The high, weak voice rings through the throne room, seemingly emanating from a pile of blankets. The torn, ashen pile of purple cloth shifts, and a cracked face peeks through. Deathly pale, it looks to have once been youthful, though gaunt.
A large, white hand with unnaturally long fingers gestures as the voice-presumeably male- continues speaking.
"Mind you, the mantle of lord interests me none. To that end..." He gestures to the man across from Sær, a crippled wretch of a giant. "This is where you die. Lorian! Show this fool the power of a lord!"
With suprising speed, Lorian dives forward, his greatsword glowing as it cracks the marble that was beneath Sær's feet. He strafes around the giant, twirling his Aquamarine Dagger and elongating the blade in a flash of crystal.
With a deft flick, he lunges toward the leather strap fastening his opponent's armor, partially covered by plate. The blade sinks into his shoulder, yet Lorian remains silent. With a mighty heave, he lifts his greatsword, falling backwards and slamming the blade into Sær, who attempts to block it with his blade.
The force of the blow sends him tumbling, his crystal blade shattering under the pressure and allowing Lorian to lightly slice through his upper chest. Sær lands painfully, dazed and bleeding. The glowing-hot blade cauterized the worst of the cut, so he opts not to use estus.
Groaning, he raises his head to see Lorian's blade slam into the floor, sending a wave of fire hurling towards him. He fishes through his pouch frantically as the wave looms in front of him. His hands close around a fluffy talisman of crossbreed fur and he holds it high, closing his eyes and focusing all of his thought on casting Force.
Snow swirls around his boots, raising slowly and forming a tornado of ice shards. With a roar, he sends it hurtling toward Lorian, the ice orange from the glow of the wall of flame. The small blizzard crashes into the flame in an explosion of steam, the two forces evenly matched.
The steam swirls throughout the throne room, creating a blurry haze of heat.
Sær quickly pads across the floor, praying that he wouldn't be unfortunate enough to run headlong into the lumbering giant.
His foot catches a step, and he stumbles forward onto a staircase, the noise echoing across the chamber. He holds still, barely daring to breathe for fear of being found.
Suddenly, an orange glow lights up the center of the room. A high pitched whistle echoes off the walls, and a moment later, a massive plume of flame reaches skyward, waving away the steam and scorching the stone ceiling. Lorian is at the epicenter of the blast, his head cocked, focused. He grunts, and swivels his head to lock on to Sær, despite the crown melded to his flesh obscuring his vision.
The otherworldly intuition and jerky, shuddering movements of the elder prince send a shiver down Sær's spine, and he scrambles up the staircase.
This battle is not his.
Lorian follows him with more speed than apparently possible, launching himself forward and clawing at the ground as he gives chase to the little intruder.
The stairs are massive, twisting every which way and branching out at least a dozen times. Sær picks them at random, hoping desperately that each new one would not lead him to a dead end. He rounds aa final corner and is blinded by by the setting sun. All of a sudden, his foot falls out from underneath him, and he realizes much too late that the stone bridge is crumbling, sending him tubling down below.
Time seems to slow, Sær's heart dropping into his stomach. The wind rushes through his ears, and shards of stone cut his skin as he falls.
He hears the unmistakable sound of rocks clanging off of terra cotta, and looks down to see an angled plane of shingles rushing up to meet him.
He hears a sickening Crunch, and a torrent of pain sweeps along his shoulder and into his chest. The fingers of his good hand scrabble for purchase as he slides down the roof, mercifully finding a handhold on a broken tile.
Lorian charges through the staircases, dragging himself along like a man possessed. The faint echoes of the intruder's footsteps are still imprinted in his mind, and the clanging of his armor bounces off the walls, guiding him. He rounds a corner, and a blast of fresh air hits him, driving him forward with renewed vigor.
A shadow passes over Sær, and moments later the massive man slams down onto the roof, his ruined legs taking the brunt of the fall. With a growl, he lifts his sword once more, jabbing viciously at Sær. Dodging the heavy blade, he clumsily swings his own at Lorian's head, only for the flat of the blade to smack against his helm harmlessly. Quickly retreating, he stops at the sound of a pained groan coming from the giant. Looking back, he sees the cripple clutching his ears, shaking his head in pain.
An idea forms in Sær's head, and he quickly bolts across the roof, chugging estus while his bones pop and reset themselves. Heavy scraping and the clinking of plate tells him Lorian is not far behind. With a renewed burst of speed, Sær heads towards the wall of the north bell tower, kicking off of it and propelling himself upwards. His hands grasp the lanky limb of a gargoyle not a moment before Lorian slams into the wall, roaring with frustration. Sær quickly clambers up the ledge, kicking off of the wall once more and grasping the chain keeping the bell suspended.
Slowly, he rocks back and forth to gain momentum, and the bell gradually starts to swing, emitting a bone rattlingclang at the peak of each arc. Satisfied, Sær puts his Aquamarine Dagger through the thick chain link.
