Sir Gideon Ofnir, the man who knew all.
Arthur Wallace, the man who knew little.
Was he aware that he knew so little?
If not, he knew nothing.
"... oh? Are you still aggrieved, Nepheli, at the thought of another Tarnished stealing your prey?"
"Father… Godrick was mine to vanquish… by your own decree. That grafting of his ill-befitted a 'Lord'. The winds ran cold with his deeds."
"He is but a memory now, meaningless in present affairs. Focus on the task at hand, and put Stormveil behind you."
"..."
"..."
A trio of knuckle-raps sounded against the doorway, more to indicate entrance than beg permission for it.
"I am returned to the Hold, Sir Gideon… long-returned, though perhaps not for much longer."
The old man hunched over his desk was not surprised by the young knight's arrival, having noticed him peering into the room before entering. How could one be considered the all-knowing without being all-seeing?
To the desk's right, with her back previously half-turned to Arthur, stood an unfamiliar woman.
"Ah, I knew you'd come. I bid you welcome once more… as a true member of the Roundtable Hold, granted entrance by the Great Rune in your possession. … but you know as much already, don't you? Come in - there's somebody you might benefit from meeting."
After treading further into the room, he laid eyes upon this 'somebody'.
Garbed in simple attire of fur and rough black cloth, she was evidently no aristocratic dame. Most notably, perhaps, a chain was wrapped around her waist, and around it a portion of red fabric was tied.
Overall, from just a simple glance, he could tell that she was of a warrior type… though not of the same noble stylings as his.
"Greetings. We've not met, but I surmise you know that well enough. I am Arthur. Knight Arthur, only… I am presently out of my armor, as you can see."
He gave a knightly bow to the stranger. The woman, rather intense in countenance, responded with a simple nod of acknowledgment. A sullen, stoic air enveloped her; she was no woman to be trifled with.
She clearly was not the overly-expressive type; such was in line with her appearance - well-muscled and about as tall as him, the latter feat unmatched by anybody besides D.
The only ones taller were Blaidd and Alexander, both anomalies for their own reasons, but obviously among humans he found scarcely an equal.
"I am Nepheli Loux... Tarnished and warrior, like you. What business do you have with my father?"
The words 'my father' led him to look blankly at her for a second or two.
"... father? He is your… Sir Gideon, you never told me you had a daughter. Well, where is… your wife? I would presume you know such, unless you parted on bitter terms."
A brief laugh came from within the older man's helm. With a 'beard' of what seemed to be metal ears, it was crowned by eyes and, quite prominently, sharp spikes. Invoking his ire would hold consequences dire; he most likely delivered the fiercest headbutt known to mankind.
"Nepheli is my foster daughter. I took her in when she lost the guidance of grace."
In all truth, Arthur thought Sir Gideon much too old to sire a daughter, but he didn't pass that information along… nor did he mention that it would be surprising if he found the time to woo a woman, given his endless studies.
"Ah, I see. In any case it is a pleasure to meet you, Nepheli Loux… Ofnir…"
Once again he bowed, only slightly less like a courtly knight and slightly more like a peasant's awkward imitation of one. It was enough to induce a mild smile on that intense-yet-neutral expression of hers… which soon faded.
"If you have permission to speak with Father in his study, you must be of more accomplishment than most others here. To be a full member of the Roundtable, no less…"
"Indeed, Arthur here has progressed steadily towards the throne of Elden Lord, though he still has a distance to go. Not every man can slay a shardbearer… even were they such a whelp as Godrick."
Nepheli instantly put the pieces together, and looked at him in a manner that seemed half-jealous…
"It was you that defeated Godrick."
… and half-in-admiration.
"Yes."
He nodded. An odd combination, but such was what Arthur perceived. Even in his unarmored state, he could command respect - how lovely. Perhaps all courtly charms were not lost to him after all.
"What do you make of it? The sensation of a Great Rune's power I've heard much about?"
The knight smiled and put his words together; there were so many, so many to describe the sensation of a shard of the Elden Ring, but diatribes were impolite and unseemly, forcing him to pick.
"I suppose… it is like the warmest fire within my chest, but there is no flame… only golden light that can be felt without form. Even when I sleep, I can hear the Elden Ring call to me, spurring me on as though I were a champion… or perhaps that is simply the grace of Queen Marika protecting me from doubt."
With such a description, the woman was quite satisfied and enamored.
"I see. It sounds like a worthy prize. You defeated Godrick; you should have it."
There dwelt a hint of jealousy in her voice still, but it seemed hardly like the the 'stab you in the back for doing better than me' sort.
