Parted from all she had ever known, swept into a conflict she had never sought, softly tearing up at many a provocation…

… this was the lot of a girl who wanted nothing more than to go home.

This was the lot of the spirit jellyfish Aurelia.

"Oh, I know… can you take this little one along with you?"

"Little one? What are you…"

"The poor thing deserves someone braver than myself... and the spirits look rather fondly upon you."

"... alright. I shall… bring the 'little one' along with me."

How unhinged I must have sounded, when he can't hear spirits as I do. They're only vague whispers to him, indistinct.

Equally was it that of the Tarnished girl Roderika who had stumbled upon the phial of her ashes… but her misery was past, barring some somber moments alone. Still, she did fondly recall the time when she would hear the jelly girl's voice in her time of need.

This was despite the fact that she had no way to summon spirits - a girl without company, a spirit without a master and no medium to bring them together. That she could even communicate with her was an early sign of how naturally she did align with spirits.

The gift - such is what the smith and the knight dubbed it - was something she previously believed to be ordinary. She was plain, and craven, and below even the slackest standard. She couldn't do anything. If she could hear them, hear the cries and whispers of the dead, it stood to reason that everybody could.

Just as she came to realize her own worth, so was it that she learned of her gift's unique nature. Underneath an array of subterranean stars, dreams alight in each and every one, that night was special in more ways than she could state.

"I love you."

Perhaps it was said too soon by certain courtships' standards. Perhaps they were more like teenage elopers acting on 'boy has first girl, girl has first boy' feelings… but, forget it all, they were going full speed ahead now. If relationships aren't best founded on mutual tenderness - on saving one another from the depths of repression and despair - what are they founded on?

Still, as distant as such a time seems, despair once ruled the day and terrorized the night. In such dark hours, the ashes within the glass container proved a kind companion. As she whittled away the last of her composure within the derelict shack, the voice did its best to assuage the misery. Even while convinced that Godrick's men from the castle would seize her and tear her apart, she could hold a conversation with the spirit girl in her pocket.

What things she must have witnessed, in Arthur's possession ever since the meeting upon Stormhill. What blood and guts, what sights and sounds.

Now was the time to ask her.

Upon the penultimate steps towards the smithy, she halted and observed silently. Three-fourths of the way up, the top portion of her head peeked over the stairs' edge. Had either of the men turned, they would have noticed her blonde hair and curious eyes peeping at them from through the doorway. She was careful not to make herself known as a witness to the exchange… though she had arrived in only its final minute.

"... but this time can be different. This time, something can go right in this world. Even if I have to leave her… to depart from here and never come back… it will be different for Roderika. I'll not… fail another girl. Another innocent."

Much of his back turned to her, he couldn't see the look of confusion and shock that she now held. If he did, he would have been able to read her like the simplest book and tell just what ran through her head. In turn, she never would know just how grim his expression did become as he spoke.

… what are you saying?

What do you mean?

"Leave her? Nah, you couldn't be so callous. I know you better than that. I don't doubt your commitment to her and her wellbeing… which is why I say all of this."

Clearly she had missed the bulk of their conversation… but what she did catch was hardly what she wanted to be hearing.

I've hardly seen Master Hewg so… downcast. His voice sounds spent.

"Believe my words, Hewg. Can you really deny me that?"

"... I suppose it's too late now. My faith has gone the way of the Roundtable Hold - nothing left but ugly tatters."

… but what do you mean? 'This time'... 'fail another girl'...

It sounds so torn apart, your voice.

You wouldn't… not over a fear like that. Not over a… sense of duty.

You wouldn't leave me, would you?

"..."

… but you will, when all of the road has been walked, and you stand before Marika.

You must leave… perhaps that would be failing me still, if only to my own selfish wants.

Still… it must happen someday. You have to, so as not to discard all of this. All of the ordeals that would seek to prevent you from becoming Elden Lord.

This isn't the time to consider such things.

Not yet. Not now. Why would you… when all of it has only just begun?

The knight turned, and luckily for Roderika he did not face her at any point of it. He retreated back to the red blanket by the wall, out of her sight, as Hewg struck his hammer against the anvil.

She gave it perhaps another minute, just to distance herself from whatever conversation had just happened, and crossed over the boundary of the staircase. In her hands she brought the swords of Knight Arthur, just as he had requested, only she was particularly careful in handling the smaller of the two. Its sheathed blade was pointed upwards and away from everyone in the room. After the 'incident' not long prior, she'd take no risks.

"Well, where've you been? You took your time."

