All of the Queen's men wouldn't be able to put her daughter back together when he was through with her.
That awful woman Ranni - no, she was a girl, because she was hardly deserving of such a mature address as 'woman', let alone 'Princess'. Her tiny stature put her firmly within the same category as a stone imp with a two-pronged hatchet, only she was far more dangerous.
The Queen, this 'Rennala' woman, must have been a dangerous person herself to have raised up one such as the Lunar 'Princess'.
Hmph. Lunar Lunatic, more like. Hah.
The chill of a threat encompassed his skin as she threatened his life with no uncertain terms… or perhaps it was just the Liurnian weather. The fireplace now vanished such a cold lacquer from his flesh, thankfully.
Even without his injuries from battle, the more he thought on it, the more he came to accept that he could not have won in their first encounter. He was beaten completely, all without her even lifting a finger. He could hardly even stand, let alone fight her, and that did not consider the bolt piercing his shoulder. Never again would she look down upon him.
Revenge is perhaps the most destructive vice of them all, but that was all his hatred was. Revenge for what? The murder of Marika's son, a demigod he never knew? Causing the Shattering, hundreds of years before he was even born?
… or was it pure, selfish vengeance for causing him to leave his home? It was because of Queen Marika's benevolence that he was called by grace, and Ranni's atrocity that such a measure was even necessary.
Either way, it felt nothing like the justice he claimed to espouse… no matter how awful the Shattering was, and how indisputably it was her doing. Whatever his desire stemmed from, it felt like a chain around his ankle as he ascended the steps. The chain was of spectral iron, coldly constricting him in his pursuit of high virtue. The steps led to the throne… to Queen Marika's favor… most of all, to knighthood - his purpose for being, written out by five-hundred years of precedent.
Arthur couldn't cut the chain, not with might or magic… but he could cut down the wicked witch holding it taut. If only she were dead, he wouldn't have spent half-an-hour trying (and failing) to plan out his next move against her… not that he could move, given his condition. If only she were strangled in the manger or never born at all, he wouldn't have embarked on this journey and left behind everything he ever knew. He wouldn't have seen his mother cry, shaken his father's hand for the last time. The expressions of sorrow his two parents held, one weeping and one stoic, would not be burned into his memory like a cattle-brand.
If it were so, he never would have met the sweet royal woman sitting next to him now, looking over his injuries in the fireplace's glow. He would not know the love - that is what this is - he'd discovered.
Perhaps not all was dreary and dark.
"... it still hurts, and awfully so, but I suppose you could tell by my grimace. Hardly a romantic expression, is it? To think that I fancied myself smooth."
"I can't imagine how it must feel, the aftermath of such a wicked laceration. The most I've ever had was a light cut from mishandling a dagger. I never have been any good with weapons."
If I have it my way, you shall not suffer another cut ever again. Leave the slashes and the bludgeons to people of my class - born to fight, and born to endure. Leave it all to me.
He looked at her, her golden hair and kindly face lit by a rejuvenated fire. Tinged orange or sapped into pale-white by moonlight, she was perfect. She should stay such a way… though he knew she'd be no less perfect with some scratches and scrapes.
I was made for this. The nicks and scratches on my face, minuscule scars upon my hands… they show it. Let me take a thousand if it means I spare anyone else one.
I bear only a sword, but let me be your shield.
The bandage upon his leg, an off-white strip soaked through with red, had just been replaced. It proved impossible to do such with a pair of trousers on, so he was only in the barest of his garments. The layers of his armor had yet again been stripped away, laid out on the bed opposite his.
A thick steel cuirass blackened and covered with dried blood, a moral weight he grew used to out of necessity. Metal gauntlets, as nicked and dirty as their fingers were, almost became a second layer of skin to him. Even so, when he swung his sword, it did not feel like an extension of his own arms. His first instinct still was to caress, rather than to seize. Could he remain unchanged in that, were he to stay the long course towards Lordship?
None of it mattered now, as Roderika looked over his injuries once more. The morning still had some hours to pass, though it was not quite so young as when they had awoken.
It was something of a bizarre situation to be here in his braies, his undergarments, in the presence of a fine lady… but then again, compared to the time his mother had walked in on him disrobing for a bath ten years ago, this was less-than-awkward. This wasn't the first occasion on which he had undressed due to injury… and knee-length undergarments were hardly such a 'cover thy modest eyes' occurrence when he'd already kissed the blonde beside him now.
