He returned. Like nothing, he slipped beneath the sheet and shut his eyes. Morning would come soon.
No sleep.
"white light
within
own disciple
sparks of will
See light
The light
Be your disciple
Fan the sparks"
No sleep.
Arthur couldn't pretend. Morning wouldn't come for a while, not with these words blaring in his head. The heavens opened up and angels sang - the Erdtree called out - Queen Marika herself spoke into his ear.
His heart had soon kicked into a nigh-painful THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP without pause or end, both from lying beside Roderika once more and from the sensation of a divine presence.
After a holy experience like that, who could sleep?
Two blondes of decidedly different demeanors sat down for a talk.
The woman in the bedroom near the smithy, she might be of help. Arthur had spoken of her as a good sort; for somebody as upstanding as him to commend her, she must be of virtue.
Hewg had little to say about the matter, preferring not to involve himself too deeply, and the leader of the Roundtable Hold - Sir Gideon - would likely not be happy to be involved in such trifling matters. The Elden Ring was the grand scheme of it all, and it must be mended.
Well, the matter wasn't so trifling to Roderika, and perhaps the Elden Ring was nothing more than another object of false importance. False importance, at least, in comparison to this.
"... and I worry I've ruined what we have. Although he assured me, I still can't govern myself to feel any other way than nervous. Guilty, even."
On the bed, near the crackling of the fireplace. In this room again. It was the place where their relationship started, hers and Arthur's. Perhaps it could be the place where she found the means to repair it… though, contrary to her lingering fears, it wasn't much damaged at all.
"Jealousy is an emotion that is perfectly natural. Such romantic affairs are hardly my forté, but if this is your first relationship, I could not blame you for harboring misgivings."
"It is, but I still feel like such a craven again, becoming so unwound at the thought of abandonment… especially for somebody else. Somebody better. If I were brave, like I've tried to be… like he's shown me… then I wouldn't."
At this, Fia could only sigh. Such qualms were not going to be so easy to settle, it appeared.
"Do you think it vile cowardice, perhaps, to desire something? To bear a longing for somebody exalted and dear?"
Such a question was like a thin blade right through a gap of chainmail - that is to say, it was quite pointed and pierced her well.
"No, but…"
"I wouldn't. I bear such a longing as well… though the object of mine is far out of reach for the time being, in a place betwixt true life and true death. Yours is not."
The literal meaning of Fia's words was lost on their recipient, though the sentiment was not.
"I hope you're right. My feelings got the better of me, and I can only wonder how he must feel, bearing the sting of such an accusation as mine. What a horrible place my thoughts went to… the expression of hurt upon his face is what I remember most."
Roderika's shoulders slumped slightly. That she was the cause of something like it, something that might even be a rift in their bond…
… but the Deathbed Companion put her hand upon the left shoulder. It took her by surprise, though only slightly, and not enough to provoke any reaction.
"A great many people feel stricken because they wish to be the only one in another's heart. There's no cause for shame. If you felt nothing at the thought of him being with another, it might say something concerning then. Envy and suspicion are simply givens of attachment."
She wanted to believe Fia.
"..."
"Would you deny yourself the essence of what it means to be human? To care for somebody in a special way?"
How funny… I once told Arthur not to deny himself the full breadth of human emotion, and here I am being told the same thing in turn.
Perhaps there's much we both have yet to learn. We might learn together. That would be wonderful.
It would make me feel less embarrassed at not knowing much already.
"... no. I understand what you mean. You're right."
"No relationship comes perfectly… but if it should endure brushing against the rough edges of imperfection, it might grow stronger. Would you not agree?"
She would. With that sort of rationale, she couldn't help but agree.
"I would. Thank you. My worries have been soothed, I think."
Roderika smiled slightly and began to stand up. She felt better, without a doubt, and the frail sense of optimism in her grew a bit more durable. Still, there dwelt something heavy and leaden in the pit of her chest, and she suspected its nature - jealousy, uncertainty and regret crushed into one black sensation. Just something to handle on her own, it seemed.
"Then good day to y-"
The two halted. Footsteps, quite hurried, creaked the wooden floor just outside of the room and disturbed the rug. Even without the distinctive noises of heavy plate armor, it was fairly obvious who approached.