Hewg was the first to notice her return, even though his focus had shifted entirely onto his craft. A plain sword longer than a shortsword but smaller than Arthur's steel weapon, it was struck over and over and over and over until it was perfect. The smith's metal rhythm didn't break even as he acknowledged her return.

"Oh, just… down there. I have these, and what should be a most useful item for practice."

The knight seemed almost solemn, or lost in somber thoughts, until she made herself known. He looked up at her, having idly begun to play with a sword plucked from nearby. Such a hazard, sharp things like those being left on the floor en masse. Hewg never stopped making them, beyond the breaks she would ask him to take… almost as though he were a man possessed, in a fervor. That, or a man afraid.

His labor appeared excessive, though; who would wield them, anyway?

The Roundtable Hold seemed to be devoid of fighters, Arthur and D excepted. Rogier couldn't walk, and Fia hardly looked to be the bloodshedding type, for she came as soft-spoken and nurturing as any woman ever could be.

"There you are. Were my swords truly so well-hidden? D seemed intent on preventing me from 'injuring myself further', so it would make sense."

Then again, the idea that such traits could preclude a person from being formidable was one she'd have to discard… for Fia and she were alike in certain respects. Very scarcely had they interacted after her first day in the Hold, but Arthur's brief descriptions of her painted an interesting picture.

She seemed kind and hospitable, having been generous enough to lend her room on that occasion, and was indisputably blonde. Still, for Roderika, there was a smidge of satisfaction taken in the idea that the knight would rather seek such things in her than the 'Deathbed Companion'. That she could be special to somebody, anybody at all, was uplifting.

"Your swords were… beneath the bed we set your armor on. I stumbled upon them by chance. Here they are…"

She held them out for him, and the sword in his hand was discarded for those in hers. His thumbs, in a very deliberate act, ran tenderly across against her fingers and knuckles as he accepted the sheathed blades. Even with the barrier of her leather gloves, he could feel the warmth of the contact… or maybe he was just being set ablaze by the way she looked on him now with that minor blush and shy smile. He sure had a fire enwreathe his heart when he thought about her, and if it burned him up… well, he wouldn't mind.

Alas, as moments oft do, theirs ended. Any more lingering would merely delay what had to happen - a physical separation of the two.

"... thank you very much. Would I be wrong in presuming you found the ashes?"

"You wouldn't.", she said as her now-empty hand pulled the phial out. "I'm glad that this glass didn't shatter. I can only wonder how you managed it."

"Hah… I suppose my foes were too concerned with striking me in the head to accidentally crush it. You can have it back, of course… as I told you, I can hear the whispers and utterances of spirits like a foreign man understands local tongue. Hardly, to say it outright."

Though the idea of him being hit in the head obviously didn't please her, the fact that he wasn't dead proved his more-or-less fine condition… if one was to ignore his other injuries.

He drew back the scabbard from the undulating blade it covered and looked over the flamberge. A fair bit weathered, as it would be, but still more than capable of tearing apart flesh with ease. No need for it here, though, and he was glad about that.

Man loses himself if submerged within blood perpetually; he should aspire to warriorhood, never savagery. There dwells the greatest difference between a lion and a beast within the creature's heart - a lion is proud of his valor, a beast of his violence.

"You may be glad to hear, Hewg, that I have taken good care of this blade you gave me. Quite a fine one. I found another sword you should be very interested in… but such is a topic for later."

The sword was put away, sheathed safely and set down by his left side. Were it a plain weapon without distinguishing features, it may have very well been lost among the sea of sharp iron and steel cluttering the smithy floor. Its smaller companion, such a strange magical sword, had no such risks, owing to its unique appearance and nature.

"Now we can get to spirit tuning. I have been looking forward to seeing this. Perhaps I will learn a thing or two, as well… even though the arcane is all quite beyond me."

The smith put an end to his work for the time being; iron crashing down upon iron is hardly conducive to an environment fit for spiritual matters. As Roderika settled next to Arthur once more, she looked up at the Misbegotten. A nod prompted her to commence.

The black ashes cradled in her hands, she honed her concentration upon it - the ethereal sensation that hummed upon her palms. The arcane, the mystical and the beyond all whispered for her ears only; an aura described best as 'ghostly' seemed to wrap all around her.

"I can feel it… the vibrations of a spirit untethered by mortality but bound from death."

I can hear them, the idle hums of beings beyond us… beyond our skin and our flesh.

The call of the deep, the tug of that ghostly contact… in this moment she was again connected to what lay between the light of life and darkness of death. In this moment there was no knight, no blacksmith and no Roundtable Hold… only a spirit tuner and a spirit. Only herself and the deathly whisper.

"Aurelia… do you hear my voice?"

