The Roundtable Hold was greater than just some place for, in its knowledge-seeking leader's words, "namby-pamby Tarnished" who think it "no more than a shelter from the rain". It was greater than that to Arthur, anyway, and as he divested himself of his steel armor for the night, the most foreign and breathtaking idea emerged in his now-bare chest.
The idea that he may have found a home.
It was a home displaced from the current stream of things, a gathering-place of fading memory rather than present being, but a home it was.
Vagabonds do so often tend to yearn for those.
Down the stairs from the smithy and through the double-doors in the pantry (or straight off of the balcony from the roundtable room, if you're daring) was the grand entrance hall. The knight presumed it to be the entrance hall, at least, because when he returned to the Hold he would always find himself stood directly by the roundtable.
Facing the balcony from below, an arching doorway led to the quarters of the Roundtable Hold's champions in an era long past. Racks of spears, greaves and chestplates gathered dust in the armory, and dinner arrangements were scattered across tables in what could be considered the mess hall. The living quarters were a homely space, replete with a fireplace and five beds. An overturned chair in the midst of a patterned rug before that fireplace, and books surrounding even that. Bookshelves along the side of one bed, drawers along another.
Luxury, especially compared to the forests of Limgrave.
These beds were now all empty, untended, unmade. All but one.
The brief, impassioned time spent in Fia's room with Roderika elucidated to him exactly why he should sleep someplace other than the ground.
I could scarcely imagine drifting off in the dirt now… now that I know what it means to be safe. To be secure, below silk and linen.
It was foreign in all of the right ways. Part of the brighter side to life he had never partaken in for himself, concepts that were grazing at best.
Days spent rowing out on the lake with a young love by one's side. Clambering up a grass-blessed hill's incline and smelling peonies on the wind. Shaking a gray elder's hand, grip strong even in his twilight years, and nodding after he says "Go West, young man, and make us proud". Packing up the saddlebags with a day-or-two's worth of provisions (that's all those small leather compartments will hold, anyway) and riding off to seek one's future.
Knight Arthur could only imagine.
All he knew as of present was the sword. Warfare unending, it seemed. He wanted to experience so many aspects of this existence, know so many feelings, before the time came to die. He would - he swore it. Roderika had implored him to lift his visor and see what lay before him in all its fullness, and he would do it… for her and himself.
He wanted… he wanted…
What do I want? To sit upon the throne and give these fractured lands a righteous Lord at last? To die a bloody, martyr-making death for a righteous cause? To plant my sword in the grass and walk away forever, forsaking all pride and promise?
His guiding force, his solar compass and star chart, had been the vague notion of 'virtue'. It was his master, Roderika said as much. Though it led him right, it manifested in a raw and idealistic fashion at best. He could not stagnate… it was a glorious quest he'd had thus far, but it could only go so far without a refined purpose.
You, virtue, are my master, though I am an unworthy servant whose arms ache and legs stagger… you have transfigured my soul and bestowed upon my heart the courage to shield those I would hold dear. Alas, I cannot go on like this forever.
His desires, suppressed for the pursuit of virtue and chivalry, now were scattered and blew about like erdleaf petals in the wind.
Roderika had been the woman to hold one such petal in her hand and gently so. It landed there by chance, and she cherished it. She held it and did not let go.
That was what he wanted.
He wanted her never to let go.
Arthur saw a future for the both of them. They loved each other, if such a fast-made bond could be called 'love' (and they would both emphatically state that it could!), having confessed as much under the starry subterranean night. It was the very first thing of its kind for knight and lady alike, and if either of them had it their way, the only.
They embraced their emotions and clung to each other quickly; thus, the knight still grappled with those damned wise considerations of 'you've known her for not long at all' and he didn't suspect this would change for some time.
He could deal. He was a contender, first and foremost… contender for the right to truly journey as a knight, contender for survival on the battlefield, and a contender against his own lesser elements.
Such was his way. His mission as a Tarnished, his duty as a knight and his privilege as a man. To, though the path be broken and uncertain, claim the heavy crown of Elden Lord.
He feared its immense golden weight upon his head, for he knew not if he was strong enough to bear it.
"A shortsword, eh? Have you gone and lost your strength to hunger, or is it merely a tool for your off-hand?"
Hewg worked vigorously at his current piece, another greatsword, with a heavy impact from his hammer as he spoke.
"Neither, though… two armaments might be something to consider, now that you bring it to mind. However, it is not for myself at all, but for Roderika."
Hewg's vision shifted up from the blade on his anvil to the knight before him. "For the girl? She's hardly got the make of a warrior. Didn't I tell you that she has a gift, and didn't you agree to have her come to me about it?"
