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

Chapter 3

Nemeta materialized in the hall, and Lautrec smiled his hungry, predatory smile.

"You must surely be the most restless Undead in all of Lordran," he drawled. "Were you not charged by divine authority with lifting the curse? Do you really have time to be chasing after inconsequential rapscallions such as myself?"

Nemeta strode across the floor towards him, and Lautrec snorted at her primness, her properness, her excruciating righteousness. "You murdered the Fire Keeper," she said. "Do you think the world so devoid of good folk, that thieves and killers such as yourself can roam with impunity?"

Lautrec let loose with that filthy, lascivious laugh, and Nemeta involuntarily blanched; not long ago, that very same laugh could reduce her to appalled, scandalized giggling. "Good folk?" he roared. "Oh, how precious. May I ask, if justice is so important to you, could you not have dispatched some of your good, virtuous friends to pursue me instead, while you got on with the presumably more important task of linking the flames? The pyromancer, perhaps? Or that insufferable sun worshipper?"

Lautrec put a thoughtful finger to his chin. "Oh, but you don't really care for justice, do you? I watched you, you know, each time you returned to Firelink from your adventures. I remember how you would rummage about for praise and acclaim. You can tell when a woman is searching for compliments. Glory is what you seek, is it not?"

"The Fire Keeper outwitted you." Nemeta reached into her robes, and brought forth a sphere of obsidian glass. "She must have known that you intended to kill her. She must have had the measure of you before the rest of us did. She left something hidden on her body, something for me to find. I used this orb to track you. She made sure that her murder would be avenged."

Lautrec laughed once more. "No, my adorable, clueless little lamb," he said. "She sealed your fate."

Two glowing figures took form at either side of Lautrec, and readied themselves for battle. A mage, and a hefting great fellow with a spear, thought Nemeta. The scoundrel is right; I should have sent the others.

Darting to the side, Nemeta vanished behind a pillar just as the air became thick with blazing spears of magic. "Fear not, my little innocent!" she could hear him shouting. "I'll let you taste a few moments of depravity before your life ends!"

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

For a thousand years, Quelana wandered the swamps of Lordran, consumed with guilt and horror at the fate of her mother and sisters, warped and twisted into horrible abominations in the conflaguration that destroyed Izalith. The trouble with this was that, when you live so long dwelling on regret and remorse, you begin to perceive everything around you in terms of the embarrassment and humiliation that it might potentially cause you in the future.

Quelana could have left the swamp whenever she wanted. A thousand years ago, she could have gone to live in the civilization of Oolacile, or Vinheim, and made a new life for herself. Much later, she could have gone to live in Astora, or Thorolund, or Carim, and made a home there. But why bother? It would always end the same way. It would always end in grief and madness, and when she inevitably returned to her true home – Lordran – she would have nothing to show for her troubles but a fresh set of tainted memories to torment and torture her.

Quelana wanted to kiss Nemeta. Such a simple action, and yet it would answer so many questions, banish so many uncertainties. Such an easy thing to do. Nemeta was naturally a grasping, touching, familiar creature, with little concept of propriety, so fond of snatching at Quelana's hands, or looping her arms around her neck or waist. It would be so easy for Quelana to wait until her student was close, and then simply lean forward and capture her mouth with her own.

Perhaps Nemeta would smile, and politely explain that, though she valued Quelana as a teacher, mentor, and even a friend, she could not return her affections.

Perhaps Nemeta would ignore it, and babble and prattle as though nothing had happened.

Or perhaps Nemeta would laugh at her. She would stare at her in amazement, and then begin laughing, and Quelana would finally realize – would finally, truly understand – what a wretched, pathetic, lonely old crone she was.

Nemeta would vanish and never come back, and Quelana would remain in Blighttown. She would spend another thousand years wandering this cursed swamp, and alongside the memories of her mother and sisters misshapen by the flames, she would have a new memory to fester within her: the memory of a beautiful, vibrant young girl, laughing mockingly at the deluded old fool that believed she deserved her.

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

When Nemeta returned to Firelink, she could not tell at once that something was wrong. The place was a crumbling, forsaken shambles to begin with, and so Nemeta thought nothing of the patches of singed grass, or the burn marks on stone, but went immediately to the Fire Keeper's cell.

Nemeta did not know how to resurrect a dead woman. Nor, however, did she understand how she was able to restore her own Hollowed flesh from the flames; nor how to consume souls to make herself stronger; not how to sacrifice human essence to the flames to kindle them. And yet, she did all these things. In Lordran, Nemeta had learned, understanding and comprehension weren't always particularly important. Intuition was what mattered, and now her intuition was telling her that she could bring this murdered girl back to life.

Nemeta returned the Fire Keeper's soul to its rotting flesh. Lights danced around the corpse's form, and then the entire body was shrouded in a peculiar flame. When the fire eventually abated, the Fire Keeper pushed herself groggily to her knees, and looked about, blinking.