He understood perfectly how enthralling the art of battle could be… even if he would never admit to himself that he grew accustomed to visceral murder.
Felling a great opponent is a thrill, an honor and a pride rolled into one bloody deed. If she were the one to slay Godrick, he would feel much the same way.
"Why, thank you. Stormveil was quite the ordeal, with its garrison and those ballistae firing upon the gate-path. Near the mounds of spent bodies, I even encountered one of those… 'experiments' that Godrick put together. Sickening, the injustice of it all."
"Ah, yes. Utterly repellant."
He was glad to find somebody who agreed. Then again… who wouldn't think it a revolting practice, sticking others' limbs where they shouldn't be?
"I left not a one of the murderers to live or flee. When I put the Grafted to the sword himself… well, nothing could undo his crimes, but he'll not be slaughtering any more innocents, and this much is true."
The slightest hint of a smile crept onto his face as he imagined setting that same fate upon Ranni, the rotten Carian witch. She was the worst of them all - the Shattering itself was the progeny of her actions. No Ranni, no war; no war, no graft.
"Father sent me to slay Godrick. I came across the aftermath instead. It seems I was a day late. The gatekeeper has no respect for the dead. He's made a habit of scavenging corpses."
"Gostoc? Yes, he was quite the… trustworthy character. He even insisted I should use some side-entrance as opposed to going through the main gate. What a lowly thing that would be."
The warrior's eyes widened slightly.
"... you went through the main gate?"
As the two young warriors spoke, Sir Gideon pored over spreads of information-laden paper upon his desk, paying them little mind. The pursuit of knowledge is without end, even if the two youngsters did talk louder than they should.
"Why, of course. It was only honorable. I am no sneak-thief; I enter and leave only through the primary ways."
She then raised an eyebrow, very curious.
"It seemed dangerous. There were large… crossbows on the walls. They were pointed at the gate."
"Those are called 'ballistae'. They are, indeed, like large crossbows… only slightly more fatal."
"... 'bullistee'. I see."
It did not surprise him that the woman wasn't acquainted well with mounted weapons. She was a rather… simple individual, but in a very good way; such was betrayed by her bare attire and manner of speaking in short sentences that had been seemingly chopped by the axes upon her hips.
"I had to step over the bolts stuck in the ground. How did you manage it?"
How did he? It was quite simple, if 'it' was short for 'not being skewered by a trio of bolts'.
"Well, you see…"
He stuck out his index finger and made a pattern in the air.
"... you have to sprint in an unceasing, erratic zig-zag-zig-zag pattern until you get so close that they cannot aim the ballistae down to shoot you."
Nepheli looked at him, almost in disbelief. Why was that? He was telling the truth.
"It was that simple?"
"As I recall, yes, but it helps if you let out a war-cry."
"A war-cry always helps."
This agreement drew a smile and a nod from him. Perhaps Sir Gideon thought them both savages, but when warriors listen to scholarly old men they tend to die young… and not in the glorious, heroic way some might hope for. Arthur knew the value of the war-cry, as did Nepheli; just more evidence of how competent a warrior she must have been.
"Essentially I made a charge up the path and swung until all around me laid still. It was the fastest charge I have had to make since my time as a squire, when I would partake with my father in the yearly tournaments."
"So you simply… ran and swung."
Secretly, in his heart of knightly hearts, the man was hoping she'd ask about those tournaments; then would he have a reason to reminisce further. Even so, it was good to meet yet another person of good character. A life without companions is empty and wasted, indeed.
"Sprinted. I would say 'run' is to 'sprint' as 'kill' is to 'murder of passion' - that is, you put a lot more heart and soul into the latter action. If I merely ran, I would probably be impaled quite awfully right now… and that is no fun."
She nodded, clearly thinking… something. He didn't know quite what it was, but if he did, it may have been something akin to 'he is quite the daring one; perhaps he has a death-wish'.
Knightly honor can often draw a man near the brink of self-destruction, so an assessment like that may have been somewhat accurate.
"You are a strange one. I would hope to fight alongside you, should the fates deign it."
"I pray that fate is a fair being. The same goes for you."
While he turned to leave, he recalled the purpose for his visit and faced the older man once again.
"Ah, I nearly forgot to inquire… Sir Gideon, do you happen to have implements of martial practice within the Hold? Wooden swords? I have taken on Roderika as my… squire, and I wish to instruct her in the ways of self-defense."
The scholar very briefly laughed and looked up from the desk.
"That whelp?"
A scowl developed on the knight's face. He turned to look through the doorway, worried that Roderika's habit of eavesdropping would manifest yet again, but saw nothing and turned back.
