Disclaimer: Dark Souls and its cast are the intellectual property of From Software.

Chapter 2

Nemeta looked upon Gwynevere, and at once fell utterly, hopelessly, irretrievably in love.

For a few moments, she was blinded by the light. As her senses returned, the scene came to her in bits and pieces. First, Nemeta could see great lengths of silk cascading from the ceiling, falling about a reclining figure of immense size. Next, Nemeta realized that this was no monster that stood before her, no demon, no abomination, but something divine, something more than human, something sublime, a beautiful thing that had not been corrupted by the putridness and depravity that pervaded this foul realm. For so long had Nemeta been surrounded by ugliness, and ruin, and decay...

A voice came forth, a voice tempered by centuries of wisdom, a voice laden with warmth and nobility and...understanding. "Thou hast journey'd far, and overcome much, Chosen Undead," said the goddess. "Come hither, child."

Nemeta stepped forward, then fell to one knee, and bowed her head. She was not an adherent of this deity's religion – she did not even know the goddess' name – but at her core, Nemeta conceded, she had something of the sycophant within her.

The goddess spoke once more: "O, Chosen Undead. I am Gwynevere, Daughter of Lord Gwyn, and Queen of Sunlight. Since the day Father did his Light obscure from the world, I have await'd thee."

Something caught in Nemeta's throat. "You knew I was coming?" she said.

Gwynevere laughed lightly, smiling indulgently at the girl. "A gift, I have for thee."

The Princess motioned to a golden bowl sitting on a cloth between them. Drawing encouragement from the goddess' eyes, Nemeta shifted forward, and took the bowl into her hands.

"To thine worthy hands I bequeath the Lordvessel," said Gwynevere. "Chosen Undead, I beseech of thee: Succeed Lord Gwyn, and inheriteth the Fire of our world. Thou shalt endeth this eternal twilight, and free the Undead of this realm their terrible burden."

"Inherit the fire..." breathed Nemeta. Tears fell unbidden from her eyes, and Gwynevere reached out a massive hand to stroke her cheek.

If one were to ask Nemeta precisely what it was that she so admired about Gwynevere, she would have babbled excitedly about her pretty face, and her perfect skin, and her glowing smile, and her rich voice, and her immaculate teeth, and her beautiful silk robes, and her effortless grace, and the way that she smelled of soap and bath salts. But there was something more important than any of these, something that Nemeta understood on a fundamental sense, but would never be able to articulate in words.

The moment she set eyes upon Gwynevere, Nemeta knew at once that all the suffering that she had endured these past few months had a meaning. She had been afflicted with the Darksign. She had been torn from her mother and father. She had been left to rot alone and forgotten in a crumbling prison. She had lost her life over and over, and forced to reside in a desicated corpse. She had been banished to a forsaken land, forced to survive against the deranged, ravenous Hollowed, left wondering if anyone would ever remember her, and spare a thought for her torment.

But she was the Chosen One, now. For Nemeta, Gwynevere brought the most gratifying feeling of validation.She would not die forgotten. The horrors to which she had been exposed were not for naught. Her anguish would not be in vain. Nemeta had fought her way to the heart of Anor Londo, and there Gwynevere had confirmed her most closely-held belief, the belief that had kept her going through her darkest times.

Nemeta was special.

Gwynevere, the Princess of Sunlight, gazed fondly upon her Saviour. "Hereafter, I, Gwynevere, shall serveth as thine guardian. If thou so needest, I shalt devote all to thine own safety. May thou be one with the sunlight for evermore."

()()()()()()()()()()()

Nemeta bounded gaily into the church, and landed on her knees at Rhea's side.

"I'm going to be the new Queen of Sunlight!"

Rhea had been deep in prayer before the altar. Her hands remained clasped, and her knees remained firmly fixed to the ground, but her head tilted towards the other girl. "I beg your pardon?" she asked, her voice somewhat groggy.

"I'm going to be the new Queen of Sunlight!"

