"Ah, back again, are you? It's been some time. All of that blood shows me you're still just as foolhardy and battle-prone as when we met… as does the bolt sticking out of your shoulder. Not going to die so soon, are you? It would be a pity. There's death and blight to be purged yet."

Through a golden helm, the Hunter of the Dead looked down at a man who very well might end up dead soon.

"Do not give me my last rites just yet, D."

A deep laceration upon Knight Arthur's leg still oozed blood, pooling on the floor from its drip off the chair's edge. Really, much of the knight's armor and body lay crusted in crimson; a fair deal of it was not his, but more than enough was. He leaned heavily against the chair's backing, clearly making an effort to keep his body still so as not to put himself through any more pain.

"I may very well have to."

Hah. There is no chance. I'll not quit yet.

Stubborn, he shook his head.

"This… is nothing. Absolutely nothing. You should have seen my sorry state after I slew Godrick. The beast smashed my head, dented solid iron plate with a single swing… it was the nearest I ever did stray towards death. I tell you, it was the best fight of my life. Having survived that, I've no plans to lay down and cease breathing. Worry not for my condition. I only need… I just…"

His head lolled back and suddenly became light. No, perhaps everything else was just heavy. The effect, either way, was much the same as adrenaline departed and his wounds were unchecked.

Oh, sweet Eternal Marika…

"Just what, friend?"

Make it stop.

He clutched at the injury with both hands, trying to hold it closed but failing. The fingers of his gauntlets brought a steely chill to the skin as they, too, were covered in the thick blood that escaped. Elsewhere, the aches of a dozen battles lingered on, the foremost of these being the bolt lodged in his left shoulder. His arm still burned with the heat of that bolt's tip, the projectile's metal head deeply embedded in.

"Your state still seems less than ideal. There's no way around it - if you don't take care of that, you should not hope to make it past the evening. You don't simply disregard such a deep cut with so much blood lost… and in your case, you had best not even walk, if you value your health."

"Perhaps you are right… but I have no wish to impose on anybody here. Some self-surgery is hardly outside the limits of my constitution. … get me a needle and some thread, would you?"

The Hunter laughed. As intelligent as the knight had appeared, he clearly knew little about proper medical procedure if his first reaction was to suture himself.

"No, there's no need for such drastic measures. All you need do is clean it out, dry it and bind it tightly. Infection craves a dark, wet and enclosed space within which it can fester… just as death seeks pure life to taint."

Just for a moment, a moment lost on the bloody knight, D looked through the archway leading onto the balcony. It was a brief moment.

"What did you do to sustain such a wound?"

Arthur began to undo the buckles of the plating on his wounded leg. Dirt and blood equally stained his entire suit of armor, and the distinct stench of a Tarnished warrior - travel, hardship and dozens of combats - had developed.

"I fought a ghostly cavalrywoman in a dilapidated royal estate while seeking a Great Rune. I came out of it with no Great Rune, unfortunately. I won the fight, though."

The gushing of blood worsened as time was wasted, and a new wave of pain replaced the waning old.

"Oh, dear gods… it appears I am quite the bleeder. Would… would you get me something? A cloth, or a bandage?"

"I won't be long. Do your utmost not to die until I return."

His back turned to all of the rooms except that of the Two Fingers, Arthur heard the Hunter's footsteps fade into the slight distance. Near the fireplace there stood a definitely-not-life-sized statue of Queen Marika. Perhaps that was the answer.

O, Sovereign Eternal, bring

Everything aches.

O, Queen Marika, I

Everything hurts.

Queen Marika,

Make it stop make it stop

His mind was clouded by blood. He would have rested his head in his hands, agitated at the fact that he couldn't even manage a simple prayer, but that would only stain his face as well. The gushing wound simply refused to let up.

"..."

A lull in the pain appeared, a median where he was neither soothed nor on the brink of tears.

Perhaps some divine intervention at last…

… or perhaps he was finally losing sensation from the blood loss, clawing himself up the stairs to death's domain with every drop. At the very least, his mind was clear enough to think.

This is… terrible. Even thinking of walking brings pain to my leg. That witch… I imagine she reveled in the scent of my blood, if she was not busy turning up her nose for its 'common' birth.

When I return… what can I do? Even without a leg cut in such an inconvenient spot, cut so deeply… I suspect I could not have bested her. I cannot. Not as I am now. I could feel it upon my skin, the shivering air of an awful truth, as she spoke of how easily she might end my life.

What can a man do to a demigod?

Would my blade even reach her neck, her scrawny little neck, before I crumbled to the ground as yet another corpse? If it would, I may at least do my part by taking her along with me.