"I don't believe we've met, Prince Lorian," Sær calls down. "Have we? My name is Sær. RING ANY BELLS!?" With that final word, he pours his magic into the dagger, and a crystal forms around the blade, snapping the chain link in two. The bell flies in a perfect arc, the air still and heavy with anticipation.
Sær had timed it's launch perfectly. The great brass bell, easily weighing half-a-Priscilla, slams into Lorian with a loud GO-GOOOONG! The elder prince is flung bodily through the air, unconscious from the noise overwhelming his hearing. He flies through the air through one of the throne room's ornate stained glass windows, slumping against the railing inside, dangerously close to falling to his doom.
Sær groans, muttering to himself. "You're lucky I'm such a nice person, you blind, crippled bastard."
With that he launches himself from the bell tower, rolling as he hits the tiles. Wasting no time, he whips out his crossbreed talisman, casting as many Fall Control spells on the big lummox as his mana would allow. With a final burst of speed, he dives over the railing just as Lorian starts to plummet, adjusting his body so the both of them fall spread-eagled.
With a mighty crash, the two slam onto the throne room floor, the spell mercifully saving them from death. Sær looks up to see an astonished Lothric in the middle of eating a single, juicy grape.
"Fall Control?" He whispers. "You... You saved him?"
Lothric quickly teleports to his brother's side, checking for a pulse. "Oh, brother..." He whispers. "Heed my words: rise, and take arms once more, for that... Is our curse. Lorian stirs, groggily pushing himself to his knees as Lothric cups his face gently. "Brother," he breaths, like a prayer. In but a moment, their lips are locked, passionately exploring each other's mouths.
Sær's eyes widen. "Riiiiiight... I'll be on my way now..."
"Stranger, wait!" Lothric cries, prying loose from Lorian. "What are you doing here? At least let us repay this mercy."
"I climbed the Arch Trees," Sær replies. "From a realm far below. More people still are displaced, not in the same world of their birth. I seek answers."
"A world below...?" Lothric whispers. "Lorian! Prepare a lift near the Arch Trees." He turns to Sær.
"There is much to tell, and not much time to tell it. We shall speak on the way."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The last week had been hell.
Not because of the arduous, days-long climb, nor the rain, cold, hollows, or crippled princes. No, those trials paled in comparison to the hardest part of it all.
No Priscilla.
Sleep had come fitfully for Sær, often waking every few hours with further rest eluding him. There were no shortage of comfortable beds in Lothric, what with the city being largely empty, many citizens long since fled the hollow menace. But no matter how tightly he wrapped the blankets around himself, no matter how many fur coats he wrapped around the pillows, no substitute even came close to Priscilla.
As one could imagine, the lift hadn't even touched the ground before Sær flings himself into his lovely wife's waiting arms. The rest of the group shifts awkwardly, slightly envious. To be so free and open with one's love is not an easy thing, yet it seems to come easy to Priscilla and Sær.
"Well," the Doll says, appearing to blush slightly. "I shall begin making supper. Lady Firekeeper, will you help me with the stew? It needs to be tended to while I cut the vegetables."
The Firekeeper gives a small curtsy, then takes the Doll's hand to be led up to the Workshop. Priscilla's ears perk up, and she trots over to the pair. "Ah! Can I help, miss Karina? I do so love cooking!"
"I'm afraid there are no tasks suited to you, what with your size, Lady Priscilla," the Doll responds apologetically. Priscilla wilts. She glances at Sær, who is regaling the other men (and Maria) with a recount of his fight with the princes.
The Doll motions to Priscilla to lean down. The gentle giantess complies, and the Doll whispers in her ear. "Please pamper Master Sær as much as you are able," she says with a smile. "The poor boy looks likely to burst into tears at any moment." She pets Priscilla's arm, squeezing it reassuringly. "He needs you right now; being away from you looks to have taken quite a toll on him."
Priscilla looks worriedly to her husband, a sad look staining her cute features. "Truly? I... I did not know it was so bad..."
"I know you were abandoned for quite a long time," the Doll says. "But for whatever reason, it seems that he is much insecure than you, and this separation has affected him much worse."
Priscilla moans sadly. "Poor Sær..." Her expression quickly turns to one of frustration and sadness. "What kind of wife am I," she whispers. "To have let him go alone..."
The Doll shakes her head, tucking an errant strand of the crossbreed's snow white hair behind her ear. "He insisted," she reminds her. "But it matters not, now. Just give him love 'til our departure on the morrow."
"I will." Priscilla nods solemnly. She gives the Doll a heartwarming smile, as radiant and as grossly incandescent as the sun. "Thank you, miss Karina," she says, leaning forward and pecking her cheek, her lips leaving a faint trace of warmth on the Doll's face. Normally, such a display of affection from a near-stranger would spark her ire, but Priscilla has a childlike innocence, a sense of wonder that she can't help but be drawn to. This strange and fluffy girl is something special, to be sure, she thinks.