The day prior, he had been talked into allowing her to join the travelling party comprised of Arthur, his armor and his blade. She would enter the tutelage of Hewg in honing this spiritual gift and afterwards learn the basics of using a sword. It was… certainly a deal that Arthur had made.
"Indeed you did, indeed I did and indeed she will. I spoke with her regarding the subject last night, and she accepted the offer, which you must be happy to hear. She has yet to awaken, but I am sure that she will be glad to study under you."
Hewg returned to beating the sword into its proper form, but only for a moment.
"Good."
A moment was all it took to think.
"Wait… why are you asking me to forge her a blade, then? If she's to stay here, she'll have no need of it."
"..."
"... well?"
"It is a possibility that I made a concession that would allow her to… accompany me on my journey after her education as a spirit tuner is completed."
The smithing master let out a minor scoff at that.
"After all you said about the dangers of letting her come along, that's the course you've chosen? I won't scold you, but the girl isn't safe out there… you know that."
"It is what she desires. I argued against it, I assure you… but who am I to assert my will above her own?"
Back to hammering that sword upon the anvil.
"I told you she'd rather be with her 'dashing' knight than sit around. ... well, as long as you know what you're doing. When the time comes, take good care of her, will you?"
Dashing? Why, thank you, Hewg.
Arthur smiled, though it was unsure.
"Hewg, you know I shall. Whatever it takes… I shall."
Unsure of his capability, not his conviction.
The knight had barely entered the living spaces when he bumped into Roderika. Quite literally, as the girl had been moving rather briskly through the doorway.
"Oh! Ah, good morning, Arthur… I hope you slept well."
That perfect smile, charged with sweetness almost every time she flashed it.
I love that.
It brought a smile to his own face.
"Hello, Roderika. I did, as a matter of fact; the living quarters in this grand hall are quite luxurious. … in comparison to the dirt."
"They truly are."
"Yes, though there was a charred skeleton simply left to crumble in one of the beds when I first entered last night. I had to haul the poor husk out and dispose of it, lest you see it and think the quarters unsuitable."
"... ah, I see."
Roderika's smile didn't necessarily fall, but it certainly stumbled, if only a bit. They stepped away from the doorframe and more towards the rug before the fireplace.
Arthur slowly and briefly shook his head as he continued. "Truly appalling that such a thing as a skeleton could be left to wither in a fine dwelling like the Roundtable Hold! It drives me to wonder whether this place is all that it seems."
"Perhaps it isn't… but it's what we've got. There's no other place I know of where us Tarnished can meet and find our purposes… find respite from all the horrors out there. Isn't this place… impressive? The covert quarters of the Two Fingers, gathering place of champions who vie to become Elden Lord… I never knew the guidance bestowed upon us Tarnished had such fantastic roots. Although… it's all a bit much for me, in truth."
The knight had to agree, though that feeling of minor suspicion about the Hold was not vanquished. He righted the overturned chair before the fireplace and gestured for Roderika to sit.
"That is right… this is the one center for all aspirants towards the Erdtree. I can only imagine it in its greatest of days, with bustling activity in each wing and champions gathered all around the Table of Lost Grace. … well, lost to all but myself, I suppose. Now the Hold altogether hardly has enough steady members even to fill its beds."
The girl's expression grew slightly… introspective. She was evidently deep in thought, and decided to be so while sitting down. Arthur stood beside the chair, looking into the smoldering flame.
"It seems that we were beckoned late to these lands. You were, anyway… I was harried towards them, more like. Harried for something I'd never seen."
"... you are not guided by grace?"
"No. I've never once seen it."
The knight took in this information, and looked down for what might have been a second.
My journey, spurred on by the consolation of gilded grace, has been weary enough… hers, striving without it… I can only imagine. I can only lament. Lament at the injustice of it. It is an injustice I cannot kill away.
"You were… sent on your way across the sea for nothing, then? What of your… your family? Did they not wish to shelter you?"
A more somber expression took Roderika's face. She looked up at him, into his eyes, and shook her head slowly.
"They seemed all too willing to be rid of me. I always did feel that I was something of an ill-fitting member of my family; an undesirable, especially after it was discovered that I was a Tarnished. A dynasty enriched by the noble toil of their 'lessers', so they'd call them. For a time I wished I could be as they were… but I don't have their cutthroat. A poor 'royal' I am. They relished the chance to be rid of me, I suspect."
Arthur's eyes widened slightly, and he snapped his head towards hers.
"Royal? You are of… a royal lineage? I… I suppose it should have been obvious much earlier, given your luxurious attire and refined nature…"
'He considers me… refined? Oh, goodness me.'
