One.
Two.
Three. Four. Five.
Six.
The seventh mercenary was bisected at the waist by Artorias's greatsword and sent flying against the already stained buildings. There had been a surprising amount of troops pouring into the captured district of Anor Londo over the past weeks, and they had made disheartening progress. Just a few days ago, they had extended their reach into the surrounding burgs like a dark weed. Just being around their weapons and armor made Artorias weak in the knees.
But he couldn't stop fighting.
Serafina was in that district somewhere, surely afraid for her life.
If she was still alive.
He lifted his sword with great effort and braced his shield against the cobblestones. He had been at this for hours, and still hadn't managed to get farther than the actual gates of the district.
Three Baldur knights dropped to the stones nearby, and swished their fine swords to display their prowess before darting in. He felt the draining burn of their auras, and managed to drag his shield into the way of the first. The second got inside his guard, but was grabbed around the waist by Sif's maw. Artorias saw the wolf look at him, and he spoke between clenched teeth.
"Kill, Sif."
The dark auras seemed to have no visible effect on Sif, evident as he crushed the man's torso in his jaws.
The third knight had circled around, and managed to slash at his leg. The armor was excellent, and managed to take the brunt of the blow. Sif leapt over his exhausted master and brought the man to the ground like a deer. He tore his throat out quickly.
The remaining knight decided it would be best to retreat, but Artorias cut his legs out from under him with a sweeping chop and finished him with a downward stab into the street.
His heartbeat was loud in his ears and he was sweating profusely under the sun. All around him lay the bodies of the slain. Some of the blood was his, but most of it was theirs.
Another day of failure.
"I'm sorry my love."
He hefted his weapon and shield, making tracks back to the forward command center, on the other side of no man's land. The only sound was that of the arrows bouncing off of the cobble.
Inside the neighboring districts, the houses and marketplaces had been evacuated and converted into bunkers and healing stations. Silver knights were bustling around here and there, tending to their wounded and looking over plans. They made way for him as he dragged his tired feet. Sif propped him up on one side, and he leaned on him.
"Sir Artorias!" A silver knight was flagging him down. "The giants have finished your pet's weapon, sire." He removed a greatsword from a fine cloth and presented it to Artorias. "A fine blade."
Artorias indicated Sif with his head. "It's for him, not me."
Sif took the sword hilt in his jaws with a snort.
"And he's my partner, not my pet."
"My apologies, sir."
He continued on his way, admiring Sif's new sword. "It is a fine sword, don't you think?" He received a whuff from Sif in return. "It's high time you got one. Do you recall how to use it?"
Sif tossed the sword in the air, catching it in his jaws again with little apparent effort.
Artorias's chuckle was forced. "Show off."
Gwyn's four knights sat around a table. There were a few of Havel's battle clerics attending to Artorias, who had apparently taken quite a few arrows in his back.
Ornstein rubbed the bridge of his nose, dark circles under his eyes. He was in full armor, save for his helmet at the moment, and was at all times these days. "Very well, what of the surrounding burgs?"
Ciaran's arms were crossed. "Looking worse. It seems like the area closest to the invaded district is solidly under human control, while the far side remains as it is. Regardless of position though, everyone is uneasy."
Ornstein sighed. "Gough? The catapults?"
The giant nodded. He hadn't slept at all these past weeks, but that didn't affect his kind the same way. "I have destroyed all catapults I have seen them building within their district." He scratched his chin. "I could also see into the burgs from the tower, and they appeared to be fortifying their settlements. I exploited the structural weaknesses of their buildings and set them back."
"Good work Gough. Artorias?"
The fourth Knight winced as an arrow was pried out of his shoulder. "I haven't yet broken past their district gates." He threw his glass against the nearby wall, where it shattered noisily. "Not even past THEIR BLASTED GATES!" He bowed his head into his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was raw. "She's in there somewhere, Ornstein. Whether she's alive…or…or in pieces, I—" He clenched his fists and stared at his hands, slowly unfolding them. "I'm failing her."
Ornstein was quiet for a moment. "Then give up."
"What?" Artorias looked up, uncomprehending.
"I said give up. Apparently you can't do it." The Captain's face was stone as he stood, his eyes sharp as flint. He walked around to where Artorias sat. "It seems as though your instatement to this team was a waste of time and resources." Gough started to say something, but Ornstein silenced him with a wave of his hand. He stood over the last Knight, looking down on him with a cold stare. "It seems," he pointed to his chest "that the Great Lord overestimated the strength of your resolve."