Moving faster than he ought to with such a deep wound on his leg, Knight Arthur crossed through the doorway. Instead of moving towards Fia, though, he sought out the mirror like he had dire need of it.
"Hello, Fia. I hope all has been well."
The voice that normally spoke at a moderate pace now threw out its words like he were late for a rendezvous and giving last-minute instructions to a servant. Clearly he had somewhere to be.
Without thinking, Roderika opened her mouth to speak, but was halted by Fia's hand before her. The former kept herself quiet, even though she didn't exactly know what the latter was doing.
"Greetings, great champion called by grace. Y-"
Cut off for the second time in a minute by Arthur, albeit only once deliberately, she spoke as if it were only the two of them in the room.
"You can call me Arthur, since that is my name. Quite flattering, though, 'great champion called by grace'... so thank you."
It was now that Roderika took notice of what he was doing. He was… tidying himself up. What for? He wasn't going to meet with the Queen, so why the sudden concern over his appearance? It was of no importance when he was in his undergarments earlier.
"As you wish, Arthur. I see circumstances have compelled your stay at the Roundtable Hold once again."
So concerned with his appearance, he was, that he hadn't at any point looked around the room. He surely would have spotted her.
The mirror seemed far too indistinct to be of use, but use it he did. Luckily he could only make out his own figure.
"They have. Quite good of you to notice, madam.", he said. By this point he had moved on to tucking the right side of his shirt into his trousers so as to match the left. Seeing him a bit disheveled, in contrast with the admirable plate armor he donned otherwise, was quite something.
Fia turned to look at Roderika. A smile, confident but not arrogant, blessed her pretty face.
She whispered, and, owing to distance, there was no chance at all that Arthur could have heard it.
"Allow me to dispel your worries."
What?
Before any reply could be given, the woman had turned to face Arthur again.
"Would you… allow me to hold you briefly, as you did before? Perhaps you might share with me some of your lifely vigor, and your stout-heartedness."
He shook his head and, without delay, gave his reply.
"No."
To Roderika, it seemed like it didn't even take any thought for him to respond.
"I've no interest in such things… besides with one person. I mean no offense when I say that it is not you."
He knew how he felt and had no qualms with expressing it. A confirmation of what he'd told her earlier?
"I see."
"You understand, do you not? What we had was nothing but a… a platonic experience, experimentative, and it happened before I had a belonging to anybody. I will gladly be your friend, but the only lady I hug is Roderika, and that'll not be subject to change."
Yes. A confirmation.
The Deathbed Companion turned once again, smiling. Clearly she anticipated responses such as this; otherwise she would not have propositioned like she did.
"... and you thought your relationship damaged."
Again, a whisper too soft for him to perceive.
Something warm tingled Roderika's insides, a soft feeling like… relief. Jealousy not only suppressed but destroyed - at least, in part. In very large part.
Even with a woman as kind and pretty and soft-featured as Fia, he wouldn't succumb.
That woman spoke out loud once again; she had to play the part for just some moments longer.
"Of course… Arthur. I am first and foremost a Deathbed Companion, and my aims are not vulgar. I would only gather the warmth of champions so as to bear life anew. If that is your wish, so be it."
She knew just what his answer would be - polite but holding firm to his conviction.
"I am glad we have an understanding, Fia. Thank you for the mirror… and for letting us use this room last week."
His voice now was less blunt, though still not quite like its ordinary tone.
"Had I known there were unused living quarters downstairs, I would not have booted you from here… but thank you anyway. I was in quite a rough way, having just fought a ten-armed monster, so I appreciate it."
Getting him down the stairs wasn't a pretty affair for D to handle, with his bloody leg only getting bloodier. Trying to do it herself on the day that he came in bleeding from his head and saying he was fine… would have been much more difficult. Even conscious, he might have taken a tumble down at least three or four steps. Suffice to say, Fia's generosity was appreciated by the both of them.
Though he was evidently finished making himself a tad more presentable, he surprised Roderika and Fia in how he simply… left. A brief wave of the hand was all he gave; he didn't even turn to face Fia.
As leather footsteps grew ever-farther, the two blondes resumed their conversation.
"Am I mistaken in thinking your worries quelled?"
Without hesitation, Roderika shook her head.
"No. I… I feel much better now. Did you… orchestrate that on purpose? Was this of your doing?"
"Only the direction of my conversation with him. I held no foretelling of him entering my room… especially not so abruptly."
