Back here again. He never figured he would be.

Gostoc had left the gate open even after the deed was done. In Arthur's indignation at the absolute evil that had gone on within the castle's bounds, he had charged in blindly, determined to fight this wickedness head-on. It was only through agility and luck that he had not been struck, pierced and impaled by the storm of bolts fired in rapid threes at anyone entering. Now nary even a whisper was heard from the soldiers, for they were only ants beneath ambition's boot, preceding their master by not long at all. The castle's knights were, though courageous and well-trained, lesser in the end. The exiled soldiers, a force of lackeys, proved to be nothing at all.

Justice is a cruel wind; hardly any covering can shield against it.

The knights made Arthur consider his own circumstances. It was true that, like all other wars, men with the same past cut each other down based only on the banners they flew. They were banished, left to eke out their own existences and meanings with only themselves for company, as he was. In a different life he could have been one of them. He could have donned their armor from the start, as opposed to grabbing it off of a rack in a place of mere memory.

No matter. Circumstance left it so that he was alive and they were not. He was a Tarnished commanded by his own sense of virtue and they were graceless knights marching in obeisance to a vile Lord.

I am who I am. For this I am glad… so very glad. Why should I play the chained mutt and fight for a monster when the sword does better running him through?

Had he not smashed every one of the ballistae to scraps and pieces during the assault, he would never even entertain the notion of bringing Roderika in through the gate. This went especially for the ballistae on the upward path after the main courtyard, which fired exploding bolts. He never wanted to picture Roderika in the midst of what he fought through. Even with all threats eradicated by his own doing, he walked in front of the girl as he led her through the entry path, determined not to leave her in harm's way.

Strewn about, discarded for decay to take, were the remains of the common soldiers that once manned the defenses. Thanks to their multitude it was no easy thing for Roderika to completely avoid looking at them, so she could not; as she was escorted, he oft caught her glimpsing from afar into the snuffed-out eyes of a fallen defender or passing her gaze over a bloodied, limp fighter. She had seen death in the times since her expatriation, since she was sent away with only her red-silk cloak as consolation, but it still made uneasy a certain element of her innards here.

That cloak wrapped her head and comforted her slightly from the chill of the stone castle. It wasn't the architecture or climate that brought a draft, but the lingering remnants of suffering and abject fear which dwelled in its every crevice. Every hall, every room, every brick and beam had captured, like ink soaked into a pure white canvas, the shrill final screams of the soon-to-be chrysalids. Their fates, as loud and defiant or soft and pleading as they met them, persisted in the air and scent of the place.

'Damn you, bastard! I'll cut you up when I get free!'

The unbridled agony of the damned seeped into every place it could.

'Please… no! No! Please, wait!'

The entire castle was now consumed by the very concept of malice and suffering.

'Captain! No! Dear gods… what have you done to him?! What have you done?!'

Though their individual stories would go untold, the victims attached to the spider or to the castle's beast-Lord himself became collectively engraved into the atmosphere in a way greater than the odor of blood. It was a haunting presence that struck fear into even Arthur's brave heart.

For the sake of Roderika, he battled that fear, and vowed to destroy it. He had done it when his head felt smashed in, and he would do it now, when the battle was long over.

It brings me to wonder how many would live yet if I had come earlier… how many were taken just as I arose, and slaughtered as I pushed through the gate?

In the dark heart of Stormveil, the heap remained.

Flies abounded, those detestable little vultures, picking what little they could from the remains shrouded in burlap.

She stated her wish for closure, her need,but if I have it my way she will not see them so. It is… too awful.

"... here it is, the finest of all dwellings."

Eyes behind a steel helm cut through the visor's slit and regarded the young lady. They'd just reached Stormhill atop Torrent's back and dismounted to enter the shack. Their journey up the way to Stormveil Castle was blessed by sunshine but cursed by wind.

"It was just about five days ago that we first met here… hard to believe it's been so long already."