"Watch your tongue."
An index finger pointing directly at the older man - truly a disrespectful motion.
"She is not a 'whelp', Sir Gideon. I will have you know that she is, in fact, royalty."
"Royalty where she hails from, perhaps… but this is no such land. Old titles mean nothing when power isn't inherited but taken. Birthright is established at the tip of a sword."
As a man whose birthright would be similarly rendered worthless, he didn't agree. Still, he'd settled down by now and no longer jabbed a finger at Sir Gideon.
"If you say so. Why, then, are you a 'Sir'? Will you enforce such a title by the tip of your… whatever that club by your chair is? Your walking stick?"
"As the All-Knowing, my weapon remains constant, for it is knowledge above all. If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles."
The knight shrugged, not necessarily disagreeing so much as thinking this irrelevant.
"What does it matter? Fear is oft a boon. It is what drives undecided men to throw down their gauntlet and exceed their mortal limits. I know firsthand."
"Not always. Just as often men are killed by fear, frozen where they stand. Where is fear spawned but from the unknown? If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat."
"By such logic I lost to Godrick despite impaling and then beheading him."
That night in the Hold was nothing like a 'defeat'... but that is my business alone.
Nepheli looked to the younger of the men, taking in the verbal exchange. Never was she one for philosophy or for advanced martial strategy, not at all, but by her estimates the two men seemed about equal.
"If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."
"..."
Sir Gideon quite blatantly ignored the latter's response, but of more interest to the woman was the contemplative expression that Arthur now held.
I know myself, surely…
… but I know nothing of Ranni.
I should have, thus, achieved victory even at great cost.
No victory - only a bloody, stumbling retreat as she surely laughed to herself.
My faith was and is so uncertain… do I truly know myself?
My intentions spun and turned like nothing else; if I struggled to master even them…
"Well… you are quite right in that regard. I made my way through Caria Manor and met the vile witch Ranni. I attempted to claim her Great Rune, first diplomatically and next by force, but had no luck. I… succumbed to my wounds, and to fear."
"As I said when we last spoke, her Great Rune was cast off, its location unknown."
"I thought she would be willing to tell me where it was. If she really had no use for it, why would she not relinquish it to a contender for the throne?"
Sir Gideon now had a very curt chuckle, amused by this. Ridiculous, his optimism. It was bordering naivety, if it didn't already cross over.
"That was… before I realized that Ranni was responsible for the Shattering. She has no interest in a unification of the runes, but in chaos and 'upending the whole' of things."
Now the scholar turned his head up once more, pausing his studies. He was very clearly intrigued by this.
"How did you come to know such things?"
"She admitted it herself. She stole Destined Death, or a fragment of it, and 'used it to forge the godslaying black knives through fearsome rite'."
With disdain he imitated the Lunar Princess' manner of speaking - cadence, tone and highborn condescension which dripped off of every vowel.
"The blue woman murdered Godwyn… and I tried to avenge the crime."
"That's certainly interesting. Lunar Princess Ranni… or, rather, Ranni the Witch."
The knight sighed.
"I attempted then and there to enact the wrath of Queen Marika upon her, but I was wounded and quite afraid of what she may do. Within some sort of shallow, circular pool did I encounter a spectral knight; it was bounded by wooden chairs, though some were knocked over in the battle. I sustained my injuries there."
"The Carians are deeply intertwined with the moon. I'd imagine that such a pool was intended for moongazing. Of course, I doubt that occurs much these days."
Moongazing?
I… had not even considered it.
Why would they not simply look up, though?
Were they hereditarily weak-necked?
Ranni is a spineless murderer, so it would be unsurprising.
"Ah, I see. A troll blacksmith I met just beyond the manor limits dubbed Rennala the 'Queen of the Full Moon', so that would be sensible."
He hadn't seen the moon since that night where he rode along the water and followed it through the fog. In that time, thanks to the deeds of the witch, it'd taken on a new meaning.
Just like her voice was the moon leaden and cold. Just like her being was it fearsome, looming over him no matter where he fled.
Even when he could not see her, and she could not find him, his mind recalled Ranni.
Absence did not bring his heart to grow fonder.
"... anyway, it was quite bizarre, my encounter. The spirit-knight - I believe it was a she - wielded a long glaive through which she seemed to cast sorceries. The only means of casting sorceries, as far as I know, are staves… and the sword upon my hip now."
Sir Gideon directed his attention to said weapon. More splendrous than most, he recognized just where it came from.
"The Carian knights were known to use weapons as catalysts for their sorcerous ways. I wouldn't be surprised if she did the same."