"Roderika… ahh, it's been so long, it feels. We're together again, at last."

Again were the Tarnished girl's ears privy to the sweetest voice, the voice of a child eternal in spirit.

"It's nice to speak with you again. I hope that you haven't been unwell… dwelling within the company of somebody so charged with duty as him."

"Arthur does such frightening things… but I wasn't scared."

Aurelia's voice seemed resolute. As resolute as a child's words could be, anyway - she was no older than eleven or twelve, by her words of choice and the sound of her voice. The sound, before it reached the novice spirit tuner's ears, bounced from wall to wall in the corridor connecting the mortal and spiritual planes. Minor echoes were picked up along the way, but her voice remained clear; in it, only trace amounts of hesitance could be found.

"Of course… I know you weren't. You're quite the brave one."

"So are you. You were so sad when we parted… I didn't want to leave you by yourself. You seem different now."

The woman smiled proudly and thought to herself 'I am'. Yes, she was different. Past was the annihilation of her companions and her grief-stricken resignation upon Stormhill.

"Everything is different now. We've passed from a long night to a gentle morning."

"He seems different, too… Arthur. He was sad like you when I first went with him, but he hid it deep inside. I could still feel it, even when he lied to himself, but now I don't feel it so much."

Roderika's smile only grew as she nodded. The idea that he had overcome obstacles just as she had was pleasing… only further amplified by the knowledge that it was through her doing. Though the spirit girl's words were undoubtedly simple, as it behooved a child, they seemed accurate.

"Are you going to come with us?"

"What?"

Such a sudden question elicited surprise from her.

"We've seen so many wonderful things… like a dragon! When he was picking flowers for you, he fought a dragon over them, and he didn't die… so I think he won. If you come with us, you can see!"

She already knew those flowers were for her (because who else would they be for?); such an outside confirmation was not unwelcome, despite this. In fact, it was quite nice.

The knight watched and, though he understood what was happening, found it rather amusing - from a plain perspective, she seemed to be speaking into her hands without any response whatsoever. He could only speculate as to what the spirit jelly had been telling her.

"... did he? It wouldn't surprise me… but yes, I will. He and I made an agreement - I'll learn the noble toil of spirit tuning, and only then can I join him in his travels. He was afeared that I might find myself endangered… but I couldn't allow him to journey alone."

"He's not alone; he has a spirit woman attached to him! Her name is Melina, and she's so very nice. He doesn't hear me when I'm in his pocket, but she does."

"..."

Spirit woman? Perhaps this was some sort of 'imaginary friend' or mental figment. Aurelia had been quite lonely without her sister, after all. Arthur could not perceive spirits beyond the minimum, he'd said as much… so this would be quite the large contradiction. A contradiction, an outlier or a very powerful haunting.

"... tell me about 'Melina'. How nice is she?"

Even as focused as she was on communing with the spirit girl, she noticed Arthur sit up slightly, as if he were very surprised that she'd spoken such a name. Perhaps for a moment he thought she was speaking to him.

"Oh, she's very kind… not just to myself, but to Arthur. She told me she gave him a nice golden ring that summons a horse; his name is Torrent, and he's a spirit like me and her! When Arthur gets hurt, she puts bandages on his wounds and covers him with her cloak whenever he sleeps somewhere cold. She prays with him, too, but she doesn't speak out loud, so maybe she wants to keep hers to herself. Anyway, I can't wait until you meet her."

That explained the circumstances behind his odd mount. She hadn't forgotten seeing his horse seemingly disintegrate when he first stopped before Stormhill Shack, nor when they reached the lift down to Siofra.

"Oh, my… she sounds like a good friend."

"Yes, and they even hold hands sometimes! They go quiet for a while, and he feels happy after every time they do. Melina's a great friend; you'll like her."

Such words caused Roderika to go silent for a long moment, taking in this information. She used another moment to consider what she thought about it.

"..."

"..."

She wasn't jealous, or anything like that. Of course not. Why should she be? Why should she be jealous at all? It wasn't like this 'Melina' woman had done that much for him in her own absence… only given him a horse (and a golden ring, no less!), and taken care of his lesser injuries, and put her cloak over him, and…

"... I'm sure I will."

If I didn't know better, from such descriptions… I might think they were married.

Those flowers… perhaps they were for her, instead.

She wasn't jealous, or suspicious at all. Of course she wasn't. Arthur was a good man, an honest one; infidelity would be wildly out of character… though maybe such an act wouldn't be infidelity, given the short duration of their relationship up until now.