Indeed, he smiled as he recalled that pivotal night. It seemed so long ago, and felt so long ago. Perhaps the Lands Between warped his perception of time - it was as though he had been away from home for years, when in reality he was the most recent of the Tarnished to arrive.
No, he was simply the homesick sort. He had a life worth returning to.
The simple idea of walking around made his injury sting, but he could deal; there could come no good from playing the part of an invalid and taking his meals in bed. He did feel a bit silly, wearing only his undergarments.
"It appears worse than it feels. I… I could barely bring myself to look upon it, that is how awful it seemed. Now, though, I feel better. Perhaps that is a… happy consequence of your presence. That, or I endured one too many blows to the head, and my mind has finally departed."
"It was hard to look at, if I'm being quite honest. I bandaged it and… I want you to be more careful. I know you're a knight, and this is merely a consequence within what you do, but please…"
I nearly crumble as I see you concerned… but it brings a warmth to my heart, knowing that somebody cares for me.
He had missed the tender gazes and the hand-in-hand moments, the contented silence… but in equal measure did he prize the way her words could make everything glow. She was a light in this dark time, a golden beam paralleled only by that of Queen Marika. It would be blasphemous to say that Roderika outright surpassed it… but…
"Worried, are you? Well… I am sorry. Never was it my intent to bring concern. I promise, this is the last time you shall have to attend to me, see my blood rush abundant. Consider it a vow… and you know how important those are to my sort."
"You're willing to make such a promise? Ah, but I know you can't keep it…"
Her gloved hand rested upon his shoulder as she looked up at him.
"... and I understand. Us Tarnished, we've divested ourselves of all guarantees of safety… guarantees of a long life. Still, I hope you'll be more careful from now on."
"I will."
He reached up to place his own hand upon hers. For this time, he forgot all about Ranni and Godwyn and justice… most impiously forgotten, perhaps, was Marika herself. The only blonde symbol of purity and kindness he longed for was Roderika. Given her gracious nature, Her Eternal Majesty would surely understand.
"Believe me, I only sustain wounds like these due to my own failings… never my own will. This… shall not happen again."
The soft-spoken girl in silk hoped so.
"I trust you. … how does your arm feel? There were bandages on your elbow, soaked through with blood, so I changed those as well."
To ascertain just how his left arm was doing, he extended it in a back-and-forth motion. Pain came most prominently from his shoulder, followed by a less intense sensation in his elbow. The former made him stop not long into the exercise.
"Your expression says all I need to know. You should try not to move it… though I suspect I don't have to tell you that."
He wouldn't be swinging a sword with this arm… not soon, anyway. Luckily his right limbs were the dominant ones, otherwise he would feel terribly disabled in his present state.
"I was stabbed through the elbow with some sort of odd hook… except it was a hook on a long shaft, like that of a spear. Little men ambushed us while I was half-asleep… little men in the bushes between stone spires as tall as watchtowers."
I must sound as if I am mumbling in idiocy… it all happened, I swear!
As he spoke, all she could think was of what he must have seen. All he must have done.
"That sounds awful."
Arthur raised his eyebrows at the well-meant understatement and loosed a chuckle.
"Yes. Well… all of it is in the past now. I know not what the future holds, but I know my present is sweeter with you in it. I stated it earlier, but I wish to reiterate that… I missed you. That, and I am happy to be with you again. You bring me such peace and joy, it can hardly… … well, here I am rambling again."
"I missed you, as well… and I would never wish you harm, you know that, but I can't help my excitement at the prospect of spending more time with you. Perhaps… some things happen for the best."
Ever a tankard-half-full man, he agreed.
"I feel the same. Bed rest is hardly my preference, though… I think I should begin the day in earnest and take a walk."
"Already? That sounds like a poor idea. You've rested for barely half a day at most, and your leg…"
Without thinking, he flashed a smile. It was meant not just to assuage her, but to convince himself. She didn't need to be made aware of that, though.
"Ah, no need to fret. I've a constitution of iron - no, steel. My legs have carried me from my home across the vastest sea, carried me through Limgrave and half of Liurnia… they can surely stand to bring me through the door and up the stairs. There remains a slew of conversations to be had with the denizens of the Hold, most of them rather important. That… and I would love to sit in on your spirit tuning sessions with Hewg."
"Would you? I've only been at it since shortly after you left. I'm still very inexperienced, in all truth."
"Even with less than a week of apprenticeship, you must be quite in line with the otherworldly elements of this odd existence we have. It would be the least I could do, given all the ways you have lent me support."
"If you're certain…"
Already on the edge of the bed, Arthur pushed himself off entirely and placed his weight upon his legs.