"Magic is quite the thing, I suppose. It seems ineffective when I cast it from a staff, but all-powerful in the case of this sword. Perhaps the skill is simply beyond me."
"Without knowledge, magic is but a distant field."
Hearing this assertion, Arthur couldn't defeat the smirk that emerged. It was proud, genuine.
"Well, you may be pleased to know that I have studied magic under the greatest sorceress of her time - Sellen of the Academy of Raya Lucaria."
The scholar tilted his head up so as to look at Arthur. Even with the blackness enveloping his head, courtesy of his helm, it was obviously a slightly stunned stare.
"I imagine you must feel awfully silly, flaunting all of your knowledge without end when I am in the tutelage of a woman so brilliant!"
For some reason or other, the All-Knowing laughed. It was unusually prolonged - an anomaly for him.
"What? What is that for, Sir Gideon? Have you broken down at the realization of your foolishness and its abyssal depths?"
"Oh, taken up with Sellen, have you? That's bloody rich. Do you intend to have her turn you into one of her 'graven masses', or whatever she calls them?"
"What?"
The knight's smirk was eradicated by confusion, as well as light indignation. He neither knew what a 'graven mass' was nor appreciated the implication that Sellen was somebody to laugh at.
"For a Tarnished with such promise, your bloody problem is that you insist upon yourself. True knowledge consists in knowing that you know nothing… even of your own allies."
"... Sir Gideon, what the hell are you talking about? Do not speak poorly of Sellen, for she is a great woman without intellectual equal. If she were here, I would relish the humiliation you might suffer. … anyway, this is all absurd! I merely came to ask whether you have any wooden swords, and I myself wonder how this tangential conversation was wrought!"
The scholar brought down his gauntlet-clad hand upon the desk's surface like a gavel. This shift from mockery to apparent irritation came seemingly from nowhere.
All the while Nepheli still observed, standing by the side of the desk and finding great entertainment. With her sullen demeanor, Arthur couldn't tell.
"There are no wooden swords here; this once was a place of iron, sweat and blood. I'm sick and tired of them, the…"
Arthur knew very well the words that would come next, having heard them before, and thus was able to mouth along to the predicted phrase.
"... namby-pamby Tarnished who think us no more than a shelter from the rain."
"..."
"No novice or squire would find his place here. The Roundtable Hold was respected by all."
If only you were aware that I am, in fact, legally considered a squire rather than a knight.
That a 'mere squire' could best a shardbearer might be far too much for you, I suspect.
Still, there exists truth in your words…
"Then I've no cause to disrupt your peace further, Sir Gideon. I bid you good day, and thank you for the wise counsel. … ah, and good day to you as well, Nepheli. May your travels be safe and justice race along the wind at your back."
"I'll see you again, warrior, should the fates deign it."
"Yes, yes, be on your way so I might return to the pursuit of knowledge."
A parting nod to the woman was reciprocated, and into the roundtable room did he go.
"What was that about?"
"Don't concern yourself with it, Nepheli. There are other matters at hand."
"Yes, father."
Other matters, indeed.
"Whush!"
Another swing.
"Hiyah!"
Another swing.
I think I'm ready to join him in his travels.
Swinging a sword isn't so difficult, after all.
That's hoping I don't need to, but still…
"Hmph!"
A one-handed stab that would(n't) pierce through (a mother's quilt, let alone) chainmail.
Since she was so comfortable already with a sword, perhaps she could convince the knight to allow her that strange sword of unmatched refinement.
From what I saw yesterday… it's a good deal more powerful than this.
I could be of real use to him then. I don't want to be a craven, or a burden…
… not ever again. I've changed, as he's so diligent to remind me.
If I haven't, I would be failing somebody else…
… somebody other than my companions.
It was here that she remembered she'd agreed to meet him upstairs; it couldn't have been that long a time since he went up, surely.
With the final motion completed, her arm lowered to her side. Past her, among all of the steel armor sets, there stood the iron panoply of Arthur.
From afar it reminded her of the approach he'd made on that day atop Stormhill.
One more Tarnished heading to Stormveil, going to be conjoined with the spider. Make it two, if she could stand and walk up the path.
Thank whatever presiding force of the universe - fate, maybe - that she didn't get the chance.
Anyway, the past was a matter for later. Right now she chose to set off for the upper floor of the Hold. Not much left down here.
She walked at a fair pace, striding first through the double-doors and then up the stairs into the smithy. Only when she was halfway up did she remember to sheathe the shortsword in her hand.