He must have known this 'Melina' woman before meeting her, since he already rode the spectral horse… which would make her the 'other woman' in such a case. That was assuming this truly was what it appeared to be, which she wasn't completely convinced of… yet. Either situation would be awful, deeply awful.

Especially now, she could not make herself forget that the ultimate intent of his quest was to become Marika's Consort… Marika, the cruel wench, the golden harpy that had done this to her without giving her grace like some sort of joke. It wasn't very funny.

At her behest, he would leave her… just as he spoke of. Perhaps she was the 'girl' he so wished never to fail.

The golden harpy… the golden whore took so much already… and now she would take one of barely any good things left in her ruined world. She and Melina. Why would they do this to her?

All she wanted was to go home… all she wanted was to be special to somebody, and now that she was, would they rip it away like they ripped the flesh off of her companions?

Did they want to make her die so badly? It was not enough for them that she bore a flaming, diminished life… they only wanted to smother it in pitch, let it burn into gray ash.

My stomach is churning… I don't know why, but it is. I can't will it to stop.

Is it churning at the idea that they touch each other when he's away from me?

Why should it? I've never felt… jealous before. Isn't it meant to feel some other way?

… but I'm not jealous.

The more that she thought about it, the more she realized she and him might need to have another conversation. Just a conversation, nothing more.

Within the long pause, Arthur broke into her concentration with an innocuous question; he had little idea what was happening, if the smile on his face was any indication, mild as it was.

"How is it going, Roderika? Is she well?"

Quickly her head swivelled to make eye contact with him.

"Yes, she's well."

As naturally soft-spoken as she was, never prone to raising her voice, she was unusually curt now. The words of this three-word sentence seemed almost clipped at the edges, like she was very unhappy. He appeared to take it in stride, but then again, not much seemed to unwind him.

"Then I am glad; it has been quite some time since I have spoken to her. Quite the eager soul, she is… though I would rather she be in the possession of somebody less 'risk-prone'. In short, you. I could never forgive myself were the glass phial to be shattered in a fight, her ashes scattered and lost."

Could he forgive himself for adultering?

"I see. She's volunteered some… rather fascinating information."

The two sat in silence for a small period of time. They knew exactly what would happen next, which is why they tried to avoid it by not speaking.

It didn't work.

"... I take it you speak of Melina."

"I do. Could I… speak to you? … in private?"

Her tone wasn't really… anything. It was just normal, average Roderika as he knew it. Despite this, Arthur was aware that this conversation would be important. He looked over at Hewg, who had been silently observing all of this from behind the anvil.

"Give us a moment, would you?"

"Of course."

The knight stood up, leaning himself against the wall as did. To his left there was a straight section ending in a closed set of wooden double-doors; a wall separated this stretch from the stairs and blocked any view from Hewg's position.

As he watched her speak to the ashes, he figured that Roderika may have been a bit unhappy about him not mentioning Melina… but as he walked, she supplanted the wall in its role of supporting him, and he appreciated that.

"Thank you… this leg of mine still hurts quite a bit."

"..."

Once they were far enough down the way to have a private conversation, he allowed himself to fall back against the wall, and she stood before its opposite. Her vision was cast off to the side, down at the floor. It was only after a few seconds of steeling herself for an answer she may not like that she asked…

"Arthur… who is Melina?"

With no any hesitation or needing to think, his answer came. Perhaps he had conceived it ahead of time, or perhaps he was without anything to hide.

"Well, she is a good friend of mine. She was there for me in perhaps the most vital time… besides the occasion on which we truly met."

Much to Roderika's unknown consternation, he developed a smile that was lined with nostalgia. She wasn't jealous. Why should she be?

"That's… the extent of your bond? Friendship?"

He now looked truly puzzled by such a question, as if he found it bizarre; his smile dimmed. She wished not to see such a thing as that, even as her tone grew cutting.

"... yes. Why are you… asking me this?"

It was too late to retreat from this line of questioning now.

"Aurelia spoke of acts that were most… intriguing between you and Melina. You… hold hands, and I'm told she gifted you a golden ring. Is it true?"

The knight looked down at his right hand, only to remember that it was bare. The whistle-ring, it seemed, came off with his gauntlet when he was removed from his armor; presumably it remained inside of there.

"Ah, I see. This is all true. I remember when she put that ring upon my finger by the campfire, it was quite surprising. When she holds my hand, well, that is quite a strange feeling. A good one, and one that leaves me rather… invigorated, or strengthened. I feel I can endure more afterwards, if only a bit."

That he was not denying it but instead admitted it in full… finally solidified an unfamiliar feeling. Something like jealous anger.

The other feeling was not so foreign - raw hurt.