Nemeta peered at Rhea's face, impatiently waiting for confusion and bewilderment to change to understanding and comprehension, and then happiness and excitement on her behalf. To her consternation, Rhea remained obstinately befuddled. "I'm afraid I do not understand you."

"I'm going to replace Lord Gwyn, Rhea. I'm going to end the Undead curse!"

Rhea grimaced uncomfortably. "I am indeed grateful to have you as my friend, Nemeta, but how vulgar to utter such blasphemies in a place of worship."

"It's not blasphemy, Rhea! I met Gwynevere in Anor Londo. The Princess of Sunlight! She gave me this..."

Nemeta unveiled the Lordvessel; Rhea was unhelpfully unimpressed. "She told me to use this to replace Lord Gwyn. Somehow. I'm not sure how it works. I think Frampt will be able to explain it to me. But I'm going to be the new Queen of Sunlight, Rhea! I'm going to free the Undead!"

The two knelt in silence for a moment, and Rhea wondered if Nemeta would take her leave and allow her to pray in peace. Then, without warning, Nemeta squealed with glee.

"When I'm the Queen of Sunlight, Anor Londo will be my city! Oh, Rhea! I'll have my own city!"

()()()()()()()()()()()

Such clever little ways Blighttown had of reminding Quelana what a faithless, ungrateful coward she was.

Ironically, when Quelana originally came here, the anonymity that the place afforded her convinced her that yes, she could survive by herself; that no, she did not need her mother and sisters to be happy. In Blighttown, she no longer needed to be Quelana, the selfish deserter that abandoned her family. In Blighttown, she no longer needed to be Quelana, surrounded by sisters that were so very much more impressive and accomplished than she. In Blighttown, she no longer needed to be Quelana, the constant disappointment to a mother that was cursed to have known her.

In Blighttown, Quelana was just a solitary woman, eking out an existence amid the marsh. The predators that ruled over the waters hunted her relentlessly, and she killed them, one after another, until eventually their disease-addled minds managed to comprehend that the witch in black robes was not to be crossed. She seldom had dealings with the human inhabitants of the place, though she did come to know a few lovers, over the centuries – the inhabitants of Blighttown had not always been so hideous.

Quelana lived in her swamp, happy to be known as nothing other than a formidable, bad-tempered sorceress. And then Izalith was torn asunder by an enormous cataclysm, and Quelaag and Quelaan escaped into her realm.

Throughout all the years that Quelana kept a home in Blighttown, she had never felt a particularly pressing need to help her neighbours. The swamp was the abode of lepers, castoffs and mutants, but their misery had never been sufficient compulsion for her to intervene. When Quelaan – the Witch of Izalith's youngest and most cloyingly eager-to-please daughter – arrived in Blighttown, however, she resolved at once to help the poor and impoverished souls of this wretched hole.

"She drank their pus?" cried Nemeta, appalled.

"The correct term for it is sympathetic magic," replied Quelana. "She took their suffering upon herself. The symbolic act of drinking their tainted blood was so...vivid, that it was only natural that their actual pain and torment was transferred to her."

Now, everywhere Quelana went, she heard talk of the Fair Lady that brought salvation to Blighttown – however fleeting and meaningless such salvation was.

"The Fair Lady is the most precious blessing we poor folk have ever had!" said the residents of Blighttown, not knowing that Quelana was in the shadows, listening to them.

"The Fair Lady granted us an audience!" said the residents of Blighttown, unaware that Quelana was eavesdropping. "So beautiful, and so kind-hearted, though the disease causes her such distress!"

"We must not let despair overcome us!" said the residents of Blighttown, oblivious to the fact that Quelana was near, seething with impotent rage and self-loathing. "The Fair Lady has sacrificed so much for us. We must be strong for her sake!"