As her feet ascended the staircase, leather cushioning them from the hard steps' surface, Roderika noticed that familiar metal clanging from ahead. The blacksmith at work once again.
"Master Hewg?", her words were as she reached the top.
Another strike of the hammer, his turned head and then his reply - "Hmm?".
"Have you been smithing all morning?"
"I have. What else is there to do?"
She stepped closer.
"You could take a break."
"Nah. I don't mind it. The labor of forging helps me to forget it… the memory of Her."
The smithing master shut his eyes, like he could black out even the crevices of memory if he tried hard enough, and shook his head.
"I've nothing else to do, anyway."
Even so, he didn't strike the sword that was on his anvil since she'd spoken.
"If you're sure…"
Both of them with some grievance or other regarding Marika… and neither particularly cared to talk about it.
"I'm sure."
That was why, after nodding and receiving a nod in return, she was on her way.
Little did the woman know that Hewg looked upon her until she was out of sight. Only when she was half-through the doorway did another clash of metal resound. Then another. Then another.
Only through labor and unceasing devotion is mercy found - faith without works is…
"Ah, Roderika! We were just discussing the state of modern liturgy; would you care to join us?"
Instead of in Gideon's company as she might have expected, Arthur sat by the roundtable - the Table of Lost Grace. From her point of view in the doorway, she couldn't very well see what other individual was present until he leaned over.
"... 'we'? 'Us'?"
"I take it you remember my good friend? He hunts the dead, which may sound redundant unless you know well the nature of his work."
"I think she remembers pulling that bolt out of your shoulder more than me. We've only met for the second time now."
Beside him was the man in the remarkably-bizarre gold-and-silver armor. Two chairs facing the fireplace with their backs to the roundtable and a foot's space between the arms. A steel sword in its sheath on the table, a gold-and-silver sword on the strange man's hip.
"Hello again. When I last saw you two, I had… a matter of my own to attend to. I couldn't stay until morning… but I did ensure that our friend here lived through the night."
It wasn't particularly nice, the experience of Arthur's life gushing all over the Roundtable Hold floors and furniture, but at least that night had a happy conclusion… and the next morning a happy beginning.
"I'm known as D; I hunt down Those Who Live in Death, and weed their Deathroot."
"Indeed. It is perhaps the shortest name I ever did know. Ah, but do mind your manners. She is royalty."
The knight cleared his throat, solely for the sake of theatrics, and inhaled deeply.
"… 'mine Lady, mine Lady, replete I stand not with thine prior whereabouts! Following thine training, where didst thou tarry thenceforth?'"
His voice shifted into an approximation of a royal accent… as he did hear it from those of his home country. Perhaps it melded with the farthest, most dramatic fringes of his own in that he trilled every 'r' and affected it with reverence.
Despite the abnormal diction used, such reverence was wholly sincere.
"I was speaking with Master Hewg."
Not a lie, though not a whole truth.
The woman stepped past the two men, retrieved a chair from halfway to the other side of the table and set it to the left of Arthur's.
"... and it's 'thy'."
His face was perplexed, like she'd spoken some string of nonsense while she sat down.
"What?"
"You said 'thine prior' and 'thine training'... but you would only say 'thine' if the following word has a vowel as its first letter."
"... I see."
After a moment he nodded and, from the expression on his face, might have felt like he were made a colossal fool. Such wasn't her intention, not at all.
"Yes, she seems to be royalty, alright.", the Hunter of the Dead said. His tone made it clear just how much amusement he found in it… perhaps to the knight's embarrassment.
"It's nothing special… just basic grammar."
"Well, I never was one for speaking in the fancy three - thee, thou and thy - so do excuse my mistakes, Your Highness."
"What were you saying about minding manners?"
Arthur turned his head to look directly at D with just about the blankest expression possible.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"... anyway, if I am to be a King Consort by any sliver of chance then it may serve me well to learn them. At the very least I already know the difference between 'Majesty' and 'Highness'."
Now she turned to look at him; by this time he'd set his gaze back upon the fire, the brilliant and homely fire not soon to die out.
"I know you do. I've heard you pray to Marika on occasion… and call her 'Your Eternal Majesty'."
At the idea, the suppressed and still-existent idea of Arthur someday marrying the Queen, she couldn't stop the subtle venom that coated her words. It seemed to go unnoticed by him.
She wasn't jealous again; she'd gotten over that, and she knew it. Marika was nowhere to be found, nowhere at all - with how little sleep the knight had gotten, his late-night 'experience' was probably a hallucination.
Marika, the uncaring golden wh… wench… wouldn't deign to comfort somebody in need. Not her, and not Arthur. She was cruel and vile, having cursed everyone with the present state of affairs.