"... I see."
Again she had eavesdropped… only it was a happy experience and she was not the only party aware of her presence.
"I'm quite surprised that he didn't notice me. He never even turned around… not once. It brings me to suspect that, if we were to play blind man's buff, he wouldn't fare so well."
"What is it you intend to do now?"
Roderika stood.
"... have another conversation with him. A much brighter one, untainted by my own fears."
The Deathbed Companion smiled again. It seemed that her efforts would bear fruit. A cause for joy; a reason for satisfaction. This girl Roderika was a gentle soul, and… after all, even if he would share his warmth no more, Arthur was a friend. A kind knight whose virtues would, in an equally-kind world, align with those of Godwyn. Even if he was in the dark regarding her true allegiances, and even if he would deny her ways in this cruel world, he was a friend.
Perhaps it would stay that way; then again, if he ingratiated himself too deeply with the Hunter of the Dead, perhaps not. Who but the gods themselves were privy to the future?
Where could she be?
Hewg wasn't of much help, just shrugging and beating some poor sword into shape like always. The living quarters were empty, and it was a bit of a challenge getting down those stairs without excessive pain, so perhaps it was wasted effort.
Fia was thankfully very understanding and amicable, and he sincerely did wish to retain her as a friend. Still, the thought of pulling her close again and taking her in his arms - being taken in hers, in return - was… revolting. It should be unappealing, yes, but… did the thought outright disgust him?
From the feeling in his chest, he decided that it did. If he had to guess why, he would suppose that anybody besides Roderika was simply unappealing now. What he and Fia had - past tense, had - was done with by the time Roderika had come into his life.
The girl had no need to be jealous, even though there certainly was just cause. He could never bear to do such a wicked thing as embrace or kiss somebody else. She was the only person entitled to such affections, and the only one who would receive them. That was presuming she even wished to, after earlier…
Needless to say, he was slightly nervous about their next conversation. There was certainly much to be discussed. He had all of the time in the world.
He looked around, just to pass some of that time and distract his mind. Even when he did that, he couldn't stop it from thinking.
This cozy old room, it was growing on him very much if it hadn't already. There laid a burned skeleton in one of the beds when he first cleaned the room up, but even then he wasn't exactly put off. After all, Castle Morne was perhaps the worst site of slaughter in the history of man… or, at least, the history he personally lived through. Gigantic mounds of bodies, festering without relief.
Disgusting savages, the Misbegotten… except for Hewg, of course. They were no match for a civilized knight; his claymore - that beautiful old sword - proved far superior to their axes.
Stormveil was terrible, as well. How Roderika had stared down the heap of 'chrysalids' and kept her resolve was impressive, but surely not easy.
If he had gotten over those experiences, one corpse couldn't unsettle him.
Not unless it was a girl with her head chopped open like a butcher's latest masterwork.
No, but he was over it. That was how he always did things - he suffered them once, mourned them once, sometimes even cried over them once… and left them behind forever. He did it on that night when his armor came down and he couldn't hold it in anymore; he had done it as he prayed to Marika today. He had.
Why, then, did he feel awful now?
He couldn't lie to himself. Not again. He was always a terrible liar.
He knew the why of it all - he had only distracted himself with obligations and duty. So long as he felt a duty to others, to protect and uplift them, he could pretend that he had overcome the past. He thought himself to have vanquished the past.
In truth, he had only run.
He was doing it again - what Roderika had pleaded with him not to. He was doing it and didn't even realize it.
That damned armor on him again, even as he wore just linen and leather boots. Before it was iron, and now it was steel - much more impossible to break through than before. His heart encapsulated in it, perhaps smothered by it… but protected, as well.
The buckles held his cuirass over his chest, and no lance or club could break through. Nothing except for…
"There you are."
She was here. Roderika. She had somehow eluded him, though probably not on purpose, and the moment he stopped searching she found him. She stood in the doorway; even if he wanted to flee he couldn't. He didn't, because he was no coward.
"Here I am. I… I hope you are feeling better. I know I upset you terribly earlier, and I am sorry. Very sorry. If y-"
She cut him off. The moment her mouth opened, his would close; that was just one way in which his respect for her manifested.
"I am feeling better… and I'm sorry, as well."
"You? ... for what? I was quite the fool. The blame lies with me."