The incessant, stormy winds stung just as they did during their original encounter as only passing knight and heartbroken maiden. Steel warms no better than iron, and the cloak on Roderika's shoulder only did so much.

"Yes, it is. Being with…"

Mind your words, you fool…

"... spending time with you has made circumstances all the more peaceful for me. I never imagined that much happiness could be had even in the treatment of wounds. Every second spent with you is a distinct joy. You are special to me in that regard, among others."

'Special to him? … among others? Oh, my…'

Roderika's face took on a familiar rosy shade. She'd known that Arthur was fond of her, enough to kiss her, but that was surely a momentary passion born of impulse and trauma undone. Nothing like what the action may otherwise suggest… nothing but desperation (though she thought no less of him for it). Why, then, would he still say these things to her…?

"I'm… glad. Very glad."

A sheepish smile accompanied this sheepish sentence.

The courtyard, a former gauntlet of wooden barriers, flamespewers and arrow-fire, now served as little more than yet another wrecked battle-site. The men in the red scarves fell where they fought, sheer numbers overwhelmed by a righteous fury and a heavy blade. Even oversized axemen bent the knee to the mistress death. Arthur led the lady throughout this scene of rampage by the hand, still wary of some forgotten archer on a ledge or a concealed swordsman lying in wait.

She didn't want to linger in the midst of so many dead men. He didn't, either.

They entered a side door quickly and made their way through.

Flesh chimera.

"You mentioned 'the spider' when we first met. Well, here it lies. The grafted beast was a swift opponent, quicker than many, but it fell all the same. Past this room is the spot where I found your brooch, atop many a body. Be careful not to step into the blood; it does not look dried yet."

The abomination, a twisted fusion of so many ill-fitting bodies and limbs, remained in the center of the room. It had challenged his defensive game, so to speak, but he seized the initiative in the end and drove his claymore through its center in an upward thrust. Flurries of stabs from a golden straight-sword could not penetrate iron. It was unmoved from where it breathed its last. Above the spider dangled dozens of limbs, blood still visible on their removal-points, suspended from the rafters by rope.

Little baby spiders hung from silky webs above their mother.

It was nauseating in its content and presentation, almost like a gallery or a set of chimes rather than evidence of human slaughter.

"... Roderika, avert your eyes fro-"

"-the limbs hanging from above?"

"I take it you have already seen them, then… look no more, in that case. Gruesome sights do not a sane mind make."

"I know."

The knight turned to her, put off by her uneasy tone, but spied something on the wall behind her.

"... hrmm, I did not notice this during my initial exploration. Who might this be? A great hero, perhaps."

Mounted upon the wall in a golden frame above a stack of lifeless, bag-wrapped bodies was a large portrait. A fierce lion stood perched atop the shoulder of a gray-maned warrior whose colossal axe had half-broken. Arthur could not help but feel a great connection with this fellow, just taking in the vivid detail of the painting. No familial bond, no, something that was more… martial. Forged in mutual experience, mutual struggle and exile. It was a thing of descent, but no shared bloodline, that he felt sure of. Perhaps a fellow Tarnished of days gone by.

"Hmm…"

Knight Arthur found himself emulating the bold, dashing pose of this inspiring old hero. It augmented his bravery, that was for sure.

To lose oneself in thought is the demise of many men. Arthur knew this, yet could not fight the entrancing admiration from such a sight as that of the aged warrior.

He was there a while.

How much time had been spent was uncertain, though it surely was long, and that was more than enough for Roderika's curiosity to tempt her feet.

He hadn't even realized she'd left his side, let alone gotten that far from him. The noise of his low gasp is followed by the most terrifying sound of all - silence.

"Roderika?"

"..."

The undulating greatsword was pulled out of its sheath with an urgent motion. Arthur's clattering footsteps resounded in the dark.

"Roderika! Where have you gone?"

"..."

Worry consumed him, driving his every step…

Not her… no, not her… take anybody but her.

… and chasing up the wooden stairs and through the regal meeting-room…

How could I have been so negligent? She was… taken, wasn't she? Taken by a mad guard I had yet to notice? No. No. No.