"Hello!" said Nemeta, smiling brightly. "Don't be afraid! You're safe now. Lautrec is dead. I tracked him down to Anor Londo. I killed him, and took your soul back, and, well, here you are!"

Part of Nemeta – the mature part, the part of her that had become steadily stronger ever since she was imprisoned in the Undead Asylum – thought: She's confused. She's frightened. Can she hear me? Can she understand me? Might she be in pain? Does she clearly remember what took place before? What would put her at ease? Getting her out of that cell would be a good start, though Frampt told me she's free to leave whenever she wishes. Does she have a good friend in Lordran, someone who might comfort her? Perhaps she just needs rest...

The other part of Nemeta – the part that had been nurtured for years of pampering and spoiling by an overprotective father and mother, the part that refused to die – thought: Why isn't she thanking me?

The Fire Keeper seemed especially befuddled by something in her mouth, and after a moment Nemeta realized that the girl's tongue had been restored, and she could now speak – an ability with which she was evidently unpracticed.

"Th-thank you," she said, at last, and if the spoiled child within Nemeta had been any stronger, she would have burst out laughing at the inexpert pronunciation. Luckily, the adult Nemeta wrestled the child into submission.

"You can speak! What's your name?"

"I...I am Anastacia, of Ast – Astora."

"Hmmm, Astora...I'm from Vinheim. Anastacia, have the rest of your wounds healed? Do you think you can leave the cell? It would give the others such a surprise to see you walking about!"

Unexpectedly, Anastacia grimaced bitterly, her eyes sinking to the ground. "Forgive me," she said, her voice trembling. "My...my tongue is impure. I wish d-dearly not to offend. Please, do not...I wish not to speak."

Anastacia bowed her head in dejection. "Oh," said Nemeta.

A few moments passed in silence, Anastacia hunched unmoving in the shadows. Then, Nemeta gasped with glee, and the Fire Keeper looked up, astonished.

"With your tongue restored, you can taste again! Solaire and Andrei built a makeshift oven on the other side of the shrine! Ooh! Do you like lemon cakes?"

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

When Nemeta returned to the main part of the ruins, Laurentius came jogging up to her. "The bonfire's come back to life!" he said.

"I know," said Nemeta, self-satisfied. "I killed Lautrec, and returned the Fire Keeper's soul to her. She's down in her cell. Her name's Anastacia."

Laurentius did not gaze admiringly at her, or clap her on the back, or utter some congratulatory platitude, or otherwise praise her. He just stared at her, uncomprehending, and the spoiled child kicked and pounded on the floor, screaming: No one in Lordran appreciates me!

"I resurrected the Fire Keeper," said Nemeta, again; slowly, this time, so that the slow-witted pyromancer could understand. "I found Lautrec, and took her soul back."

"Oh yeah, yeah!" said Laurentius, finally absorbing the information. "Good, good. Now, it's just...we had a bit of excitement ourselves, while you were gone. There was a bit of a brouhaha here at the ruins."

"What happened?" said Nemeta.

"Those dancing sorcerers attacked us. Yeah. Weird blokes. They just came and started firing spells at us. It was pretty hairy, actually. There were about a dozen of them. I've never seen so many of them."

The dancing sorcerers...the bizarre, occult magicians that seemed out-of-place even in such a twisted, chaotic hellhole as this. Nemeta remembered them, remembered their cruel tridents and their strange, six-eyed helms.

"Was anyone hurt?" she asked.

"Well, that magician fellow – what's his name, Griggs – he had a bit of an injury, but he'll be alright. We saw 'em off, eventually. I had my pyromancy, and we had two other magicians, so...oh, and Frampt ate one of them, also..."

An indistinct fear began to gnaw at the periphery of Nemeta's awareness. "Rhea," she said. "Is Rhea all right?"

Laurentius' eyes flicked to the sky. "Rhea..." he said. "Rhea..."

Nemeta sighed. "The girl dressed all in white! She follows the Way of the White! She stays in the church, away from the rest of us. Is she safe?"

"Oh, yeah, Rhea! Yeah, we should have checked her, actually..."

Nemeta groaned deeply. It was seemingly too much to ask people to look after one another; apparently the Undead came to Lordran to wallow in their obsessions, and ignore everything else. "I have to make sure she's safe," Nemeta said, turning away.

"I have been to the church."

Ingward, the healer of New Londo, emerged through an archway. "The maiden Rhea is nowhere to be found."

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

The trouble with Nemeta, Quelana thought, is that she wants a mother.

Give the little rascal her due. She is strong, and resilient, and brave, and none of her foolishness or impudence can negate that. But even the hardships of this realm could not banish the little child within her; not entirely. She craves encouragement. She craves approval. She craves comfort, and attention, and affirmation.

Is that the significance that I hold for her? Am I a mother, a replacement for the one she left far, far away, in Thorolund? Does she desire nothing more from me than guidance, and wisdom, and some fleeting, illusory sense of belonging?