"..."
Dear gods…
Searing pain, blinding pain, white-hot like the sun devouring his left leg.
"Are you alright, Arthur?
He wanted to cry out, to yell and grit his teeth and curse until it went away, but how could he do such a thing as worry Roderika any more? No, if there were any trace of knighthood in him, he would surely remain stoic. Between pained utterances of ugh and argh, he distracted himself by speaking.
"How did I not feel this yesterday? This is… awful."
Her concern only grew. Instead of the immediate issue, he chose to divert attention to something that had been on his mind previously, a matter he found far more pressing.
"You should know something… as I was out beneath the stars of Liurnia, questing ever-onward, I thought about what it shall be like… us travelling together. I look forward to it… but I want you to know ahead of time that… you should still leave it all to me. Even if you can carry around a shortsword and jab with it, I only ever meant for you to do so as a desperate resort. Needlessly… endangering yourself would be an awful thing, and I could never permit it."
He couldn't distract her; clearly this wasn't going to last long.
"This isn't the time for that discussion… you can barely stand on your own. Here, let me help…"
Roderika stood to his left and positioned herself beside him, taking some of his weight onto her own shoulders.
"There is no need to do that… I would never wish to strain you too much. You have the frame of an intellectual, remember? I have that of a warrior, and you can surmise which is the heavier of the two."
"You may have had a point when you were half-conscious in all of your armor, but now I suspect you're a good deal lighter, bare as you are. Don't worry over me."
He only liked to argue with grafting-Lords or scheming witches, so he did not protest. She only wanted to help… and it would be quite cruel to shut her out. Still, he did all he could to support himself while allowing her to bear some of the burden. As he put his left arm around her, the sting of its injuries presented itself. No bother.
"Alright… very well. I do not know about you, but I am quite famished. Help me to the pantry, and perhaps we can scavenge some replenishing foods. The kitchen is adjacent to it, which is rather convenient, given my… situation."
Out the first door, slowly and quite unsurely, Arthur found his footing with a little help. If only he had his sword, or better yet, a cane. Eh… she would do. Her touch was gentle and resolute. It…
What is it about you which mesmerizes me more? Is it your tenderness, or… your insistence? I never could have imagined you would grow to be so different from how I perceived you within that shack.
When I first saw you, you were ready to die… only because you were too afraid to live on. Now you wish to persevere; this I know, for I see it even in the hue of your eyes.
It was never pity that drove me to put my hand upon your shoulder, but… did I see you as weak for a time? I can hardly deny it. Perhaps I find that sort of archetype to be… the most in need of 'saving'.
Some savior I was to Irina.
Across the vast red carpet of the grand hall, through the double-doors and into the pantry at the stairs' base.
Only… what? Sixteen? Seventeen? She was no woman; I could tell. She was a girl, and it is because of me that she is dead. I saw her as weak, because she was blind, young and carried herself softly. I wished to play the part of the hero.
She trusted me. I was unworthy of it. She paid the toll.
Deeply did I push it down, hiding it from Melina with a mask of bravado… but I can never purge myself of the grief that remains, nor the awful idea of what could have been, had I failed you.
What will be, if I fail you ever.
He knew very well that his earlier efforts of distraction were rooted in something more. No, they would only be if he allowed it… and he couldn't. Now was the time to be happy, for all was right. All except the world outside of the Hold, which seemed a festering-place for travesty and murder.
Outside of the cozy bubble, the world eyed them up, waiting for them to step outside. Roderika was a prime cut, and Arthur… well, he was one tough bone that it could gnaw on for ages. Even if he broke in two, or four, it would not be over until the world had its full joys with him. Even when he was beaten, truly defeated and stripped of all that defined him, he'd not have a quick demise. Such were the ways he adopted as he undertook the fated voyage across the sea.
The world would have to wait a few days more, for he was safe here. These stone-brick kept the doubts and worries at bay, the Hold being a golden fire warding off the beasts.
The pantry was quaint, cozy. Up above on hooks, deceased rabbits hung from the ceiling. His stomach grumbled lightly, even as he recalled the way that severed limbs dangled within their twisted gallery in Stormveil. Men and women hacked apart, stuck to vile bases and discarded in a heap. Meat on the hooks - meat left to hang. A horrible fusion of mundanity and the horrors he'd witnessed… but, of course, she had witnessed it as well.
No more, he thought. No more.
It was his designated lot in life… but she could have it so much better. She should, after all, for she was a royal and he a knight. The proper hierarchy hadn't changed even with a grace-given exile.