Just out of reach was the flamberge, laid upon the table's wood.

No… this is no quest for me. I am not the knight who should carry this out. A knight without even a title, other than the self-appointed…

Send somebody else. Anybody but me. I do not wish to die.

Arthur strained to reach it but pulled back as the exertion brought pain. So feeble and languid, that was how he felt. Where was the resolve that roared at him to defy the very gods and powers-that-be, even while his head was busted open with blood pouring down his helm?

Was he truly so weak?

His steel helm sat on the table. It faced him, its empty gaze pierced him. He dared to look into the black abyss of its visor. The abyss dared to look into him.

It judges me for my cowardice.

His soul was split open for the abyss to judge. Voidlike darkness took shape and the shadows swirled into an outline. A shifting outline. Irina by the roadside. Godrick hacking his own arm off. Roderika sobbing beneath her red cloak. Ranni looking down upon him.

Queen Marika, arms outstretched in her divine elegance, bearing an expression of great expectation. The expectation turned to stoic anticipation. Even that morphed into a disappointment in the last of the grace-given Tarnished. Were her blessings misplaced?

No. Please, do not look at me that way. I am the son of my father… I am a knight. I swear it.

Arthur looked up at the golden light illuminating the roundtable, shining radiant. He still saw it… but that may change. Marika has no use for cowards… does she?

I am still worthy… I promise. I deserve grace. I need it. Without it, why was I drawn here?

In spite of his miserable status, he retained the will to grit his teeth. He had come this far… and he would not stop now.

Why did I leave behind my home for this place if you would only discard me now?

Not while murderers ran free. Not while, someplace, a thousand girls like Irina and Roderika were butchered with nobody to save them. Fathers left with dead children.

I am a knight.

Against the better judgment of body and mind, he arose from the chair, putting his full weight on both legs. Nobody would save him, he knew this, so his legs must hold firm in the face of this journey.

This… this is nothing. If it were something, I would be nothing.

Pain brews resilience… especially the agonizing, bloody pain piercing through his left leg like a javelin.

What am I? Whatever comes of my identity, whatever troubles and miseries rain down, let it happen.

Over the table he leaned, pulling his equipment towards him.

I am a dauntless knight, and the bloody circumstances which would crush others are perfect for me. I am the most blessed of my line, for I am placed before the greatest task!

On went the helm; he could not fight valiantly without it, could he? It would hide the scars, cuts and scrapes that were unbefitting of a shining hero. It would hide all but the eyes, manic with denial.

I am I, Knight Arthur, the knight of the Hold; my destiny calls and I go! I stand as the foe of the debauched and the bane of tyrants! Hear me now, demigods of old, and see my gauntlet hurled before your feet!

Onto his hip he secured the Carian knight's sword. Even if the royal family's youngest scion was tainted, a conniving murderer, their knights may very well have been valorous… and their swords were undoubtedly effective.

Woe to the wicked! May the killers and the cheats of the world find comfort in a deathly embrace, for I shall send them to it by the dozen!

To a knee he stumbled, almost collapsing fully, but he countered by throwing an arm atop the table and pulling his body up. The glorious march could not be halted, not so soon, not by a tumble to the floor.

In the name of virtue and light, I will challenge even the night sky so as to strike down the Carian moon! Such will be my first endeavor, though far from the last!

Teeth still tightly clenched, one row grinding against the other, he smiled. He did not like the pain - in fact, he loathed it - but his body did not need to know such. Delusions fare best against the self.

Just as the knight looked up, the Hunter returned. In his hand was an ample amount of white linen, no doubt to stop the copious loss of blood.

"What are you doing, you fool? You can't be meaning to leave as you are. A bolt remains lodged in your shoulder… and your leg is still bleeding."

"I am invincible - my bones are obsidian and my blood is molten iron… so put away those bandages. The road of ordeals has turned my spirit from steel to gold, pure gold!"

He took the flamberge off of the table. It became a cane as its wielder dug it into the floor, prying himself up where his leg failed.

"I cannot sit idly while it gleams within my body. Holy work is never finished, you know this very well. I am the knight of Her Majesty, the knight of virtue incarnate, and the Lands Between will know to hate wickedness once more. My crusade begins anew on this day."

"Don't you dare… unless you want to die like a dog, laid out stiff in the middle of a field. You hold no sane regard for your life, do you?"

Knight Arthur stood straight, getting his knee off of the ground at last.