"It lies with both of us. Can we come to an agreement on that?"
He nodded, if only to avoid going against her wishes. He always did that. The wills of others are of no less importance than one's own.
"I'm glad."
For a time, they existed in silence. It was notably less contented and easy-going than usual.
Like usual, the silence came to an end.
"Do you think that you are getting quite… good at spirit tuning?"
"I believe so. Why do you ask?"
"There exists no reason, I suppose. I was just thinking about it, since the session earlier was… err, eventful. Hewg told me that you 'have a ways to go', but I think you are quite capable already."
At being deemed 'quite capable', she took satisfaction. Her face lit up like a peasant-house on fire, and it was a beautiful thing to behold.
"Thank you. I can only hope that I'm doing as well as you say."
"You are."
No deceit or doubt in his voice.
"If you would take it, I have this bell. Melina gave it to me, in a… roundabout way. The go-between that gave it to me dubbed it a 'spirit-calling bell'. I rang it and, surely enough, it 'called' a spirit. That was only after I met you, though. Before you gave me the ashes of Aurelia it did nothing except make a pretty sound."
He reached underneath the chair. Beneath its legs were his possessions; among them the spirit-calling bell, lightly dented, was nestled.
"You still have the ashes on your person, do you not?"
She nodded and retrieved the glass phial from her pocket.
"Here. Take the bell and give it a ring like mass has just started."
Arthur handed it to her. Immediately she noticed the damage incurred by the waist of the bell - a dent from an obviously-harsh treatment. Her chief concern laid elsewhere, though.
In her right hand was the bell; in her left was the phial. These were her sword and shield… or they would be, if she were a knight. As it stood she was not even a squire.
Either way, she rung the bell and, before them, the blue spectral form of a jellyfish came into being. She glowed faintly, and seemed quite lively for a spirit, bouncy and full of energy. Rather the opposite of Melina's reserved, cool demeanor… but then again, Melina was not eleven or twelve years old.
"Look at Aurelia. Such a pious one, here at mass within seconds of the bell-ring."
Roderika was quite awed at Aurelia finally having a tangible form, though Arthur had seen it before. Indistinct whispers came from her direction. Quite unfortunately, even in such a form her voice had to be translated - first by Melina, now by Roderika.
A most important translation this was.
"... she's asking what 'mass' is."
"Oh, do not tell me she is the godless sort. A jellyfish without nuanced human concepts? Absurd!"
An evening of mirth, so delightful that it could bring a man to forget his woes.
"Goodnight…"
"Sleep well, Roderika… I know I shall."
Not this man and not these woes.
He stirred and even in his sleep did not find peace. Worse than ever, it writhed in his mind like a worm chewing through brain matter.
"They haven't spared a soul."
Slinking in the darkness towards grace, a voice spoke only for his ears.
Still, after the rush of a holy vision subsided, he was alone with his thoughts again. Thoughts that the girl next to him would die if he didn't listen to his better judgment for once.
Even in her arms, he was alone when it came to such a matter… because how could he confide such a thing as this? This burden was his and his alone.
His prayer changed nothing. Marika's vague holy words, if they truly were hers, had only been a temporary relief.
Back to where he began. His faith, it must not have been great enough. In the morning he would pray with twice the fervor, twice the conviction, and it would succeed. It would.
Faith without works is…
He would never overcome the guilt, this much he suspected. He deserved it, this much he knew.
What he assumed to be morning heralded at least something happy.
It had to be morning, since Roderika awoke. Could it be a new morning?
"Huh… well, I feel a good deal better. My shoulder is almost painless, and I had much less pain walking from the bed to the fireplace than yesterday. Maybe some bed rest really did help."
By morning's light - better yet, the light of restored torches - was the night banished.
He hadn't slept a wink, besides the hour invaded by a dream; thus, the word 'rest' might have been misleading.
She could tell.
"I'm glad. You look tired, though. Didn't you sleep well?"
Sat upon the chair by the fireplace again, he took a liking to the spot. Even though the rug was an imperfect and damaged thing, which he noticed only now, the space was like a place called 'home'.
"No, not quite. Something happened. Something important… so important that my heart skipped close to fifty-thousand-beats in just the time I needed to blink. … last night, I heard Marika."
He was imbued with the guidance of grace, the last of the Tarnished to be, but still…
"Marika spoke to you?"