Priscilla, meanwhile, trots happily toward her Sær. In one swift movement, she sweeps his feet out from under him, scooping him up and hugging him like a stuffed plaything. "I'll tell you the rest later!" He yells to the trio. Priscilla carries him over to the great tree, laying upon the wooden platform tucked neatly behind it, sheltered on three sides. The sound of the wind is muffled as she settles into the large feather-bed the Hunter had procured for her, her tail thumping happily as she sinks into it.
Purring, she pulls Sær up to her and lovingly nuzzles his face, kissing it all over while she speaks softly to him.
"I missed you."
Smooch.
"I love you."
Smooch.
"I couldn't stand being away from you."
Smooch, smooch, smooch, smooch.
Sær's face tingles pleasurably as Priscilla lavishes it with her kisses. "Priscilla, what's gotten into you?"
She doesn't respond, instead choosing to playfully nip at his ear before ghosting her lips over his sensitive neck and upper back. Sær sighs in ecstasy, his questions-and troubles- flowing out of him like water from a broken dam. Her large hands gently rub his torso, wandering north every so often to lovingly stroke his face. Pleasured groans spill from Sær's mouth, and she can't help but giggle at seeing him so relaxed.
"Do you remember," Priscilla says softly. "Our first night together?"
Sær chuckles. "You started screaming at me within ten seconds of our first meeting, and by the end of the day we were cuddling for warmth."
"You were so cold," she giggles. "Like a cute little ice cube."
"A handsome little ice cube," Sær corrects her. They both laugh softly. His smile slowly fades. "You were so starved for company... Even though I barely knew you, it still broke my heart."
"And that is how I knew you were a wonderful person," Priscilla replies. "To so readily share bread and bed with a crossbreed, and one as large as me... T'was as if you saw naught but a woman, a fellow person."
"Of which you are both. You just have a little extra, that's all." Sær smiles, snuggling up closer to her, pulling up her fluffy wing on her right arm to use as a blanket. "You are special, the only one of your kind. Ostracized and alone in such a strange place for so long, yet still sweet as candy... There are very few who could go through what you have and still end up so loving and kind." He smiles warmly at her.
"Oh, it's been so long since I had candy last," Priscilla moans.
Sær frowns. "I was in the middle of talking about how kind and caring you are, but I suppose you care more about candy. Hones-"
"You have some?!" Priscilla butts in, tail wagging excitedly.
"No, but-"
"Aw..."
Sær sighs. "Never mind."
Priscilla clicks her tongue at him. "They say a sigh is happiness escaping from the body, Sigh-air." She gets a devilish glint in her eye. "But I can think of a way to make you sigh with happiness."
"R-Really? And what m-might that be?"
Priscilla's smile widens, showing her small fangs as she teasingly runs a finger down Sær's chest. "Oh, I believe you know. After all, it has been so terribly long~..."
"Oh. Ohhh," Sær says, realization dawning on his face. "I, uh, would love to, b-b-but I'm quite tired. F-F-From the journey."
Priscilla frowns. "And what better way to reinvigorate yourself than by f-"
"-Ixing up some tea!" Sær interrupts, getting up and heading towards the workshop. The forwardness of the normally demure crossbreed frightens him.
"Lovely idea! I'll make us some right awa-!"
His sentence is cut short by a large tail snaking around his midsection, flinging him backwards into Priscilla's arms. She looks down at him angrily. "That was not a request," she growls, the tip of her tail curling.
"Rest?"
"No, req-"
"Rest! An even better idea, we'll sleep. Good night!" Sær quickly closes his eyes.
Priscilla grabs his belt, her large fingers fumbling with the clasp. A dominant, excited smile spreads across her face.
"I hope your estus flask is full," She whispers, her lips grazing his ear.
"Because neither of us will be getting a wink of sleep.
All~
Night~
Long~."
A.N. Apologies (or you're welcome?) for the inane, gratuitous couple chat and very descriptive cuddling. I haven't written any fluff in weeks and I needed to get it out of my head. Aaaah, that's better.
I'm having fun developing these characters. In the actual game, they have little dialogue, but their personalities are still firmly established. For Priscilla (in the game), she's kind and cute, and likely awkward and innocent due to being locked away for so long.
I've been focusing on Sær and Priscilla, but I'd like to start forging (platonic) relationships between the characters.
I'd also like to work off of more reader input. What characters and situations do you want to see? (example: the Doll and Maria get trapped in a well together, Firekeeper and Maria get drunk and gripe about men, stuff like that.)
Apologies for the lack of new chapters for my fics. I'm hitting a mini writer's block and I don't want to force myself to write without a solid idea, because it often isn't that good.