"... but, perhaps, I simply never put those pieces together. Pardon my slowness."
She smiled. Roderika would pardon nearly anything he did, she felt, if only because she figured he'd only ever be acting with righteous intentions.
"Still… I feel for you, Roderika. I have never known what it is to be royal, and in fact I am no knight by means of title, though you think me so. I have no accolade, and I have fought no wars for any Lord as my ancestors did. Not any Lord besides my own sense of honor and virtue, astray as such compasses can lead a man. Despite this, I know that royalty can oft be cruel… and so I am sorry that you received such cruelty."
"Thank you. I… don't much like to place weight on royal titles or birthrights. I don't imagine myself as being in much of a position to speak on it, but… if I may, I'll just say that titles are nothing more than pride. You might not have been honored as a knight, but you are one, far more than most could aspire to be."
Something about the way she gazed up at him while she spoke filled his heart with a soft warmth. That warmth travelled up his arm, as well, when she clutched his hand. A wondrous sensation, nearly electric.
"The same can be said of yourself and proper ladyhood, I feel. You are… so very gracious and kind. For your words, you have my gratitude… Lady Roderika."
A sincere smile manifested itself on Arthur's visage. He may have teased lightly as he used such an address prior, but this was delivered without jest.
"Every knight… needs a proper Lord, doesn't he? A Lord or a Lady. I suppose it only makes sense. With what little royal authority I've retained, if I ever did inherit any… I wouldn't mind raising you to knighthood at some point. Hardly within the privileges afforded to myself at all, but still, I'd… like to. I was born of high-stationed blood, but I never did feel like a proper Lady until you called me that. I want to return the favor."
Arthur smiled further. Though some small, deep-buried aspect of his heart was still asserting his unworthiness, he had learned to combat it at her behest… and so he did not hesitate as he gave reply.
"I would love that. Truly, it would be of great meaning to me, and it would be of greater meaning still if done by you."
As he looked down on her red-tinged face from the side, given such tint not only by the fire but by her own emotions, he found himself feeling a certain way. It was as he felt kissing her below the stars along the Siofra River, and felt holding her within Fia's room, and felt touching her shoulder upon Stormhill.
By now, he knew precisely what this emotion was. He knew of its effects, and what it could be called, though he still was hesitant to use its name.
Damn this nature of mine… lending me all of my ancestors' courage with which to defy beasts, yet stripping it away in her presence.
…
I will have to find my own courage, I suppose…
He forced himself to get his words out before choosing them too carefully.
"Do you… do you believe that we should speak about our time yesterday?"
Lady Roderika tilted her head up to meet him in the eyes.
"What's there to speak about? I… love you, and you love me… it's rather simple, isn't it?"
The blush in her cheeks mildly darkened as she said those three special words. The sight, and the sound, induced some rosy imitation of that blush to Arthur's cheeks.
"I… well, I must ask you again in the clarity of day… is it truly your wish to be subjected to my world? A world of hardship and slaughter? Even if I helped you as you claimed, you owe me nothing at all. I know you were thrust into the grueling role of a Tarnished, and unjustly so, but you may retain your own shreds of innocence if only you wil-"
Very insistent, she started before he'd even stopped.
"Yes. I want to accompany you… to dwell by your side. I feel a large gratitude towards you, but it's only a small part of the reason why. Please… even if you persist, my desire will not abate."
I was right. She is… strong. She has grown, more than I realized immediately, and… this warmth in my heart is so very soothing. Is it a warmth spawned at the thought of her change? The thought of us changing alongside one another?
Her tenderness and insistence combined broke through the iron I built around myself, and she… changed me. Even as scorned and ill-fated as our kind may be, we have lifted each other high… we will lift each other higher still. My heart is so brimming with joy at the thought…
Her knight sighed, knowing that, with this admission, there would be no returning from this point forward.
"You need not justify it to me again, for… it is what I desire, as well. I still harbor much fear, fear that you may end up a victim of my own negligence or inability, my own failure. Against my mind's compelling arguments, though… my… love for you brings equality to the scales. No, no, it tips them so completely… I want you to come with me, Roderika."
Weight fell from his shoulders. A distinct kind of weight from that of his chestplate, which he could bear… it was a weight upon his heart and soul.
"I trust you, Arthur. I've had my own fears about the idea, but… you set the example I wish to follow. You never struck me as fearless, even when we first spoke and I looked up at you like a savior wrapped in iron… I could tell hesitance and doubt lingered behind your heart, but I knew you would battle to rise above them. You did. It's all the more admirable. It still baffles me that you found victory over Godrick, but that bewilderment dissipates as I think and realize that it was on account of your bravery."