He nodded, but he was not sure of himself.
"Using my rational deduction, I have come to believe so. I walked across the Hold, and before the Table of Lost Grace I knelt. The only light was the giant stake of gold that hovers above the table… and I heard them. Holy words. Do you want to hear them?"
"I do. I'd like to hear them."
Arthur took in a breath and laughed involuntarily at the same time. Evidently something was amusing him, but she didn't know what.
"Well, the voice was quite loud and deep. It sounded something like…"
Not until he puffed his already-burly chest up with more air and artificially deepened his voice. An imitation of something ostensibly holy, something apparently divine.
"See the…"
He laughed again and had to do it over again.
"See the white light - the light within. Be your own disciple; fan the sparks of will."
At his falsely-deep, pretend-thundering voice, she let out a chuckle as well.
"That is your imitation of Marika?"
He reverted back to ordinary Arthurian speech - that is to say, without his chest puffed up or voice altered.
"No, that is my imitation of what I recall hearing. If it was Queen Marika, then she sounded nothing like a woman."
Surely speaking of a literal god-Queen in such a way was perhaps blasphemy, but for the moment he didn't care about religious principles.
Roderika did that to him, somehow. Not like a temptress luring him from piety or morals, but a girl who brought him down to earth after his appeals to the heavens.
"Anyway, I… I found some comfort in the words, yet they were just words. I felt quite good in the minutes after, but getting back into bed and trying to fall asleep laid me still without a sound for a while. In that time a man is alone with his thoughts, and my thoughts strayed from those holy words. My joy abated. Soon I found that my heart reduced to its usual pattern of beating."
He leaned down and his hand fumbled beneath the chair; he felt the pouches that held his possessions until coming across the desired object. The iron insignia - an axe and a war-banner. One of the ancestral relics he'd taken on his voyage.
"Still… it must be a good sign. Her Eternal Majesty surely smiles upon me."
When his fingers ran across the weathered, dark metal and slowed for the jagged edge of the axe-head, he could hear them.
"Do right by us, son. Be a man. Be worthy of what you're taking along with you."
"Ah, come on, Hal! Don't you have any kinder words for him? Our boy is leavi-"
"He's not our little boy anymore. The grace that I never saw has chosen him, and it's been a long time coming. He's trained to be a knight in every way that matters… so now he has to earn it. Go on, son. Earn it."
"... I will."
It was the same reply he had given back then, only much quieter now. So quiet that only he could hear.
He put the insignia down.
"Roderika?"
"Yes?"
"I have come to a decision. I feel that we should talk about… us."
An expression of concern, slight concern, appeared upon her face. He knew what she was thinking, because he had spoken poorly, and he clarified it immediately so such worries wouldn't fester.
"I mean to speak of us travelling together. That is my intent. As you surely know, it is something I have been undecided on since the topic came up. For days I was away, out traversing the great region of Liurnia, and I have… come to a conclusion."
I wish for you to be by my side, and I know it now.
I want it more than I can express, but I shall try to express it all the same.
If you would join me, my heart would not waver or quake again.
This jumped-up squire could act the part of a knight at last.
Arthur dared to look up at her, a slight smile on his face.
He saw a girl who would wind up dead.
Not again. Not again. Not again.
Any traces or remnants of a smile faded.
His prayers were unanswered, it seemed.
Marika did not cure his woes after all.
The memory of a dead girl on the roadside.
He closed his eyes, and even in that darkness the image did not fade.
"You… you cannot come with me. I wish that circumstances were better, and I will always wish that, but you cannot. I… have made up my mind. This is my decision."
She wasn't going to accept it. Not without an explanation.
"... you're quite a confusing man, you know. In one moment you're hopeful… and in the next you look as you do now. What bothers you? I can tell that there's… something. Why have you suddenly decided?"
All of his nerve was gone. It faded into something so intangible as a ray of grace.
"When I spoke yesterday of my concerns for your safety out in the world, did you think I was simply playing? Attempting to make conversation? Even after I ate breakfast and had such a good time, there existed a pit in my chest that I could neither fill nor forget. I felt the stab of doubt and fear."
Roderika stepped closer. Before the fireplace, Arthur considered his life. Watching the fire burn, he could see vivid shapes in the shapeless flame. Ever-flickering and -crackling were the dreams of the young man, a man of no more years than twenty-three.