… he closed in on the open-air section where he recalled jumping down to retrieve the brooch for her.

Looming above the chrysalids, Roderika stood, her head tilted downward towards the pile.

The gore-heap laid as a cairn of human cessation, just as it had a day prior when Godrick was decapitated by a certain knight. An omen's corpse, gutted and also missing an arm and a leg, hung above the pile like an animal caught in a snare. During that intervening time the festering of decay had only multiplied further; even as the 'Tarnished-hunts' were over, nothing could undo the sheer death that so many had been put to. Dozens of ravaged bodies laid piled up, man stacked on man and man on woman and woman on woman and pure-snow-white on trying-murky-gray.

The 'chrysalids', leftover bodies encased in burlap, were discarded in a sick mound, having served their purpose. It still revolted him, the thought. He dreaded the idea… the reality of Roderika having found this sick flesh monument for herself.

"Roderika…"

He stepped closer, having put away his greatsword, and looked down alongside her. She broke the silence, still looking down as she spoke.

"This is it… it's what you were talking about… this is where you found that keepsake from my men. These are my men."

"Yes."

"It's… almost what I expected, from what you told me. Maybe I was expecting a pile just a tiny bit bigger. I can't recognize any of them with those bags. Still, if you found the brooch here, they must be… must be down there."

"Indeed…"

Roderika was not sorrowful, as Arthur might have expected. No, she was… poised. Determined.

She is… strong. Not in the way I am, by virtue of brawn… she is strong in the heart. Stronger than the bravest of warriors.

"Thank you for all that you've done… for believing in me. I won't let you down."

Arthur removed his helm and opened his mouth to reply, but promptly shut it as he realized that she was not speaking to him.

She pulled the illustrious crimson cloak from over her head and cast it down with finality. Against the cold air's resistance, the red-silk covering sailed down to its spot atop the pile of chrysalids, not far from where the brooch once sat. Though the cloak was light, very much so, Roderika's small shoulders let off a great burden.

"..."

"That was what you meant when you spoke of 'closure'... I hope it came."

The maiden nodded and stepped back from the ledge, her purpose in returning to the castle fulfilled. She turned her head to look Arthur in the eyes.

"Thank you, as well… I mean it. I've only been trying to do what you do. Have bravery of the highest magnitude, when it's honestly unimaginable. That's about the only effort that kept me from tearing up when I saw my men again."

As she finished her statement, she gestured downwards to the chrysalids.

"You have changed so very much, Roderika… or perhaps you have simply found what always resided within you. I… I am so proud of you. So happy for you."

She could not fight the grin that came to her, and she did not want to.

"You're… proud? Of me? I'm just a… a craven, though, and all I can do is pretend like I've got your courage."

It takes a lot more than a pretender to confront pain and rise above it.

The knight smiled encouragingly.

"What variety of 'pretend-courage' gives you the means to stand firm before something so horrid as this? None. None at all. Yours is real, and it is purely your own."

'I still feel like some mimicry of a truly brave person, but… maybe that's how all brave people feel. They imagine that they're nothing but cravens playing at being lionhearted, when all that time they were better than they knew…'

"Thank you… I hope you're right."

I know I am.

"Anyway… we should get back to the Hold, shouldn't we? There's no sense in sticking within the dreadful wards of a place like this."

Arthur shook his head.

Here it is…

"Roderika… you… you offered to come with me on my journey last night."

"You said it would be dangerous."

"That statement of mine is no less true, but… I spoke a bit too broadly. Blood is not the only element comprising my voyage. During it, I have set foot in many a new spot, and many a beautiful sight my eyes have seen. Of them, I have a place I wish to show you the most - a place that's tender and dear to me. It's a brighter, gentler place than this home of suffering. Though it is by my estimates safe, I will protect you if it comes to it, I promise you that. Will you… come with me?"

It was the maiden's turn to accompany the knight.

'I think I'd follow you anywhere…'

"Of course." and a nod brought a smile to the man's face.