Artorias shot to his feet, fists clenched and blue eyes flashing dangerously.
The Dragonslayer didn't alter his expression. "Shall I have it written that during the siege of Anor Londo, a Knight of Gwyn turned against his kingdom? The penalty for treason is a grisly fate."
His fists shook, and there was a tense few seconds of furious stares before Artorias stormed out, striking the wall on his way.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The silver knights were holding guard over the quiet border. The sentries were keeping careful watch, the reserves were trying to rest, and the clerics healed as well as they could.
And Artorias was getting a drink or five.
He had traveled out of the citadel in a hurry, trying to burn off his anger with a walk, telling Sif to stay as he trotted after him. He hadn't quite known where he was going, eventually ending up at a tavern at the end of Anor Londo that was farthest from the invaded district, butted up right against the outer wall.
Here he sat, trying to drown his misery in another pint. He had claimed a small table that was tucked away in the back, with its own little niche in the wall. It provided a sense of privacy in the dim evening light. The weak lanterns allowed him to remain anonymous, and thus evade the attention of the other customers. The atmosphere was quiet tonight with the news of the siege.
Artorias stared into his beer and half-heartedly swirled it around. Money wasn't a problem for him anymore, and was far from his main concern at the moment. He drained the pint in a long swallow and groaned, laying his head against the table.
"He didn't mean it, you know."
Artorias flinched, knocking two pints off of the table. Ciaran was seated across the table, a cloak obscuring her armor and face.
He stared at the table in a state of despair. "No, he's right. I'm not worth your time. Not worth anyone's time."
"That's not true, and I think you know it." She scooted closer. "Ornstein thinks that the best of people can be seen in a trial by fire. He was trying to push you to prove him wrong."
He regarded the empty cups. "Well, I guess I failed at that too."
She sat next to him now. "You say that like none of us have ever failed."
He looked at her with questions in his eyes.
"I…I've killed a lot of people to get where I am today, Artorias." She fiddled with her hands. "Some were just obstacles, but others…" She shook her head. "I pushed too hard toward a single goal for a large portion of my life, never thinking of anything other than that. These days I'm realizing just how many opportunities I've let slip by."
Artorias looked sideways at her, and slid her a full pint, and was rewarded with a slight smile.
"Thanks." She took a pull from it, the drink significantly larger for her. "And Ornstein, well. He won't say much about his past, but no one can really hide that from me. His mistakes costed lives, and still do. I know he fought like a demon in the Dragon wars and was almost crippled because of it. Only Gwyn's favor saw him out of it."
"And Gough?" He sipped on his drink.
"Gough doesn't make mistakes, all apparent mistakes are just another part of his master plan."
Ciaran's shrouded face and tone of voice were so serious that Artorias almost believed her. Then he realized the ridiculousness of her statement and began shaking with laughter. "H—he is th-the real captain of Gwyn's Knights! Plotting, an-and conniving this whole time!" He clutched his side as he chuckled uncontrollably.
When he had settled down some, she lay her hand on his shoulder. "See? It's not all bad. I've been in a siege before, and I can tell you for a fact that you need to rest. After a time of nonstop fighting for—for your love, as romantic as that sounds, you'll be doing more harm than good."
His mind was a bit addled by the drink. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that you should come back to the citadel. Come back, sleep, and spend the next day planning only." She shook his arm to silence his protest. "Only planning. Trust me; a well-placed strike will trump a weak misdirected multitude any day."
He nodded, with an expression that can only be found on those that are both deep in thought and drunk.
"Alright. Let's get out of here."
He grunted in reply, and stood rapidly, almost falling in the process. He reached out and braced himself against the wall. "I appear to be out of sorts."
"This way, Artorias."
He leaned on her, putting his weight on her shoulder, and almost brought them both to the floor.
"There's no way I'm carrying you there! Just let me guide you." She blew her bangs out of her eyes and put her hair in a ponytail. Taking his arm around the elbow, she pulled him haphazardly out the door and on the way to the citadel.
"If it makes you feel better Artorias, I'm pulling a reconnaissance in the captured district tomorrow. I'll keep an eye out for Serafina for you."
He mumbled something incomprehensible, but a tear rolled down his cheek and splashed against the paving stones.