'To exhibit bravery… is hardly to be fearless. It's to make war with yourself and vanquish that fear. I know it… because of him. I can't let that lesson die… I'll carry it on, and live with it as a principle where I go.'
"I know that I'll be safe in your ward. I'll be happy - something that happens scarcely in these lands. Don't worry."
"I trust you, too… Lady Roderika. I trust your judgment. I only wish for you to be safe..."
The knight took the Lady's hand, neither one of them gloved; in these private moments they had no need for thick steel, nor for royal leather.
"... so that we may do things like this a while longer."
Against the crackling of the fireplace, the young lovers pressed lips together softly, firmer than before but still gingerly and restrained. It was a tender consummation of what had been said beneath the vast array of stars. An affirmation for either one that the other had not changed their mind, or never meant what they'd said, or regretted it, or…
Arthur still adored her hair, and how it felt and looked and smelled, and Roderika still practically melted in his exceptionally gentle grasp.
Leaning into each other, into the embrace and the kiss, it nearly made the knight want to cry with how soft and delicate it felt. Still foreign… peaceful.
As done prior, Arthur and Roderika parted lips, though their hands remained how they were. The knight gazed deep into his love's green eyes and wondered just how such gemlike irises could come to be… how such majesty and beauty could be born.
"... it is moments like these that… justify all of it. All of my troubles… my battles… the misfortunes along my journey. It pains me to admit that I must resume that journey, but… when the time is right, I will be happy to embark on a new one. One by your side."
The phrase 'when the time is right' seemed to remind Roderika of the stipulation within their agreement.
"Ah, I… nearly forgot. I should begin honing this gift of mine… shouldn't I? I'll speak to Master Hewg about it. I had best start right away, so you won't travel alone for long. Before you know it, you'll be shaking hands with Roderika, Spirit Tuner 'prentice."
She shot an optimistic grin at him, and he couldn't resist the impulse to give a similar smile in return.
Like the orange hue of a passing dawn, that smile mellowed into a desaturated something just a bit brighter than neutrality. The course of the Tarnished quest must be followed.
"Before I know it… yes, I have no doubt. Before you know it, I shall be back. For now… my voyage must continue."
The knight strode over to his bed and sat. He would encase himself in his panoply of steel once more. The maiden helped him with the buckles where he needed it.
"Be careful… I know you're strong, but please…"
Never before had somebody been there for him on the other side of this struggle.
Never before did I have somebody depend upon me… wait for my return, wish me luck.
"Be safe."
Never before did it matter if I returned.
Arthur slung the sword and sheathe over his back, and a parting kiss was what solidified his courage to face the coming tribulations.
The return to his journey towards the Erdtree proved lonesome almost immediately. He was alone, again, with his thoughts… with his past… with his present and future. Before continuing on, there was one thing left to leave behind… to bury.
"Oh, Godrick… you most pitiful of all beasts."
Though you laid untold suffering's weight on those who came before me, and did so by the dozens… I will let you bring no further disgrace to your lineage in ignoble death.
The courtyard, already a meadow of armaments and graves, saw a new bloom.
A battered claymore, thrust halfway into the ground, stuck out with its pommel up. It was returned once more to the site of its final battle, a glorious battle.
Having proved itself a trustworthy friend, it now would mark his foe's grave… the foe it had put in the ground days prior.
Clumps of dirt fell back over Godrick's head, his remains emaciated and long devoid of grafted strength. Gaunt, wasted away… eaten away. No Lord.
"Farewell… Lord of all that is golden."
Even in death, all men should be afforded pride. Dignity.
The throne room would go without its ruler, and as Arthur passed through to the other side, it reminded him of the Lands Between as a whole. What a sorry state of affairs, such fractured times as these where a knight may simply barge into a Lord's castle and behead him after decimating his army.
All the more reason for Arthur to fight towards that illustrious throne of Elden Lord.
Liurnia awaited. The call to struggle and fight, that calling of grace, showed the way before; so would it do now. Gold upon verdant Limgrave fields, and foggy Liurnian wetlands.
Still, there remained a hesitation in him. A fear.
Night passed gentler just by Roderika's memory, but Arthur yearned to sleep and wake with her beside him again. Even without spoken words, without physical action, the mere presence of her was enough to bring him happiness. So was the remembrance.
If she ended up having her way, that lonesome feeling might just end up becoming a memory, as well.
That would take some time, though. For now, Roderika was in Hewg's care, learning the trade of a spirit tuner. For now.