"Be quiet, D. You are my friend, but never my keeper… nor my liege. This… all of this… it is a holy war. You would not think it, given the passage of time and the crumbling of the churches, virtue crumbling along with them… but this is not some paltry affair. No, we must be willing to die if we are to champion the brighter sides of life."

From within armor of gold and silver intertwined, there came a sigh. The knight staggered forth, suppressing a pained grunt. Poorly.

"Will you take a seat and stop aggravating your wounds? What do you aim to do in your state?"

"No. I am not one to be trifled with. You have no clue of… the…"

In the midst of his next declaration, he found it all so… weary. Perhaps it was a happy thing to just yield. Yield for once… or perhaps the second time today, if the encounter with Ranni was considered. He would never admit that defeat, though, for he considered it no such thing.

The roundtable was thankfully sturdy enough to support his weight as he toppled against it and suffered the sensation of everything just… slipping away.

"Oh, you fool."

The flamberge met the floor and just about everything dimmed after that.

Is it over?

"Oh, goodness me… what's… what's happened to him?"

I feel nothing… nothing but the chilling gush of crimson. Is this good?

"Roderika, pull that bandage tighter; his wound is deep."

Even that has gone away now. If I feel nothing, I can exact a perfect justice.

"What about the arrow in his shoulder? … oh, you say it's actually a bolt? Well, I imagine it's as painful as an arrow, so can we do something about it? … so much blood…"

I can carry out a virtue untainted by my darker elements.

"That is all we should do for now. He lost more blood than he should like, but… I know him well enough to imagine he'll see the morning sun. … would you fetch some water? Much of it? There remains quite the red mess to clean up by the roundtable… thanks to our friend here."

Still… a virtue without feeling is an order without heart.

"... oh, good, he wakes at last."

The hushed tone from a friendly voice did little to still the fellow.

"Roderika? Melina? Am I dead? Tell me I am not dead."

The knight rubbed at his eyes, trying to remove the remnants of an overdue slumber…
"Do you wish to be?"

"No. What sort of question is that?"

… and found himself looking around for his gauntlets. Even if he had his trousers and shirt on beneath the silk covering him, he couldn't elude the naked feeling brought by bare hands.

"Ah, what a pity. I was looking forward to delivering your proper rites and sending you off to the great Erdtree in the capital."

"Be quiet, you silly fool. Where… what happened?"

Everything was outlined only by the dim light of a fading fire. With his left arm, he attempted to drag himself back and sit up… only for a fierce pain to inflame his shoulder. It burned far worse than the stab in his elbow, which had grown milder by a small degree.

"Gah, that… that hurts."

He used his right arm instead. The sheet impeded him, though it was thin and soft, so he threw it off. As he looked on his legs, his suspicions were confirmed - all he saw was the red-tainted fabric of his trousers, his greaves and sabatons someplace he did not know. His swords were… well, he didn't need them here, nor his breastplate.

On the back-side of his thigh, a white bandage stood out. It was quite conspicuous, visible through the tear in the black trousers' fabric.

"I imagine it does."

"D, where is my armor? Where did you put it?"

"Given the reality of your wounds, I can hardly imagine you'll need it for now."

"What does that mean? I've no intention of simply lazing about and braiding my hair like some daft village girl. … not that I could, given its length, but you get my meaning."

The Hunter jabbed a finger into Arthur's thigh, bound tightly by the bandage. Very intensely, a jolt of pain seemed to strike that spot, sourced from his fingertip like lightning out of a cloud.

"I would be surprised if you could even walk unassisted. Fighting is out of the question entirely… for the time being. You are a man with a prowess for battle, as I recall from our first meeting in the village… but you're hardly in proper fighting shape."

The knight ran his palm over his face. At least he wasn't dead… though he felt rather like it. It was good to lie in a bed, though; a perk of high life in the Roundtable Hold!

"... I disagree, but… thank you for your medical aid, truly. I likely would have bled out on the floor had you not stepped in."

"You did. All over it."

"Ah. Well… some things just cannot be helped. What happened? I recall growing very faint and then… nothing."

The fireplace burned low from across the room, but it burned, and the presence of it indicated that he now laid in the living quarters. He could hardly see past the edge of the bed, but the soft crackle of a log proved it had some time left. Of all places he could wake up, he was pleased it had to be here.

"After you took a fall against the table, you lapsed in and out of consciousness as that girl Roderika and I tended to you. According to her, this was not the first time you'd arrived in the Hold with death grabbing at your ankles. It was not her first time dealing with your injuries, either… though she said they were far bloodier this time. You just have a habit of getting into trouble… don't you?"

"Where is she? I want to see her."