A better world. A kinder world. A self that was not so… inadequate for the task at hand.
"So did I… for hours after we… well…"
"After we spoke of Melina. I know what you mean. I suspect that my… 'unpleasant feeling' is a bit different from yours. In fact, I am certain of it. Its source is… something I try and try and try once more to bury, but I cannot kill away feelings as I can monstrosities."
Not removing his stare from the fire, Arthur laughed briefly, though it was rueful.
For a moment longer he looked at the orange flame tearing away layer after layer of the logs, and after that moment he looked at her.
"Did you leave them behind?"
"What?"
"The men who died for you in Stormveil. Did you… overcome the grief? The sense of guilt and mourning?"
"You know I did. At least… I believe I did. I still grapple with it slightly, the spectre of such an unfair thing… but I don't feel it so acutely anymore. I feel hopeful. Why do you ask?"
If it were anybody else asking so bluntly and directly, she may have become indignant. She trusted him not to deliberately provoke or harm her, and so she didn't.
"Good. I wish I could be so fortunate as to… not look back."
"I do 'look back', on occasion… it's hard not to, when I have the memento by my bedside. The brooch, swaddled in red velvet. It doesn't mean that I look back with despair."
"How do you manage it? Not looking back with despair?"
The tone of desperation in his voice…
"..."
"..."
She hated it. She hated hearing it, and looking at his increasingly-distraught expression.
"A part of it is, perhaps… I think of you in association with it. You retrieved it for me, so how could I not? Delving into the heart of such a wicked place and defeating a monster like Godrick…"
"Godrick was… lesser among them, I am afraid. He was only a pretender among the truly powerful figures - the rotten witch that caused the Shattering, and all of this; the children of Queen Marika, if Enia is to be believed."
A figure so reviled by both of them could be only the start of it. Unpleasant to consider.
"Danger and pain are a guarantee, more than they already were. For me there only lies a path that narrows by the mile. Would you truly choose to walk it with me?"
"I've told you I would."
"You say that now, but you would never join me knowing that…"
Arthur's face fell into his hands.
"... knowing that I killed a girl."
A small gasp.
"..."
"All of this time, you have been in the company of a murderer. The murderer of a girl younger than you or he, younger by far."
The idea that he had done so… it was enough, finally, to force her back. It wasn't a large step back, nor a hasty one, but it was taken.
"You…"
What else could she say?
He forced out a shuddering breath.
"I had her right there, and she… she trusted me to bring her father back, and I promised. Then when we came back, she was dead, and her father… it was me. I did it and I see her every time I look at you. It makes me more afraid than anything else, the idea of failing h… of failing you. I never meant it… I just wanted to do the right thing. I just wanted to help her. I killed her."
"..."
She said nothing. She understood now… at least, she understood the essence of his plight.
What he'd confessed was enough to tear at her heart.
Much to her dismay, he interpreted the shocked silence as the cast judgment of somebody who was now disgusted with him. Another stone from the mob pelting him; another let-down soul who reviled him despite his best efforts.
He dared not look up, or look into anything but the nothingness of his palms. Such was his shame.
The proud son, the beloved son, the first-and-only son.
The exile. The knight. The murderer.
The shame of man.
"You would not wish to journey alongside a vile killer, would you? I thought not. It will never let me go, the chain formed of her flesh and blood. This is my punishment."
Even as her voice came out unsteadily, she knew what she wanted to say and knew that she spoke the truth.
"You're not vile… and…"
Without hesitation he shook his head. It was nothing like earlier, though - he was not sure. He was only denying.
"... you didn't kill her."
"I did. I can feel it catching up to me. No matter what I do, I would let you down. I would kill you. There is no way that this world could forgive me after I put a daughter in the ground. It would never let me take comfort in love. I left her there and she died."
She stepped towards him.
"You couldn't have known that she would… meet such an end."
"I should have. She was blind, Roderika, and I just left her there. I left her there."
She stepped towards him again.
"Maybe you couldn't save her, but… you saved me. That must be something."
His fingers tightened around the edges of his face, and he slumped just a bit lower.