I'll not take you down with me… down into the depths of an abyssal undertaking, where despair is the reward.
Wooden barrels to the left of the door held… something. He wasn't involved in the day-to-day running of the Hold, so why should he know? Shelves with various crates of foods, those were what he sought.
"I would much prefer some game roasted over a fire, but bread and cheese will do for now."
Arthur settled upon the bench and relished the fact that, for at least the next minute, he would not have to walk… though his movement manifested more as an assisted hobble. All the same, he was now given greater opportunity to soak in his thoughts. The positivity of the lightless morning had been neutered, somewhat, as wakefulness arrived more and more. The recollection of what he must endure struck him like a club pulverizing his skull. Like the wayward paste and viscera of such a murder, his thoughts were absolutely everywhere.
He turned to face the various shelves, all replete with enough food to supply the Hold, and searched lazily for anything. He searched for nothing; if he could keep his hands occupied with a menial task, perhaps the mind would follow, and he wouldn't think about failing that girl Irina and Ranni deserving to be cut up and Roderika being too pure for any of this.
Of course, she had been here longer than him, so she knew just what could be found where. Bread and cheese, he said. There was enough for them to eat ten times over. Maybe with a full stomach his thoughts would shift positively.
Home. His home, that was what the aroma of bread conjured. Even if it was not freshly-baked or warm, just for an ephemeral moment in the Roundtable Hold, Arthur felt his home all around him. Little did he know that this was the sensation of gradual replacement, not remembrance.
Where he usually sought excitement in a knightly life, an inherited duty fulfilled, he now found peace from his fearful thoughts in a mundane scene.
"... where I met a man, Boggart. Clearly not somebody of noble birth, I believe he was a prisoner. Before I met him, I mean. Now he is… the finest cook I have ever met, second only to my own mother. He told me that you would be welcome to come and dine with us any time. The expert seasoning of his shrimp was incredible. He was somewhat… vulgar, though."
"You've met so many people in your travels. Do you think they'll remain your friends after you… become Elden Lord?"
After you become Marika's consort, could we? Or would it be… too painful?
I know that we won't persist as we are, for your calling is greater than a… romance, petty before the scale of Lordship and Marika.
Now, of the two, Roderika was the one grappling with her worries. In reality, she never completely put them at ease since the epiphany of the day after he left.
"Why, of course. When I do, they will all receive prestigious positions within my government. As a royal yourself, you may be keenly aware of how the most honorable action for any king to take is to fill high-ranking positions with his supporters. I will be a King Consort, but the difference is… negligible. Boggart shall be the head of my kitchen."
Thick loaves of hearty bread, weighty slices of pale cheese. The breakfast of champions.
"Of course, some will inevitably be dearer than others. More important, I mean."
As he held a loaf in his hand, he gestured towards her… either to gently remind her that she should eat as well, or to mark her as the target of his statement. She really couldn't tell which of the intentions to assume. She knew which to hope for, though.
Even holding the latter intention as truth, she figured he would have had a point with the former - she hadn't touched her food yet. Some twenty minutes they'd sat and spoke, and in it she'd forgotten to eat. To rectify that, she took a slice of the pale cheese and bit into it. Her first bit of nourishment for the day, it was much more interesting to her palate than the bread, though she wasn't picky.
Her royal tastes had all but eroded into a commoner's. They could do no other in the span between her final dinner with her family and this breakfast.
By the side of her plate, her leather gloves sat, one on top of the other. The preserved luxuries of an esteemed life she was forced out of, logically they should have brought bad memories to the forefront with a glance. They had been on her hands through it all - the sea-crossing, the loss and the despair. Still, she liked them well enough - they were warm, soft and durable.
"Sitting here as we are, it reminds me of when I would eat with my family in the grand dining hall of our estate."
Arthur looked up from the loaf in his hand, busy chewing and sending crumbs falling into the plate. This gave her time enough to continue.
"I know that it's been so long since I crossed the sea, but… I still miss them."
After a moment of pondering, he set down the bread and hurriedly finished chewing. The food could wait.
"Roderika… you told me they saw you as an undesirable, and disposed of you when they had reason to. An awful reason, at that. They sound like… wretches."
"They did… but they were still my family. As unwanted as I felt oftentimes, I loved them. I know that it makes little sense."
He knew what it was like to miss one's family, certainly… but not what it meant to be on the receiving end of coldness - cruelty - and miss them all the same. It was only the honest love of a mother and father, aunts and uncles, that he had known in his life.