Still, she would never call him delusional or a fool, no matter how much he prayed to a goddess that tore away his old life with her 'grace'.
"Been praying, have you?"
"Indeed, I have, and I quite like it… even though I am no pious man as of yet."
"We all start somewhere. Even the lowliest dregs might find mercy and deliverance in honeyed rays of gold."
Arthur even smiled at this… overly generous wording. Did the Queen sink her hooks into him already? It wasn't her right to interfere, but… she could only imagine that his faith would collapse should he build it high enough.
What mercy was there in nearly dying, time and time again? What deliverance could be found in what seemed a… damnation?
"I wrote a prayer yesterday, but it was… during a moment of desperation and weakness. My intention is to write another when I stand atop the mount of strength."
"Oh? Would you be interested in sharing it?"
She'd think he would gladly do so, given their apparently-shared (though unequal) valuing of religion; she'd not think he would shake his head. Alas, he did just that.
"It is of a… personal nature. I feel it is best left between myself and Her Eternal Majesty."
There it was again.
"Well, you do as you please. No sense in forcing you."
"I am glad you understand. It served me well, that prayer-book you showed me when we first met. In fact, it entirely informed the way in which I pray… even yesterday. I know, though, that I have yet to master the art of psalmistry."
"You'll learn, still. If it weren't meant to be, you would go no further… but you seem farther along than when I first told you of the Golden Order's virtue."
Such kind and encouraging words. To the devout believer long-divorced from godlessness and doubt, they were maybe redundant; to the young man whose way was dark but for the light of gold, they were treasured.
'Farther am I to go, still…'
"Yes. Speaking of 'going'..."
He turned to Roderika, who'd not interrupted their conversation up to this point. Without much of value to add, if anything, why should she?
"... do you want to tell him, or would you rather I did?"
"You can tell him, if you'd like."
She knew the armored man only from his help in mending Arthur's wounds, and thus felt rather awkward around him… at the very moment, anyway. Beyond greetings or necessary words, they'd likely remain acquaintances at most.
"Very well. … speaking of 'going', Roderika and I shall be journeying together from this point onward. Where I trod alone the old dirt roads, I will walk the gallant path with most precious company."
The Hunter's helm did not give a view of his eyes, dark as the interior was, but she could feel upon her face his gaze. His attention. His scrutiny? Why else would he be leaning a bit forward to get a good look at her?
"You're taking her with you?"
"I am."
Perhaps there was some sort of emphasis on the word 'her'... almost like she was unfit to accompany him. Then again… maybe there wasn't.
"Yes, I'm going along with him."
"Then be careful that you don't lay down your lives in vain. Those Who Live in Death should be left well alone… but such a thing might not be so easy out there."
Arthur smiled and nodded. Nothing could dissuade either of them; if Master Hewg couldn't, then 'D' hadn't a chance.
"I shall be careful. We shall. This is not a choice made lightly. Given how much, err, trouble I have found myself in at the hands of the world… I understand its danger."
If that's true, then why do you keep getting into trouble?
"Indeed, it is only after much deliberation that I have taken her as my squire.", he said.
I suppose now we both use titles just a rank higher than we possess, for the sake of appearances.
Well, I am really a princess, but that isn't exactly relevant…
"If that's the case, you might do well to take my prayer-book along with you."
An expression of mild surprise.
"What? You would extend such a thing to me?"
He disregarded the not-especially-subtle implication in D's offer. This was certainly a good idea.
"I would. I have them all up here, anyway."
The Hunter's right hand - clad in a gauntlet of silver - tapped its index finger against his temple. He wore a golden helm resembling a face… starkly in contrast to the more traditional and knightly helms of Arthur.
"Thank you, then. You are… quite the kind one, and perhaps too giving - I am but a newcomer to the ways of gold, and you would lend me your entire prayer-book?"
"I mean to give you my entire prayer-book. I'd not ask you to return it."
Such generosity, Arthur believed, characterized Queen Marika's virtue. It, Roderika thought, might just be plain-and-simple human virtue.
Either way, both were of the opinion that such goodness is to be pursued without end.
"Wait here a moment."
D stood and, from what the woman could tell, began to walk away.
"The last time you said that, I nearly bled to death."
"By your own doing."
"Of course, of course."
That he could joke about that… unbelievable, really. Just unbelievable.
Still, as the levity (and the Hunter's footsteps) faded into silence, the maiden had a realization.
She was really going to leave the Hold.
Why it hadn't dawned upon her with all of their discussions and even his first attempt to teach her swordplay, she couldn't fathom, but now it had.
