstein got up, he had wasted enough time. He didn't want to let the Undead wait too long or he could get bad ideas. Ornstein stripped himself from his armour and his clothes and fetched a bath robe as well as a few supplies to clean himself with, untied his ponytail and made his way to the public bathroom, how he still called it, even though he and Smough did had this thing for themselves for the last century. Smough had loved it to wash Ornstein's long hair, run his fingers through it and sometimes they had a bit more fun in the bathroom. Ornstein felt his face go red thinking about what the servants earlier would have thought when they had to clean up their remains, but like the silver knights, the servants had all long left and so Ornstein and Smough had been the ones to clean up their own mess, so it was their secret alone. Ornstein sighed when he entered the bathroom. He couldn't help it, but every time he saw a new place where Smough usually had been, someone tug at his heart and it felt like they tried to rip it out of him. So Ornstein wasn't surprised when he felt new tears streaming down his face when he washed his hair, or maybe it was just the water from the bathroom? He didn't know. He also didn't want to think about it.
After his bath he returned to their room and prepared a travel bag. In went mostly clothes and some stuff that could be useful, like dressing material, needle and a thread (Smough had showed him how to sew), he also put some of his art utensils into it, even though he had the feeling he wouldn't be able to get to this hobby at all. The last thing he needed were provisions, so Ornstein took his travel bag and went to the kitchen with it.
Ornstein thought he had already cried enough this day, but entering the kitchen hit him very hard. How often had he entered the kitchen, drawn inside by the delicious smell of Smough's meal? How often had he sat down at the table waiting for Smough to finishing cooking, just enjoying to watch the large frame of his boyfriend over an activity he enjoyed so much? How often had Smough tried to teach him to cook, with mixed results? And now, standing in the door frame of the kitchen, only clothed with a bath robe, it hit Ornstein. He would never eat Smough's meals again. He was gone, forever and he knew he eventually had to face it, but for now he didn't want to. Ornstein wanted to allow himself a moment of weakness, because Smough had showed him that he didn't need to be strong all the time, so he fell on his knees, crying it all out, the tears not only streaming down his face but also dripping heavy on the floor. How long he stayed like that? Ornstein didn't knew, but eventually he got up onto his feet. He always got up again. He took a deep breath, wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve and started to pack as much provisions as he could carry.
After Ornstein was done with packing, he got dressed, put his hair back into a ponytail and slipped back into his armour, but didn't put the helmet on this time. He needed to make one last trip, to the giant blacksmith, his armour needed some repairs. He put one last glance at the shelf and made a mental note to tell Gwyndolin to take care of Smough's herbal garden before they departed. Then, he went over and swooped the hair pin, the figurine and the scarf into his luggage. He would have loved to take the tea service too, but it honestly wouldn't fit anymore. Maybe he should just take one piece? He decided to take a cup with him. And last, he snipped off a leaf of the catnip plant and put it in a small book to dry which he packed too. With his travel bag in one hand and his helmet carried under his other arm, he made his way back to the living room, where he saw the Undead standing at the table, his gaze on a few pieces of paper that were spread out on it. Ornstein nearly dropped his helmet when he saw what it was.
"Can't you sit still for one hour? What are you doing?", he snarled, walking over to the table. "I haven't allowed you to look at these."
"Wait, you said to me to wait in here, you didn't say that I couldn't take a look around.", the Undead quickly countered, taking a defensive stance. Ornstein noticed that he had pointed his spear at the Undead and lowered it.
"This is... deeply personal and I don't want anyone to look at them.", Ornstein hissed through gritted teeth.
"Fine, fine, I have seen nothing.", the Undead said, but Ornstein heard him mutter "You have cared deeply about him, huh?" He got quiet after Ornstein glared at him.
"I am almost ready, I just need to get to the giant blacksmith for some armour repairs and then have to go back to Gwyndolin one last time before we can depart.", Ornstein said and the unlikely duo set off.
"I never would have thought you could draw.", the Undead suddenly said on their way.