Fair Lady this, Fair Lady that. Mother's Favourite Daughter simply couldn't allow Mother's Most Shameful Failure to forget how perfect was the former, and how crushingly underwhelming was the latter. Quelana wondered if there was some way to make the mosquitoes hum louder and louder, never tiring, so she could drown out the din of praise. In this swamp, platitudes were almost as pervasive as poisonous fumes.

Not even Quelaag was exempt. The locals had a far more ambivalent view of her, though Quelana bitterly noted that they were determined to acknowledge her positive qualities.

"Well, Lady Quelaag has a quick temper, indeed. She doesn't suffer fools at all. Oh, but she loves her sister so! Devotes all of her strength to protecting and comforting her! The Fair Lady is blessed indeed to have such a wonderful sister!"

Yes, thought Quelana, her eyes narrowing. Such a wonderful, dutiful sister. Lucky indeed for Fair Lady that Quelaag isn't as shiftless and cold-hearted as their miserable sister Quelana, isn't it!

Eventually, Quelaag fell to Nemeta's sorcery. Quelana could not know for sure, but she was quite certain that Quelaan was still alive. She knew for a fact that Quelaan lived in a secret chamber, where she was tended to by Eingyi, her retainer. The chamber could only be reached by uncovering a carefully concealed passage.

"Nemeta never mentioned anything about finding Quelaan," Quelana said to the flies buzzing about her. "I suppose it's only natural that such a foolish girl would fail to discover a secret passage. She was probably too occupied with powdering her nose to notice a hidden switch."

Quelana ventured through the swamp, and stood opposite the colossal, silken mound where Quelaan resided. Quelaag had lived there, also, until Nemeta had slain her. Quelana peered across the water, and found the opening which led into the Fair Lady's domain.

Perhaps Quelaan was alive. Perhaps she was dead. Perhaps Eingyl was able to care for her in Quelaag's absence. Perhaps Eingyi had killed her himself, as an act of mercy. Perhaps Nemeta had discovered and killed her after all, but didn't want to mention anything to Quelana on account of the fact that she was crippled and helpless.

Perhaps Eingyi himself was dead, and Quelaan was alone in the dark, weak and abandoned.

So many possibilities. All Quelana had to do was walk across a hundred paces of water, and she would be at the periphery of her sisters' domain. Once inside, she need only make her way through a few caves and chambers. She need only turn a switch, and then enter the resultant passage, and she would finally know the fate of her most innocent, most warm-hearted sister. She needed only find the courage for the first few steps.

Quelana turned away, and vanished back into the marsh. She wondered if the insects had brought any new news of Nemeta.

()()()()()()()()()()()

"When I'm the Queen of Sunlight," said Nemeta, "you will be my Royal Blacksmith. You'll forge the weapons for all of my most important knights, and your work will be renowned throughout the kingdoms."

Andrei laughed his infectious, grit-flecked laugh. "Should I be surprised that you've already planned out this dominion o' yourn in detail?"

"Rhea of Thorolund will be my archbishop!" she said, brightly. "And Laurentius will be my Master of Ceremonies. He'll be responsible for firework displays. And I will found a new order of knights with onion-shaped helmets, in honour of Sir Siegmeyer!"

"Well, a fine queen you'll make, I've no doubt. If you want my view, though, it does seem an awful lot to be taking on." Taking one last blow with his hammer, he rested a forearm on one knee, and raised one abundantly bushy eyebrow. "How certain are you you'd want to be queen?"

Nemeta shrugged. "The curse of the Darksign has to be broken. The Undead need me to release them."

"You don't owe the Undead anything. Not me, not anyone. Now, don't misunderstand. No one is saying we live charmed lives. Hell, when a customer doesn't come this way for a few weeks, I find it's safest to just assume they went Hollow, poor bloody souls the lot of 'em. But it's not your doing that we're cursed."

"Gwynevere has been waiting in her fortress up above for centuries," replied Nemeta. "Just think: if, merely a century ago, someone had come along and taken Gwyn's place – as I intend to do – you'd be in Astora now, and I'd still have my mother and father."