"Roderika…"
Not much time for it to settle and seep into every wrinkle of her mind - the knight had turned to her once the Hunter was gone.
"What do you make of all of this?"
What did she make of it? Well, she couldn't deny that D was a good friend; he'd ensured that the man beside her didn't bleed out, and from what she gathered the two were on generally good terms.
Even with a faith she couldn't and didn't share, any friend of Arthur's was perhaps a friend of hers.
… so far.
He had spoken of the woman Melina and mentioned a 'Sellen' earlier in the day… but she really was an outsider looking in when it came to his relationships with others.
Fia, of course, they both knew; Arthur knew the Deathbed Companion better, it appeared, and before he'd even met Roderika herself.
Such a kind woman, Fia.
"I think you're lucky to have a friend like him."
"Yes. With enemies like mine, I gladly make all of the friends that I possibly can."
Such enemies must include that 'vile witch Ranni'...
It must take a special enmity to curse her name, even in your sleep.
… but I won't spoil the mood with that.
"I'm looking forward to meeting them. You mentioned earlier somebody named 'Sellen'."
About as fast as he ever did, Arthur smiled fondly; partway into the expression there were laughs.
"Right, Sellen, my great teacher! I mentioned her only in passing, but she is such a grand woman; you will see when we pass through Limgrave. As you may have gathered… I am no expert in instruction. She, however, is."
"Instruction? What has she instructed you in?"
"Magic."
Of all things, all the possible things he could have learned… magic?
"What is that face for? I know that I said Sellen deemed me thick-skulled, but do not tell me you agree."
What face? Her… well, now she realized that her eyes had widened considerably. Her eyebrows may have jumped to the moon and shot through to the stars with how high they were. They only began to settle once she shook her head.
"No, of course not… I just didn't expect you to say… 'magic'."
"Well, I understand… nobody expects it, it seems. I told Sir Gideon earlier, and he laughed at me. Laughed at me! The man said something about 'masses' and 'knowing that I know nothing about my allies'."
An exhale more like a sigh, a shake of the head and then a considerably-hushed tone.
"Just between you and I… I believe he is jealous that the greatest sorceress in these lands is my teacher. Perhaps he fears I will surpass him as the 'All-Knowing'. You know how people can be when they… advance in age, right?"
"I think I do. … but Sellen must be smart, if you speak so highly of her."
Vigorous nodding gave her the answer before he even replied.
"Yes, very, but… unfortunately I am just a bit too dull for magic, and the success of her lessons has been mixed. The most I can conjure yet is a harmless ball of starlight, or a shard of glintstone easily repelled."
With a staff, maybe… but the sword seems like a different matter.
"Sellen told me that the cosmos - the stars - serve as the source of power for glintstone magic. I see them up above, whether it be in Siofra or under the moon of Liurnia… but in my hands they scarcely do wonders."
"I don't think you're dull. If so, you'd be like the people where I come from."
In his right hand's palm, the knight set his cheek, elbow supported by the chair's arm. He was growing comfortable rather than bored - when she talked, he was never bored. Figuring this, she continued, even if she would rather not talk about a home that was home no more…
"There, we haven't even tried to embrace magic. … not our institutions, I mean. It's considered heresy to turn to the stars for power. Faith alone is what's encouraged."
"How could such a thing as that be oppressed? Something tells me it must be some rather heavy-handed 'oppression'."
"The church is the government."
Instantly that clarified things, as shown by what seemed to be the nodding of his head. It was mostly visible from the corner of her eye, as she was gazing into the fireplace, but the minor noise confirmed it.
"I see, I see. Well… that sounds like a backwards church, if you ask me. Our glorious King Charles famously proclaimed in a speech some years ago… 'I am the state'. That was directly after he actually enacted the law that stripped back the power of the church. Things run quite splendidly with a separation of government and clergy."
"I don't think that would work in my country. If the Emperor tried that, he would end up deposed."
… and I might end up in the same 'unfortunate aftermath' as him, given my blood relation to him…
Well, there's not much chance of that now.
"They've already imprisoned dissenters against the church, and excommunicated them. One of the most famous preachers taught at a university until he was seized for remarks implying he practiced magic. I think… I think they mean to burn him after his trial."
Now he was sitting up.
"Really? I disagree, given what you have told me. No religious entity in their right mind would burn an academic… especially not a scholar at a university. It would be immoral and counterproductive. I am sure he shall be just fine."
Quite assured was he; people could only ever be confidently wrong or completely right with such poised and sure responses as his.