"What, did you think that all I did was sitting in that great hall waiting for someone to arrive?", Ornstein scoffed.
"No, that's not it, I just... didn't thought the famous dragon slayer would sit down at a table to make art.", the Undead answered, head hanging a bit low.
"Do you have any problems with it?", Ornstein asked and the Undead shook his head and the rest of the way they covered in silence.
Arrived at the giant blacksmith, Ornstein stripped himself from his armour and handed it over to the giant blacksmith without saying a word, the old guy knew what he had to do. And he wasn't the talkative kind anyway, so usually Ornstein never uttered a word around him anymore. He saw the Undead sitting down on the stairs while Ornstein, tired of having been stuck in bed for so long, leaned against the wall. Ornstein watched the hammer of the giant blacksmith clink against his armour, bathing in the relaxing sound, when the Undead took up the word again.
"The room with the... dragon heads in here... Where they...?", he started and Ornstein immediately knew what he was implying.
"Yes.", he confirmed. "The dragons I hunted."
Ornstein wouldn't had been surprised if the Undead's eyes would have gone wide under his helmet, but with the visor down he couldn't see them. He thought about this brief moment when he had seen him without helmet, damn, he had blue eyes, just like Smough, why did he had to notice this now? Ornstein got broken out of this thoughts by the Undead's voice again: "How was it... Hunting dragons, I mean?"
Ornstein sighed. The Undead hopefully didn't expect from him to tell him the whole story about the dragon war, it went on long enough and was written down in every history book. "I don't want to talk about this.", Ornstein answered. "But, as we are still stuck here a bit, let me tell you about the variants of dragons we fought. You probably noticed that there have been dragon heads of all colours and sizes." The Undead nodded.
"There have been different kinds of dragon we hunted. The everlasting stone dragons where the ones who were immortal when their scales weren't removed. It was Seath who told us the secret, that lightning could cut their scales down and made us able to kill them. I am pretty sure we haven't left a single one of them alive." Ornstein sighed. "Back then it felt like the right decision, but after a thousand years I ask myself if it really was the right thing to do." Huh, strange, why did Ornstein feel to reveal this personal detail to the Undead? He felt his face flush red.
"F-forget what I just said.", he said, averting his gaze and staring at the giant blacksmith again, trying to get mesmerized by the hammer clinking.
"And the other dragons...?", the voice of the Undead carried over to him.
"...There were the ancient dragons, they didn't had stone scales but weren't less terrifying. The last one of them fell a few centuries ago in Oolacile.", Ornstein said in a soundlessly voice.
"And then there are the drakes and wyvern, which you probably have encountered here. Descendants of the everlasting and ancient dragons, but their power is nothing compared to them. They can only be described as inferior.", Ornstein finished at the same moment the giant blacksmith finished hammering.
"Seems like my armour is ready.", Ornstein said and turned his attention to the giant blacksmith, received his armour and bowed to him in thanks before putting it on. When he waved to the Undead to follow him, he shot up and trotted behind him, waving to the giant blacksmith and saying a thing like "Farewell and thank you for your service." and Ornstein swore he heard the giant blacksmith mutter the word "Friend."
"Our first target should be Seath, the archives are the closest from here.", Ornstein said. "Stay close to me, don't stray away and do everything I tell you, understood?" The Undead simply nodded. "Excellent, but first I need to head over to Gwyndolin quick.", he said and both of them stepped out of the cathedral.
When they were far enough away, Ornstein turned around, to gaze at it in its full glory, the shimmering sunlight glimmering on it and felt a tug at his heart another time. How many years had he stayed there, waiting for the inevitable? It felt strange for him to leave it behind, but for now, all he could do was going on. He detached his gaze and strode with large steps towards their destination.
After they had visited Gwyndolin and Ornstein had asked them to take care of Smough's herbal garden and the catnip plant, which Gwyndolin promised, the knight and the Undead mounted the elevator that would lead them to the platform which led to Seath's hideout.
"We are really going to do this, huh?", Ornstein muttered, staring at the Undead. "It feels like you brought a storm upon me."