"I would condemn you and render that worthless. The first person to place their life in my hands was rewarded with death; I would not dare to tempt a repetition. When I look at you for just a moment too long, I see your head cut open like hers. There was so much blood, and her skull was almost in half. I never did see a dead girl before. Nobody but soldiers and disgusting beasts and piles of corpses so rotten that I'd not registered them to be human."
As he spoke, his head fell further and further, and his fingers then pushed into his hair.
"It could have happened to you on that day, at the hands of Godrick. The day when we met, and I rode off for Stormveil with the idea that I could play the hero. I had the same idea, the exact same idea, when I set off for Castle Morne…"
"..."
During the pause, it was quiet, besides the noise of the fireplace. Despite the ambience, every word spoken filled up the room and dictated its mood.
"Tell me... who decides these things? Who decides how an action could lead to damnation or to salvation? Was it determined like a flipped coin, or did I make some change to my action the second time? It… it must be Queen Marika, but then… why would she do this?"
She refrained from speaking her first thoughts; she could say very impolite things of Marika, but those would do nothing to help. Damned be Marika, she didn't matter now; all that mattered was the two of them in this room.
"Perhaps nobody decides. Some things don't have a cause… or so I think."
"You think, and maybe you are right, but do you know? What do you know?"
"I know that it wasn't your fault."
With each reassurance of innocence, he ceased to reject it, if only a little at a time. Surely a good sign.
"You can say so, and perhaps a shard of myself will believe it, but… what I know is that a dozen more people are dead because of that one girl, or rather, her maddened father. That one girl is dead because…"
Again he shook his head.
"I don't know what you mean, but it wasn't your fault."
"I want to hope so… but it is just difficult. I am sure you could surmise why."
She could.
"Soon-to-be Knight Arthur, descended of the great hero William Vallance, among the first of the Tarnished. Soon-to-be Lord Arthur, beloved son of the House of Wallace, as just and fair as his father Henry. Hah… what a farce. All my nobility is of the earth now. Worms feast on my birthright, for it is as dead as any other carrion. Dead as Irina."
Still cradling his face within his hands, his shame had not died out. Unlike the victims of his own failings, it lived to chastise him.
All he wanted was to be rid of it.
Ah, but such would be too easy, would it not? This was his penance, and to be a man is to accept one's fate. To endure.
If only it could be some other way…
"Roderika, we must part ways… or… I would fail another girl. Even if it is my sword that moves to protect you, and never to cut you, I will bury you all the same."
She strove to resolve this, somehow, with any sort of finality.
"... I'm not a girl."
"You are. Y-"
Roderika shook her head. Even if he couldn't see her, it bolstered her own belief in the words she now said.
"No."
"..."
"I'm a woman, Arthur. Won't you give me that much? I've come this far, and no 'girl' could do that."
"..."
He saw her as weak, when she was upon Stormhill.
He saw her as weak now… didn't he?
In his eyes, she was just like that blind girl by the roadside, even after all his talk of her bravery and how much she had grown.
Of us, I am the weak one.
"Arthur."
"... no..."
This time it was a feeble denial, on the verge of a breakthrough. A morning light that peered through the cracking night.
"My life is my own, and if I should lose it… then so be it.
It's mine to lose, and it has been ever since I was first all by myself.
Don't let your fears destroy what we have. What we could have… if only you'll dare to look with hope.
Look forward as I do, and if you have to look back, then do it with hope."
Look back with hope. My hope… such a precious thing.
Have I lost sight of it? Did the dark nights smother it?
The sound of leather falling upon the rug - her leather glove, nothing more than a burden for her purposes. One bare hand upon his shoulder.
No. There still beats a portion of it in me…
… and another part stands next to me now.
At last he lifted his head. It was a slow movement, unsure of itself. When it ended, he finally looked at her, and… saw her.
Roderika.
She hadn't done anything to her appearance since he first encountered her, or even since yesterday, but she was different. Her nose was still its own shape, her build slim and svelte as ever. Her blonde hair and green eyes had the same luster, the same light contrast to his own features, but he looked and saw somebody entirely different.
Not a girl sure to die because of him, but… a woman.
A brave woman who had endured trauma and lived.
A kind woman who believed in him despite his faults and his sins.
A sincere woman whose inexperience could not dissuade her.
A dear woman who loved him like none other.
Cease your moping, you bastard.
You have done enough of it.
Reclaim your birthright of courage.
Be the man you wish to be.
Be once more an example for her to see.