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

Nemeta, Laurentius, Griggs, Ingward, Solaire and Sieglinde gathered about the bonfire. Big Hat Logan sat off to the side, lest his lessers got the impression that they were somehow his equal.

"First, we need to find Rhea," said Nemeta. "And then we need to find a new camp. Firelink is too dangerous."

"Those sorcerers made off with the most vulnerable amongst us," said Solaire. "I fear that, if they decide to return, their designs will be on young Anastacia..."

"We could set a trap..." ventured Laurentius.

"And young Rhea remains in their clutches while we lie in wait?" replied Ingward.

"We need to find their lair," said Griggs. "It may be helpful to first set out a list of places where we have encountered them..."

"They show up everywhere," said Sieglinde, her voice bouncing around within the walls of her massive helmet.

"After months in this forsaken land, I thought I knew Lordran so well." said Solaire, despairing. "Where could they be?"

The answer came from above. From the branches high over their heads, a voice, breathless and urgent. "Snuggly knows! Snuggly knows! Dancing men! Many eyes, looking, looking! Snuggly saw! Snuggly saw!"

Off in the corner, Logan moaned. "Splendid," he said, his face stubbornly concealed by the massive brim of his hat. "The raven knows, and now expects to be bribed with another worthless trinket."

Nemeta called up to the giant raven. "Did you see the sorcerers leaving Firelink, Snuggly? Did they have Rhea with them?"

The bird gave a shrill squawk. "White lady! Shy lady! Bawk! They, took shy lady. Crying! Crying!"

"Oh, and you didn't think to rescue her?" Logan, again.

"Master Logan, a bird is especially vulnerable against magic," said Griggs. "Especially a bird of that size. They would have shot her out of the sky."

"Did you see where they took her?" said Nemeta.

"Bawk! Books and crystals! Books and crystals! Snuggly saw!"

"The Archives..." said several in unison.

Logan gave a spirited chortle. "Well, it seems the raven has its uses, after all. And it appears that Seath the Scaleless, the Duke of Anor Londo, has made the way forward obvious. To free young Rhea of Thorolund, we must venture to the Regal Archives, and slay her captor – claiming his domain for our own. The Archives are a far more fitting camp than this derelict ruin. They can be easily defended, and we will of course have ownership of Seath's magnificent collection of books..."

"What could Seath the Scaleless want with an innocent girl like Rhea?" said Sieglinde.

"We could ask him, I suppose," said Laurentius.

"I would have fought Seath, eventually," said Nemeta. "We may as well confront him now, before he he can hurt anyone else."

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

Sometimes, Quelana is convinced that Nemeta is trying to seduce her.

Nemeta loves to seize hold of her Mistress' fingers, for no other reason than to have them in her grasp. Nemeta loves to wordlessly challenge her teacher to hold her student's gaze. Nemeta loves to talk about husbands that she may have in the future, all the while watching her tutor in a sideways manner to observe her reaction.

Why is she doing this, other than to entice me? Well, it should be obvious. The girl is ravenous for attention. Is this a game to her?

Once, Nemeta asked to wash Quelana's feet with a bottle of oil that she bought from a merchant from Zena. "Why ever would you wish to do that?"

"It's a Vinheim tradition," replied Nemeta, and from the glint in her eyes Quelana was mostly certain that she was lying, though she was not nearly well-traveled enough to be sure. "It shows respect for your elders."

Nemeta wanders all over Lordran, battling ancient demons, unraveling age-old secrets, and uncovering domains that have gone untouched by the sun for aeons. Meanwhile, Quelana abides far below in her swamp, agonizing over unclear intentions, and half-remembered conversations, and stolen glances that might or might not have taken place; in Blighttown, the light is rather poor.

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

Kingseeker Frampt watched as Nemeta entered his chamber. His sonorous voice reverberated throughout Firelink: "How fares your quest, Chosen Undead?"

"Well, you'll be pleased to know that I'll soon be adding Seath's soul to the Lordvessel...actually, I have to ask you a favour. It's very important..."

"Ask, then."

"When Seath is dead, we'll be using the Archive as our new camp." Jolly occupation, Solaire called it. "Now, I could ask Anastacia to leave her flame, and come with us...but I know there's no point."

"Indeed," said Frampt. "The Fire Keeper has suffered much during her life, and it is her duty to the flame that has sustained her."

And entrapped her. "I would like to be sure that you will protect her, when we're gone."

Frampt straightened himself, an act that Nemeta found both dignified and hilarious at the same time. "Allow no concern for your friend to distract you from your destiny," he intoned. "I, Frampt, will allow no harm to be inflicted upon the Fire Keeper."

You didn't stop Lautrec from killing her, thought Nemeta. Were you dozing, then, too?

But there was nothing else she could do. "Thank you," she said, and then she left and rejoined the rest, as they planned their assault on the Duke's Archives.