"... so it's true, then. Is she truly a friend? Only a friend?"

Accusatory.

"Well, yes, of course. What else would she be? A stranger?"

This only provoked those emotions further, though he seemed to have little clue of it. Stoking her flames in a way like this, he must have known exactly what he was doing… but still, she couldn't believe such…

"No. A…"

He waited. When there came no continuation, he spoke.

"What? She is not some magical half-sister watching over me, if you think that is it. I am, quite sadly, an only child. What are you thinking? I want to know."

Not even Roderika fully understood what she was thinking, or feeling… but her mouth did, as it let out another sentence. If her mind wouldn't get its act together, her heavy heart would, and the words came spilling out like water.

"... are you going to leave me?"

Bewildered, utterly shocked. All that he could think to do was stare at her, stunned with such a question.
"I… you…"

"I overheard your conversation with Master Hewg… and I know that you believe you should."

Everything finally set into place within his head. He knew now what the root of the issue was… or so he thought. How deep wells can lead into darkness, deeper than any man can see.
"... for Melina? You… you mean to ask if I would…"

"Yes."

The idea that she even suspected this, let alone felt the need to question him about it, was an axe to the heart. He held up the stoic front, so as not to display that on his face, and he held it up with everything in him.

"You think I intend to… elope with Melina? That I would just use and then discard you like a sword cracked in the blade? Would you really think that of me? Why? What did I do…"

With the pain in his voice, Roderika looked down. She couldn't bear to look up, sorry that she had caused it, even if her suspicions turned out to be true… and that their bond ending was a matter of when, as opposed to if.

Strangely enough, every time he put on such a brave face, it did the opposite of what he meant - showed that, beneath it all, he was just as vulnerable and prone to shattering as her.

"You said it yourself… 'even if I have to leave her'. I heard you earlier. I know that to be by Marika's side… is your goal. The goal of every Tarnished. It's not so impossible to imagine you… with Melina."

Immediately he shook his head.

"No. No."

"She's done so much for you already, and you have such a long way heading to the Erdtree… all on your own, but for her. Along the way, y-"

"No! No… that is… wildly out of context and untrue, Roderika. If you think me some adulterer without faithfulness, you are wrong! You have never even spoken to her!"

He lost the reins over his volume. He couldn't be stone-faced any longer. Not with her, not with this. She knew Arthur would never raise his voice at her purposefully, but this time, maybe it was for the best; she realized just how appalled by her insinuation he was. Never had she heard him yell, not at her or anybody. It was, frankly, unsettling; never did he find cause to yell… which meant he must have been deeply perturbed.

Her expression displayed this surprise at his sudden volume. It slowly returned to neutrality, tinged still with sadness at the whole of this, and both of them settled down just a bit. Still… such an emotional reaction led her to believe his sincerity, even more than she already wanted to.

"Believe me, I would never… never leave you for another woman, not before I fell dead. I know that we still are unfamiliar with one another in so many ways, and we perhaps said 'love' a bit too soon, but I care for you so much. What I desire is something real, and I believe we have it, if we'll only continue."

Even now, even with all of these thoughts and fears of being abandoned plaguing her, his words could soothe her. He wanted what she did. This confirmed it. Her fear was just that - a fear, a night-shadow dispelled by a fire.

She directed her vision from the floor up to view his face. Without the clouding judgment of what she now knew to be jealousy, she perceived the sincerity in his expression… in his words.

"Roderika, Melina is my friend - a dear one, but nothing more or less. I… I have only ordinary feelings for her. You, on the other hand… well, believe me when I say that you are the only. My only, and my first."

The air seemed to leave her lungs.

"... but why do you hold her hand? Why? Are you really so close?"

"Because she turns runes into strength. Through some power of hers, she acts in the stead of a Finger Maiden, with all that entails. That is why. I have never touched her with intentions beyond."

"... I see."

Oh.

Oh.

That was it.

"Arthur… please…"

"I promise, I would never leave you… not…"

'... not for another. I would do it only for you.'

Arthur stepped closer and placed his hands on her shoulders, a touch Roderika returned upon his forearms. The two regarded each other with a frail optimism once more. Although the mood was rather sullied by emotion, there came a slight air of hope afterwards. Quarrels, they individually reasoned, could strengthen a relationship if resolved. Maybe this was good. Maybe the prickling feelings in both of their chests were aftershocks, rather than an unvanquished issue.

As they looked on one another with bittersweet eyes, the maiden saw a savior certain to leave her, and the knight saw somebody who he must leave in order to save.

The ghosts of worry and fear haunted them both, planting whispers in their ears so as never to fade.

How often the eyes and ears deceive.