After two days, the rebels had been driven out of Anor Londo, unable to cope after the spine of their movement had been broken. Only odd pockets of resistance remained in the surrounding burgs.
With the threat nullified, communications were open again. Reports came in from Izalith, very normal-looking reports that were filled with code. Ciaran readily deciphered it.
It seemed that Izalith was undergoing a quiet invasion still, but the Witch was well aware of it, and expected everything to be wrapped up within the week. There were also several letters from various Daughters of Chaos that she was obligated to look through. She did her best to just skim, as these were very…intimate letters, but every once and a while she felt heat radiate through her face as she caught a little more information than was warranted.
And there was a common outlet for those sensations.
"Gods, Ciaran. Don't be a fool." She muttered to herself.
It had hurt to see Artorias suffer by Serafina, tearing around in a maelstrom of violence that was at odds with his usual nature. He'd be paying for that now, kicking himself.
She looked out of her window, and sure enough he was there; barely six inches tall from her perspective. He sat on a balcony open to the air, head bowed and hands clasped together. Sif lay next to him, head resting on his foot. They both ignored the driving summer rain that had begun a minute before.
She sighed and returned to her work, only to be interrupted by heavy footfalls outside her door. She could place their owner immediately, but waited until he knocked on her door.
"Come in, Gough."
The giant entered, ducking slightly to get through the doorway. "You're still in here on such a glorious day?"
She smirked, still poring over the papers "Glorious, hm?"
"It's a warm rain."
"Your kind doesn't get cold, Gough."
He accepted the comment with a chuckle and sat down in an enormous chair that was here specifically for him. After a few seconds of looking out the window, he began to chuckle anew.
"Gough, I'm working."
The giant raised his eyebrows comically. "Oh are thee? Those papers smell of heat and earth, surely from Izalith?"
He was surprisingly perceptive sometimes, and it threw even Ciaran off guard at points. "Good nose."
He shrugged. "It's simply large. What have they to say?"
She moved several letters to one side. "They were invaded too, but they're handling it. No calls for help."
The giant nodded. "Hmm. If only it had been so well handled on our end."
"Well, they did get a free pass past the walls. I doubt they would have been even half as successful if they had to deal with those."
"True." He rumbled. "I imagine there were no letters from the Catacombs?"
It was really a rhetorical question. There had never been any letters from the Catacombs. The only time they had received anything close was when there had been that onset of burrowing drakes in the area.
They had gotten the drakes' hearts sent to them. Dried, and knotted together on a long braid of hemp rope. She had originally wondered why Nito wouldn't just send the skulls, but quickly remembered his clutches on the dead.
"I don't even know if Nito can read. Or write, for that matter."
"Nito likely remains secure."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The rain wasn't as bad as the sensation of self-incrimination that he felt.
He imagined he could still see their eyes, full of fear, as he severed the threads of their lives. They had been scared, confused, and angry, feeling wronged by Gwyn. Some had likely been pressured into service. None had stood against him.
Whenever he tried to stop thinking about them, Serafina would spring into his mind's eye.
He usually thought of the rebels.
But he had a hard time trying to compare how they had ended and how they had started. They had had similar beginnings, being raised in a predominantly poor human area. Her parents had simply been old, dying over a harsh winter within a few days of each other. But by that time she had been a grown woman, ready to face the world. She had still harbored a simmering spark of anger for what she perceived as Gwyn's lack of support, half blaming him for her parent's deaths.
Artorias didn't know his mother, and didn't want to know his father, but didn't have much of a choice. He had been an alcoholic for as long as he could remember, and Artorias had fallen victim to his abusive rage on many an occasion.
Needless to say, he tried his best to stay out of the house for as long as he could. Wherever he saw suffering, he was reminded of his father, and he rose to help. Thus began his ascent.
Years later, he was known throughout the provinces and burgs for his indomitable will and kindness, but Serafina had been with him before his fame began.
Had his status changed him in some fundamental way? He couldn't erase Serafina's last look of hatred before her life so abruptly ended from his mind.
Part of him was still unsure if he had done the right thing.
Sif whuffed in the rain, settling his head into a more comfortable position on his shoe.
"You're right, Sif. She wasn't all bad." He thought of the good times they had had, but now they were tainted by the blood she had spilled. "But there was apparently some ugliness I missed."
He raised his head and felt the rain spatter against his face. "It's time we moved on."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
It had been a few weeks since the last of Velka's minions had been caught or driven out. Without any apparent support from their patron, the troops had fallen apart relatively easily under the sword of Anor Londo.
Ornstein rubbed the bridge of his nose. There was still a great deal of paperwork to do, repairs to be made, and people to relocate. Stacks and stacks lay before him in pristine, evenly distributed piles.
"I don't envy you this Ornstein, that's for sure."
Gough was in the doorway, smoking a pipe. "You've not slowed down since the start of this mess, you know." He came over and looked at the impressive stacks. "My kind may be able to pull that sort of thing off, but yours…"
"It needs to be done."
"Pah! Something always needs to be done!" Melda shuffled into the room through the other doorway, holding a small hammer and some nails. "The child works himself to death!"
The captain sighed. "Please, Melda. I'm hardly a child."
There was a brief period of silence where everyone realized that Ornstein was the youngest present by a large span of years. Gough and Melda glanced sideways at each other.
Gough grinned. "Oh, the youth, eh?"
Melda pointed the hammer at the giant. "Don't you start coming over here! I've already got enough trouble from you playing matchmaker with my staff!"
The Hawkeye raised his hands, palms out. "Peace, woman! They chose their paths!"
She planted her hands on her hips. "Don't deny it! I know who's the mastermind behind all of this!"
This was not helping Ornstein finish his work.
A headache that had started a long time ago reached its peak.
"Friends, friends, you were saying something…relevant?"
"Oh, ahh…yes." Gough straightened his shirt and cleared his throat. "I was going to suggest that we four do something tonight, to soothe our spirits. We should—"
"—draw up stratagems to prevent a similar event in the future, good idea." Ornstein wrote himself a note. "If we—"
The giant laid a hand on his shoulder. "No."
"No?"
He nodded his enormous head. "No."
Melda stepped forward, still brandishing her hammer. "The lummox was suggesting a party, child!" She began moving a hand toward a stack.
"Melda, I hold the utmost respect for you, but if you throw those papers onto the floor, I will likely do something drastic." Ornstein's lack of sleep was apparent in his tone.
"Since I seem to be cornered and outnumbered, I will yield to your demands. Let the nobles know that—"
"Oh gods no, Ornstein. Just the four of us Knights."
"I'll see what I can do."