He loved her in return; thus he could do no other than say…
"I will."
It was a two-letter-sentence more resolute than any he'd spoken that day.
Arthur stood.
The look in his eyes said it all. These were the eyes of a determined man - something like the man who had rushed the ramparts of Stormveil and delivered bloody justice with the mother of all beheadings. Like the man who vowed to give unconditionally and follow the path of virtue, strait as the gate and narrow as the way should become.
This was a knight, armor gleaming and new. The chains of a great failure no longer held true.
As harshly as the rain may pour down, as cold and wicked as the moon may loom, he would neither drown nor yield his all to doom.
"I will."
His first act was to remove Roderika's hand from his shoulder, gently as he should treat a woman dear to him.
His next was to throw his arms around her and hold on as though she were fleeting.
Here laid the difference, the crucial difference between the Sovereign Eternal and the humble spirit tuner.
Marika deigned not to comfort or touch the one who so desperately yearned.
If Arthur ever would grow to love Marika, he would not be loved in return.
Roderika, grateful and loyal, loved regardless of being loved in return.
In this moment, without intention, he paid no mind to the god-Queen Marika.
Even if this was ephemeral, and in an hour he would pray to Her Eternal Majesty once more, now he felt like the purest of virgins.
Forgotten were the words conjured by a fearsome night, forgotten because they were merely words. Plated in grace's gold, they were of no value, of no comparison to an affection that could be felt and touched.
He loved the golden-hearted woman in front of him, and it was his first love. A gentle and impassioned thing, just for the two of them.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
"I want you to come with me. I would cherish no companion more deeply than you. Gods, I want it."
"I want that, too."
Desire long-contested and desire accepted at last.
A kiss for good luck and a kiss to dissolve the lingering nerves. An embrace to trump all fears and an embrace for tenderness' sake.
They parted, and the morning was slightly older now. The mood stabilized, and in the contented silence a sense of moving-on came to be.
He walked without excessive difficulty to the bed upon which his armor laid. He walked now with the strength to bear its weight.
"During perhaps my third week in these lands, I lost something important to myself… a pretty brass ring that I had brought from home. I lost it in such a foolish way, too… while I was washing myself of blood, it slipped from my finger and fell deep into the River Siofra."
He shook the right gauntlet and the golden whistle-ring fell from within, clattering inside as it went. Gold was the color of righteousness - of grace's bestowance, and Melina's trust.
"Downstream it went, and I chased it, yet never did catch it. It was so dark, in the deepest throes of an eternal night… and I was without torch. Though I searched the basin below for what felt like eternity, I never found it. Such a petty item, I know… but a portion of my old life dissolved as it washed away."
Just another casualty in the grand scheme of it all.
"With its loss came a lesson."
He focused on his hands, hands that were destined for honorable duty… for the actions by which a son might make his father proud. His path lay before him - a campaign to the capital. There and there alone could he right what once was wronged within the Erdtree; there would the value of his life be proven.
"Sometimes the cherished things we lose can just never be found again. We can replace them and remember them fondly, or even try to forget them… but they remain absent all the same. We live with it… the hole formed by their vanishing. Can we ever set them in the past for good? Maybe not. … I only know that we can try. Because we can, we must."
He clenched his fists and held the whistle-ring in his right. Sundry nicks and scratches on them, some larger than others. Skin that had never known a farmer's field but did know the hilt of one sword or another since boyhood.
"The golden ring from Melina took its place, and I ceased to mourn the loss, for no knight should concern with material possessions more than his duty… but in that I forgot the lesson it provided. I forgot it until now."
If it had to be so, then he would die with a sword in his hand. He would die fighting, and no other way. Upon the throne or within the dirt; no retreat, no surrender.
"Thank you for reminding me. How often we forget ourselves, in spite of our best efforts. When you take a lump of sand in your fist, the grains seep through your finger-gaps; it happens no matter how little or greatly you squeeze. Perhaps the effort drives them out faster."
The ring fell onto the bed, having been released from his hold, and he turned back to face her. She stood only a few feet away, looking at the bloodied armor upon the bed and the knight beside it.
"I never want to forget this… the feeling that you've brought to me, just by virtue of being you. Come with me when I next journey forth. I could ask no other."
With the kindly smile upon her face, she walked closer still.
"I would follow you anywhere."