"She sleeps…"

The Hunter gestured behind him to the bed some three feet away.

"... as should you. You can see her when you wake."

"Alright. That… that sounds like a fine idea. It is awfully silent in here, and I do so adore rest before a fireplace's light. I am quite sore, too… sore from… it all…"

The knight sunk into the bed and focused on the ceiling. He didn't have anywhere else he might want to look for the time being… but as he settled, sleep tearing his waking alertness away, his final thought was a soft one.

I could do with a time of peace… peace amidst the blood.

It was no royal bedroom… but it had done yet again. Even though it was a far cry from the splendorous decor of her old home, after a week in the Hold and much longer than that in the wilderness, she was used to it.

Satisfied? Maybe.

Either way, what she presumed to be morning came as quickly as she had brought the sheet over herself and closed her eyes. Yesterday had heralded the return of her darling knight, only instead of fanfare befitting someone so highly esteemed by a royal, there were bloodstains and bandages.

She kept track of time only by her sleep cycles - if she was awakened, it must have been morning. If she were tired, it surely was night. Such was the only rationale available in a place without windows… a place which existed in its own fashion.

Such a long time it had been since she saw the sun. She knew what it looked like, but in time the nightly substitute of a fireplace usurped its sensation - the sensation of a skin shrouded in orange rays. Orange, but never golden, for she was never one of the worthy Tarnished. Still, Tarnished she was, and there remained no way around that… or across the sea, back to a home that may not miss her.

Beneath the white-silk sheet, she still wore the fineries that she'd taken on her departure from her home. Silly things, the leather neck and metallic-white threads… but they were remnants. Mementos, them and the brooch she laid by the bedside.

Now, as she looked down upon them and dragged her fingers across the leather garters around her arms, she could only smile.

I don't cry for yesterday. Not anymore… not since last week. Beyond the despair and pain, there's an ordinary world that seeks me… if only I have the courage to seek it.

There was a piece of that 'ordinary world' that already found her, and she was looking right at him. If just one individual from it could treat her so kindly… she didn't imagine it could be wholly awful.

He laid still in the bed next to hers, a sleep induced by travel-weariness and injury. Deeply caught by slumber, he was unmoving, besides the steady up-and-down-and-up motion of his chest.

The fire had perished in the night, given way to the shadows; though she could not fully see the particulars of his appearance, she looked at him anyway.

My savior, kind and with such handsome charms.

My knight, ever stalwart and true.

My lover, a fellow romantic who's taken up arms.

Still, I know so little about you.

The feeling, deep in her gut and rising up to her head, was one she couldn't disregard. Beyond Stormhill, beyond the castle and the river… they were little more than a frivolous pair.

They had talked plenty, and kissed amorously… slept in an embrace… but it was all a blanket from the horrific things they had both seen. They were as all young relationships were - fleeting. Doomed. That was her fear, at least. Every tender gaze and lingering touch of the wrist was founded on hardly any familiarity.

In our average lives, would we have even been… friends? Acquaintances? No… I know we would never have. Never unless fate itself had conspired to bring us together.

This is all a bond born of trauma… a wailing fear deep in ourselves that we silenced with the company of one another. We saved each other from it… but it was never truly vanquished, was it?

I know he still feels it, the encroaching despair that comes with a hardship he never wanted. An exile he undertook with only a sword for company. It's one of the few things I know surely about him.

We barely know each other, in the vast scheme of it all, and… I wonder if a bond so fast-made can be sincere. If it can last.

I said it, though, and I'll say it again - I love you. What would have been, should have been… it doesn't matter. We're here now, all on our own… relying on ourselves and the kindness of the Roundtable Hold.

Still, it's not assuring, you know… in one moment, being so close so suddenly, and then long-parted in the next. Parted for longer than we've known each other…

The girl was so absorbed in her own ideas that she didn't register his stirring… even as she looked directly at him.

Not until her ears picked up those unwoken mumbles of his.

"... anything but that… not stripped of grace… I gave you what I had… I will…"

"Arthur? … are you awake?", she asked in a whisper.
It was only when no reply came that she realized his half-cognizant condition.

"... avenge it, I swear… get the witch… vile witch Ranni…"

The knight unknowingly took a portion of sheet and clenched it tightly in his hand, like he meant to strangle or restrain.

"... hunt her… like a dog… chase her, kill her…"

Roderika could only imagine what had gone on in his time travelling. What had wounded him so, and who he conversed with even in his sleep. He'd been tranquil and silent when last they had slept together… so this new occurrence was troubling. Troubling enough for her to take action.