"..."
'Speak up!', a voice inside him said, 'there is no time for looking down. Only a rune a word, and I am talking to the town.
How do I coin the phrase, though, that will set my soul apart, just to touch a lonely heart…'
He called upon the great fount of comfort that he had drawn from in times past.
All he could say was "I miss my family, too".
That, and "but once this is all over, I shall see them again. You will see yours, and I would be happy for you to meet mine".
The maiden looked up from her gloves and gazed directly at him; it was a stare he returned without falter. His expression was optimistic, but absolutely serious - he meant what he had said.
"Would you?"
The knight nodded.
"They would take you in as one of their own; I know them too well to think otherwise. You would be the second child my parents always wanted. That sort of sibling-like hierarchy might be somewhat odd, though, considering… the fact that we are romantically involved. Then again, royal families have a tendency of 'keeping the bloodline pure', so it would certainly bring my house a step closer to refinement."
"Arthur… that's not funny."
In all truth, it was. Her indignation was feigned.
"Well, do pardon my trespass, then. I would not want to end up on the improper side of a chopping block for a tad of impudence."
"You're pardoned… this time."
The curves of a smirk made their way onto her expression, starting at the outer edges of her lips. Those curves slowly fell into a neutral-yet-satisfied expression as Arthur and she cleared their plates, loaf by loaf and slice by slice.
"How have affairs in the Hold been? I take it Hewg has not been working you too hard in spirit tuning?"
"All has been well here. Master Hewg has been very patient in my 'prenticeship, despite my somewhat slow going… I've gotten the hang of spirits, and…"
Patient and receptive, he waited from across the table. He was waiting for her to finish, but he'd never rush her. To his ears, her contemplative silence was as cherished as the words it next produced.
"... the keepsake from my men, the brooch that you retrieved for me… it's made a most valuable implement for practice. The morning after we first exchanged names, I wept when I was again confronted with the well-wishes and the proud words of my men, their spirits… but since then I've had only joy. Joy at the idea that they still believe in me, even after everything they suffered."
The heavy weight of what Roderika confided was not lost on him. Even after being away from her on his journey, even after the soaring highs of their initial interactions passed…
"I am so proud of you."
He grinned, and he kept grinning because the idea that she was happy made him happy.
"Such a long road you must have walked, so much you surely endured… yet you walk still. I know precisely how it feels to undertake an exile, and how much it… could bring somebody to reach towards the allure of death. So many succumb."
His grin mellowed into a smile that was no less sincere or warm.
"You did not. You say that it was with my kindness, but it was entirely your doing. I hope that you feel it, too… the sensation of a life whose luster has been restored, its meaning made new. It just brings such a happiness. What did somebody like myself do to deserve somebody like you? I can hardly fathom."
She didn't have an immediate answer, too caught up in looking at him, the pride of such praise enveloping her whole. For as much as she had changed, the giddy feeling inside never lessened whenever he spoke so kindly to her.
"Sometimes it feels as though my whole world has been doused in pitch and set aflame, and my efforts will be blown away by the winds… but whenever I speak to you, it subsides. It is… so funny, and so strange."
"..."
The nucleus of a response was conceived in her mind, and it sounded something like "Everything. You did everything. Putting your hand upon my shoulder, telling me such compassionate words and giving my craven heart hope."
The insides of Arthur's eyes felt almost set ablaze by the stare she directed into them… but only due to the brilliant green shade of her own. Hers were like… crystals, or something equally striking. The man held his to be so dull and ordinary by comparison… never was he ashamed of his physical characteristics, for they were his pride and his alone, but they were nothing special. Why, then, should she focus so intensely on them with her eyes that far surpassed his? Dirt in a field, lit by sunlight filtered through the green of a stained-glass window.
Little did he know that such sentiments were mirrored by the sweetheart across from him, so refined and stunning in his adoring eyes. Beneath the jaw-length hair that tickled his skin in their nightly embrace, and the beautiful face tinted with a blush half of the time, there dwelt the insecurities of a young woman. Where he knew a cathedral's stained-glass window, she perceived a bottle's shard weathered into dull seaglass. Where he saw a dirt-brown, she recognized the soft luster of a tender heart. The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all.
The two were kindred spirits, more than either could know, and such similarities extended even to their worries. Their doubts and fears. Indeed, the lowest-born of nobles and highest of royals were humans just the same. She was just like him.
Two peas from the same pod, yes, we are…
… or have I read too much fiction?
Is this how it happens?