"I hope so…"
Sneaking off from her royal life to blend in among the crowd and attend one of his famous lectures… Roderika would have seen just how great he surely was, and had an experience other than the usual.
Was his voice booming, set aflame with revolutionary vigor absent from the plain-as-dirt clerics who couldn't be avoided anywhere?
… or was it all a fabrication, an exaggerated account of someone ordinary?
Maybe she could have found out for herself… if she'd not been a milksop craven too resigned to do anything besides what she was told. One day would have been worth whatever hell came… because some days were already a hell.
Ah, but regrets did nothing except taint a content silence.
Even talking about what once was, and thinking of what could have been - what she wished for - became something… peaceful.
In all of the time they'd known one another, Arthur had rarely pressed her to speak on her past life. Her family he deemed 'wretches' for banishing her under the pretense of grace, but that was information volunteered… not extorted.
If the last few minutes showed anything, it was that maybe she'd like to tell him more about her homeland. Her life. For somebody who gave so much surrounding his own, it was only decent to reciprocate.
"..."
"..."
In the wooden chair facing the fireplace, Roderika was content. Like other occasions in the last almost-week, the fire gave an irregular but soothing rhythm to the silence.
It creaked as she shifted in place, when she pushed herself up by the elbows to sit straight, but such was of no bother. No bother at all.
Of equally little concern was the effigy beside the fireplace - in Marika's image, it was.
"..."
"..."
It's been quite some time since I've seen a bonfire and warmed myself beside it.
Does it feel quite the same as staring into a fireplace?
We'll be travelling soon, as he said… so I suppose I'll find out.
As always, for one reason or another, the peace concluded.
Footsteps clad in metal, two metals, emerged from behind. Silver of wisdom and gold of belief - fundamentals best had in tandem.
"I forgot where I placed it… but here it is."
A gargantuan impact shocked their ears. They stood.
Thudding against the table's wooden surface, the prayer-book was more like a tome than anything fit to carry around on your person.
"That's a book of prayers?"
It was thickly-bound in aged black leather, with yellowed pages and several ribbon-ends sticking out. She half-expected dust to come spilling out of its insides if opened.
"I did not recall the book being this large. D, my friend… there is no way that you have even one-sixth of this memorized. Look at the width of this book. How do you have space in your mind for anything else?"
"The road of faith and devotion demands much. The Greater Will demands as much as It gives… but when It gives, Its blessings are like no other."
Undecided, contemplating, thinking… such was the knight's expression.
"Well… if Queen Marika trusts the Greater Will, then I shall, as well… but I shan't address my prayers to any other than Her Eternal Majesty."
"Do as you wish. Marika is as much the one true god as the Golden Order is the one true way."
'Quite reasonable.'
"Fair enough."
The "Golden Order"?
"... but do you happen to have a… 'travel-sized' edition of this book? It seems rather cumbersome."
"No."
An answer instantly delivered.
"I see."
There seemed no other choice than to accept its heft.
"The weight of religion never is light… is it? Well, what can we do but shoulder it?"
Some sense of deep hesitation and weariness came out in Arthur's words. Not only in which words were spoken, but how they were spoken - like he was still uncertain, despite his best efforts. He'd neither failed nor succeeded… but teetered in-between.
The Hunter perceived this, and thus looked up from the book. The knight could feel his stare through the helm's eye-holes.
"Grace is divinity outreaching… not a millstone around your neck. If you find yourself struggling in your walk with the Golden Order, then perhaps forgo all senses besides faith. You see grace… right? Well, try to walk by faith instead of sight… and you might be pleasantly surprised."
His hand patted the knight's shoulder, its metal hard against flesh and the soft linen shirt.
"You have a blessing… Marika's blessing - the guidance of grace. Not many Tarnished still see the honeyed rays of gold."
"... I hope so. I wonder whether her benediction lies with me. I can only hope."
If Marika is what he needs to carry on, then…
I can't be so selfish - such a coward - as to condemn her.
Not openly.
A lack of condemnation would not be enough.
Thus did Roderika put her own hand upon his shoulder - a frequent action between the two Tarnished - and, unlike the Hunter's, it lingered.
"If you see grace… it must be for good reason."
I don't see grace… and it must be for good reason.
"... yes. Yes, the two of you are right. Thank you both… truly. I know it… that I must earn this grace, and not tremble in fear of what could be."
'Holy blessings, guide my way. I stumbled, yet now soar atop golden winds.'
"Roderika, gather up your earthly possessions, and prepare… for our journey is imminent. A new crusade, Queen Marika has declared."
With perhaps the golden fire of faith, his brown eyes burned like kindling.