Knight Arthur, meanwhile, was on a cliff beyond Stormveil. Liurnia… serene from atop the ledge that overlooked its lake. The night-breeze gently swept his exposed face, his helm removed for the time being.
He had departed from the Hold at what was a little past noon, gathering up every resource needed, galvanizing every nerve possible. In all truth, he was still unsure, but he had stepped past the courtyard where Godrick was laid low regardless. The past could not chain him… not now, not after everything he had overcome.
A bonfire, constructed of branches and encircled by stones, ate up air in the night and spit out smoke. It did this while he was absorbed in a common nightly activity - contemplation.
Much to consider… the idea of her accompanying him along his journey. He had seen, spilled and lost more blood than was healthy for any man… for her to be dragged along in the nightmare, regardless of whether she desired it or not, would be a terrible thing.
Above all, Arthur would rather she live for more than he did. He had seen ruin and carnage, and partaken in it. Her fate may be different, better, especially with this gift at her disposal. She was much too good and pure to go off and die in a ditch somewhere while fighting in what should be his battles.
All it would take is a stray arrow, or a moment of hesitation.
That very thought, explored in detail, disturbed the knight. Greatly.
All it would take is this loss to break him.
Perhaps I could have Hewg 'take a while' to fully mentor her as a spirit tuner, and if I should finish my journey with haste, she will have no opportunity to endanger herself in my company.
Arthur knelt down by the bonfire and slipped his sheath, as well as the sword in it, off of his back.
I could depart the Hold altogether… leave her to wonder where I tread next. Leave her. Heart-rending, I know, but… to dwell by oneself is better than to lie beneath the dirt. Hewg would take care of her… I know he would.
He clutched the thing in his hands and knew that it was not over yet.
I, though?
It is a long way to achieve Lordship.
What protector is one who cannot shield his own hide? What would he save of others'?
As daylight breaks across the Lands Between, he must journey to the Throne.
Perhaps my path, solitary and frightening as it seems, is best kept that way.
He must struggle, endure… contend.
… no.
That alone was his sword. The sword of all Tarnished.
She, for better or absolute worst, made her wishes clear to me… I would be some lowly, awful man if I disregarded and cheated them.
He tightened his hold of the flamberge.
Many things, I may be; a deceitful knave, I am not. Besides… her wishes are… my wishes, as well. I… wish that she would be by my side.
He held the stowed sword above his head, halfway exalting it and halfway contemplating its place in his life.
Still, if she is to be my companion, I must hammer myself into shape. A proper fighting shape. No more can I falter; no more will I fail. I cannot go on simply as I am.
He slid the flamberge out, one hand pulling the black sheath away from its sharp undulating length and the other gripping its handle, both of these held over his head.
I will not.
He brought down the sword, the polished flat of its blade showing off an imperfect reflection of himself, illuminated by the saturated fire and pale lunar-light. He regarded the bandages still wrapped over his head.
She will not join Irina in the blackened void of death.
He regarded the deep-brown of his iris, devoid of Erdtree gold.
If I want it so… I must change. I must… grow.
He regarded himself.
Who am I to lie down and deny my role like a vagabond dog? Never again can I state 'I am no knight', for what else might I be?
"I was born into the sword…
My fear, among other vices, tied me to the stake. I blinded myself to joys and sorrows, for I did not think them possible in my knightly life. Simultaneously I fled from embracing my duty, my title, for in my own eyes I was not worthy.
… I live through the sword…
Worthiness is a thing of heart and soul. It is not whether I am guided by Erdtree's grace or honored by Lord's accolade. I wear the armor, and I wield the sword. I fight the course still, chains and shackles of flawed nature around my limbs as they are, joys and sorrows piercing me alike.
… and I'll surely die by it. That is what I know."
This is my knight's ordeal… my shackle of burden… my everlasting quest.
I am Knight Arthur of the Roundtable Hold.
Never will I run from my duty. Those old ways are past. Useless to me, to her and to all I might one day reign over. I renounce them.
I will fight with passion and heart… through conflict's temperance I will grow to be a knight who can defend better than attack.
The drums of war will beat like hammers upon a sword lifted from the forge, and I will be remade into everything I strive to be.
Never will my weakness return, even if my flesh is rent asunder.
I swear it.
Knight Arthur stood and, taking his sword in both hands, raised it to the moon and stars for his unheard oath.
I swear to my warrior blood, my mortal bones…
I will fight to the last breath in my lungs, and fight stubbornly-hard.
I will live until the last day of my life, and live regretless.
I will love with the last ounce of purity in my heart, a love unmarred.
I will never lose her.