The chill of a lightless morning grew as she peeled back the sheet covering herself and stood. The floor was cold, but she wouldn't be standing on it for long. Softly so as not to disturb him, she set herself down on the edge of his bed.

What she was doing, she didn't really know… but as she placed a hand on his non-injured shoulder and kept it there until he stilled, she grew to understand that it was working.

His expression eased up as the seconds passed by; hopefully the remainder of his rest would be peaceful. He probably needed plenty of it, if life out there was as taxing as it seemed.

When he slept, did he dream of home? He did not speak a whole lot of it to her. Was she the first lady he had ever… no, of course she was. He was just as inexperienced and starved for it as she was. Despite what she used to think… he was just like her.

A fistful of sheet was squeezed in his hand even as he grew silent, and his face still wasn't as serene as it could be. Then again, what does serene mean to a knight who's probably seen death by a scale of the hundreds?

… I might as well…

So-very-tenderly, for the sake of not disturbing him or aggravating his wounds carelessly, she drew back the thin sheet and slipped beneath it alongside him. It was rather chilly without the fireplace, anyway… what better way to warm oneself than by indulging in a beloved's presence?

The two of them faced up towards the ceiling, though only Roderika's eyes saw it. Unlike earlier, she couldn't drift off so easily. Of course not, she'd already gotten a full night's rest. Still, this was her preference, she was sure. An embrace is best savored when it doesn't pass by in an instant, after all.

Even if we're two people who scarcely know each other at the core of it… without fail, I'll welcome you with open arms.

In time… we'll know one another like we might have in better circumstances. We'll not be parted… not when we haven't had proper time to blossom.

Much to the girl's surprise, Arthur put his arm over her chest, his hand on her side, and pulled like he wanted her just a little closer. It was almost like his first night in the Lands Between, holding his sword tight because he had nobody else. Nothing and nobody except a sharp iron blade that craved blood and war.

He never did tell her, but he couldn't sleep without it before that night when she tended to him. His iron armor dug into his skin, but it was a small price to pay so that he could clutch his sword without slashing himself. It would have been a horrific thing to cut into flesh and muscle with every unconscious movement… but then again, solitude is quite the sharp experience as well.

Metal makes for a poor confidant - cutting in tone, cold in affectation. There were so many things he didn't confide in her, and this was one of them. The day that they met, he was close to falling off the edge. Now he was a changed man… all because of the gentle girl lying close to him.

He thought she wasn't lying close enough.

In his prior sleep he gripped the sheet and mumbled without even choosing to, but not this time. He knew what he was holding, and he knew what he wanted to say.

In as tender a tone as he could use, he broke the silence. He wasn't talking mindlessly… not now.

"Roderika…"

"Arthur… how do you feel?"

"Gods, I am so battered and filthy and ragged from my journey… so forgive me if this is not as nice as it was before."

A sanguine smell had attached itself to his clothes, alongside the general dirts and stains of travelling. Still, she had seen plenty of blood before he'd come along. She was no squeamish royal girl… at least, she didn't want to be.

"It is."

"Had I my way, I would have taken a bath before falling asleep. I know I must smell of blood so thickly. Alas, this is still so very comforting for me… and it is good to see you again."

"Don't worry… I don't mind. Ever since I arrived here… I haven't had much of anything other than blood."

She put an arm around him in return, albeit very gently. They no longer stared up at the ceiling; there were greater things to gaze into now. Brown and green eyes that had each seen so much, would see more, wanted to see more if only they could look at each other for it.

"You worried me, you know… I bandaged your leg, and pulled the bolt out of your shoulder. I don't know what happened, but… I think you'll be confined to the Hold for the time being. This was a much closer call than before… D told me that you were lucky, even, to survive losing so much blood."

"Well… probably. Still, it all worked out… for I've the sweetest and dearest companion beside me now. I bear no regrets."

Something about that description just did it. Brought a blushing smile to her face, that is. Arthur did have a talent for doing so.

"You… you're such a flirt."

"Hardly… I mean it. I missed you while I was away."

She noticed only now that the arm he'd put around her was the so-awfully-injured one. Silly, enduring discomfort for love. Such were a knight's ways.

In addition to the crossbow bolt, they'd found the bloodied bandages wrapped around his elbow; his arm had quite some recovering to do, and it was no doubt aggravated by all of the battle he'd seen.

The left leg was another matter entirely, as he probably wouldn't be able to walk well for some time… but he could do with some bed rest, anyway. At the very least, it would do him some good to take time off in the Hold.

The morning after his return brought much solace to the young exiles.

It was morning, but they hoped the morning lasted all day.