They had offered him a room in Anor Londo, among other things with his new status, but he had surprised them by turning them down for the moment. He had already been delayed a ludicrous amount of time from seeing Serafina. He could already see her in his mind's eye, long dark hair in a braid as she did when irritated, and an eyebrow crooked.
He walked a little faster.
As it was, he was only a few minutes out from Oakbridge. Sif trotted at his side, panting happily. "Maybe I can convince her that you ran off, Sif. That I had to catch you, and that was the reason for the delay?"
The wolf stopped and shook himself.
"You're right, of course."
They strode into Ten-stones no farther than five paces before they were swarmed by humans, mostly children. They laughed and jumped on Sif, who began to race in circles.
And there she was, exactly as he had pictured her. She crossed the square to him to grasp his shoulders. "Alright, come in. You'd better have a good tale for me, I saw the aftermath in Oakbridge!" She threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his.
This town was named Ten-stones because of the old stone spires that ringed it. They were older than the town itself, moss-covered and weathered, but still sharp on top. Serafina rubbed Sif's head as they walked into their house. "Where are your sword and shield?"
"If it had come from anyone else, I wouldn't have believed them. But you, my dear Artorias, have a knack."
He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Now what does that mean?"
She rose and wrapped her arms around him. "Love, you were bitten in half." She squeezed his muscular frame carefully, as if it would fall off.
"I never said anything about that…"
"Dragons don't nibble. They devour."
Artorias shot Sif a look. "You told her, didn't you?" Sif just rolled over.
"Very well, you've found me out." He turned around to face her. "But Oakbridge needed me."
"I need you too." She made a mock scowl, but he caught a sincere undertone. "And they had two of Gwyn's knights there." She crossed the room and examined the fine tunic he had brought back in the place of his weapons. "What are they like?"
Artorias unconsciously rubbed his chest where dragon teeth had pierced him not too long ago. "The knights? Well, there is this one knight. He is valiant and incredibly good-looking…rather new, but what does that matter?"
She chuckled. "He sounds wonderful. Perhaps you should introduce me?"
Their laughter echoed into the peaceful night.
"Truly though, tell me of them! I have heard great tales of the Hawkeye. Is he really twice your height?"
"That he is, with a heart twice as large."
"I doubt that." She fondled the seam on the silk tunic. "And what of the Lord's blade?"
"She has quite the spirit, that one. Quick as a flash and sneaks like a ghost."
"Is she quite pretty?"
Artorias's face froze. "Must you spring such dangerous questions on me? I'm still recovering, you know."
She laughed. "Very well! Another time then…"
He snorted. "The pain from the wound may never go away."
"Don't glower so much. You're allowing thine anger to distract thee."
Ornstein straightened up. Melda was right of course, but he could not help but wonder at his Lord's choice. Of course Artorias had helped in recent matters, but others had done similar things before without such reward. He was unsure of the man's loyalties and ties to the humans given recent events.
The hunched old woman nodded. "Much better." She grinned as she retrieved an envelope from one of her many pockets. "This is for you."
Some may have questioned why Melda was in Ornstein's chambers in the wee hours of the morning, but he was used to her appearing and disappearing as she would. He had been sitting at the edge of his bed after being woken by a nightmare, a memory of the war with the Dragons. He accepted the package and strode to the lamp to kindle it.
The royal attendant looked rather smug. "It's from that Queyla woman."
His hand stopped over the lamp, and he tucked the parchment into his pocket. This would be for his eyes only. Melda sniffed indignantly.
The captain began to dress in partial armor. "She will want to…meet, no doubt."
Melda sniffed again. "Aye, she shall want to meet thine loins!" She shuffled toward the door, cackling to herself. "Perhaps it would be wise to bring thine spear!"
He worked to control his heart rate, breathing evenly. The letter did indeed request a meeting, inside Anor Londo to his great relief. Not many individuals would dare ask for an audience with someone at this time of the day, but he didn't sleep very often anyway. And Queyla knew that.
It had been one time.
He strode the halls of his beloved city, giving nods to those whom kept their guard posts efficiently and corrected those that were lacking. Queyla must have just arrived, because he hadn't known of her presence until now. He had doubled the guards since the last incident, and they worked harder at their jobs as a whole now. If only he could preserve them in such a watchful state.
He arrived at the room she had been granted. Quaint, by Anor Londo standards, but extravagant by any other. The door was open just a crack, but he knocked on the door anyway, trying to be as quiet as possible. She answered after a few seconds, leaning on the door.
"There you are. I wondered at whether your time could be spared, Captain."
Ornstein coughed and pointedly looked straight past her into her room.
The Daughter of Chaos giggled. "I assume my state of dress is at fault?"
"My Lady, your 'state of dress' leaves little to the imagination. Shall I wait for you to clothe yourself?"
She laughed, and he swore the temperature rose. "This, indecent? My Captain, you should visit Izalith one day." An excited orange light glowed dimly behind her eyes.
Ornstein tensed up. The Daughters of Chaos were the most powerful pyromancers to be seen, under the Witch herself of course, but their raw power wasn't their most dangerous aspect. The Daughters were younger than the Witch by only a negligible amount of time. They were powerful, ancient beings, despite appearing differently.
"What is it that you wanted, Queyla?"
She pouted slightly. "To business so soon? Can I not invite thee in?"
He hesitated. It was rather rude to stand stiffly outside…
"Well…"
"Wonderful! Come in!" She took hold of his arm and escorted him inside, shutting the door behind them. "I bring news for your Lord."
Ornstein straightened his shirt. "Why not appear to the Great Lord directly?"
"I know he trusts thee and, to be frank, I enjoy this much more." She made a show of closing the curtains.
Ornstein crossed his arms.
She laughed quietly. "Spare me, Dragonslayer!" She drew close, and he was reminded of the last time…
Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, and he felt the temperature climb. "Must I cook thee to remove thine shirt?"
Ornstein's mind buzzed with strategy. This was as much a game as any politics were. The means to get there were different was all. If he wanted her information, he'd have to either impress her or play by her rules.
He scowled slightly and did it.
"Hmmm…" She traced a scar on his collarbone. "You see, my Mistress has heard of what troubles your Lord most; the First Flame. Without it, the Age of Fire would surely end."
He had seen it once before, a glorious pyre of epic proportions. Its connection to this Age remained a mystery to him, but he had heard from Lord Gwyn that it was slowly shrinking and spluttering.
"And what does your Mistress plan to do about such a thing?" He put his hands on her back, and was rewarded with another temperature increase.
She began tracing another scar, this one running from his chest to the base of his neck. An involuntary shudder ran through him. That had been a farewell present from a Dragon during the war. "She shall save thee, of course…" Her finger prodded a scar, and it suddenly flared up in heat.
Ornstein's head snapped up, pupils shrinking. He was in the war.
Wounded, dying everywhere.
Incredible noise.
Dirt in his lungs.
Claws pierce him to the spine.
He found he was disentangled from Queyla, body shaking with adrenaline. Her face was passive, eyes watchful.
He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing unsuccessfully. Giving up, he snatched his shirt off the floor. "I don't believe I want anything from thee. We're done here."
"It's my Mother, not I, extending her hand Captain." She said to his back, "And I believe all could benefit from a Second Flame." He felt her hand on his shoulder and he flinched. "Pass that on to your Lord."