()()()()()()()()()()()

Quelana heard the squealch of feet upon mud, and sighed. Something was stalking her across the marsh, attempting to approach her from behind, though not doing a particularly good job of concealing its presence. She allowed her would-be assailant to draw near, close enough to believe that it had her within its grasp, and at the last moment whirled around, a mass of glowing lava forming in her palm.

"You foolish thing!" she hissed. "I could have burnt you to ash."

Nemeta pouted, and said: "I thought that if I could sneak up on you, I could pull down your cowl and get a look at your diseased, pustule-ridden face."

"You'd have gotten more than that." She appraised the girl a moment. "Hmmm. I see you've found a halfway-practical set of clothes, at last."

Nemeta was attired now much like a witch, the type of witch that children dress up as during autumn festivals, all black with a pointed, wide-brimmed hat. Quelana was relieved to note that her student was finally wearing a reliable pair of boots, and robes thick enough to protect her from the cold – though she had an unpleasant feeling that Nemeta favoured the outfit rather for the stylish leather and velvet, and the way it flattered her figure.

Quelana settled down onto the ground. "Ready for more lessons?" she said.

"Mmm. I'm not sure. I have some news for you, and it may not put you in the best mood."

"You intend to slay my mother."

Nemeta's eyes grew wide. "Who...you know about the Lordvessel? How?"

"I have my ways of keeping informed." As she spoke, Quelana traced patterns in the dust with an idle finger. "You have been tasked with filling the Lordvessel with the souls of four Lords. Nito, the Gravelord. Seath, the Duke of Anor Londo. The Kings of New Londo. And the Witch of Izalith. My mother."

She glanced up. Nemeta was desperately, frantically trying to think of something to say.

"Don't let it bother you. Not on my account. You've enough to trouble you, without having to worry about the feelings of some old coward."

Nemeta swallowed deeply. "I won't be going off into Izalith for a while, anyway. The blacksmith up above is forging a special weapon for me – a blessed sword which destroys revenants – and when it's ready, I'm going down into the catacombs to look for the Gravelord. And I'm thinking of going after Seath, after that. The Duke's Archives look really magnificent. I'm actually hoping that if I kill the Duke, I can move camp there. It would be a lot more comfortable than Firelink. It will be nice to live in a place with carpets again..."

Quelana nodded. "Very well. You can't avoid my mother forever, though."

Nemeta frowned. "I'm not avoiding her." A moment's pause, and then: "Won't you miss her, when she's gone?"

Quelana shrugged. "My mother and sisters have been gone for a long, long time. A thousand years, I had, Nemeta. I lived in this swamp for a thousand years, and not once did I find the strength or the courage to kill my mother. To release her from her torment. She's spent a millennium trapped in that hideous, warped form, all because her daughter couldn't find it within herself to free her."

Quelana glanced again at her pupil, and was surprised to see that the girl appeared entirely exhausted. With astonishment, Quelana realized that the actual act of caring for another person's feelings was so unfamiliar to this young, spoiled, sheltered girl, that it literally sapped away all of her strength. Now completely fatigued, Nemeta had had enough, and reflexively switched the conversation back to herself.

"Poor Salaman would be so distressed to learn that he's soon to be surpassed as your most famous student."

"You already surpassed him as my most bungling, some time ago," said Quelana.

"When I'm the Queen of Sunlight," said Nemeta, "I'm going to have my family brought here, to Lordran. They all think I'm a rotting corpse, by now. Just imagine their expressions when they find out I'm a goddess! I'll accommodate them all in a castle, and I'll put pictures of myself in all the rooms. Oh, but even when I'm queen, you'll still be too stubborn to leave this swamp, won't you? I could give you your own school, if you wanted, and it would be the most prestigious school in the world, but you'll stay here, won't you, just to spite me."

Nemeta chattered on, and Quelana faced her and gave the girl what she craved and desired more than anything else, what she could not find anywhere else in Lordran: her full, unconditional attention.