"Hmm. 'Prayers for illness, prayers for disease, prayers for syphilis, prayers for sweating sickness, prayers for the bloody flux'… alright, I suppose I should skip ahead. … oh, here we are, 'prayers for times of testing and ordeals'."
A turn of the yellowed page atop his lap.
"Should we bring any food from the pantry with us?"
Upon the yellowed page, thick black ink stood out stark.
"Yes, of course. ... 'put upon me the whole armor of Thee, Marika - the breastplate of righteousness agleam, unblackened even by hell-fire. Upon my wrists lay Thy bracelets of golden mercies and restraint, O Marika. O, my Queen, I trust in Thee - let me not be put to shame. Let not mine enemies triumph over me!' …"
A curious, interested feeling in his head as reverent words swirled around like water.
"What kinds?"
"Some of that bread and cheese will do finely. It shan't spoil too easily. Do you have all of your things packed? … 'Hail Marika, giver of grace, the Ring dwells within Thee. Blessed art Thou amongst women, amongst rulers and gods.' … 'and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb, Godwyn.' …"
Knowing what happened to such 'fruit', and having met the person responsible for it… another turned page.
"No, I'm looking for the…"
Strewn across various unused beds were cloth sacks of varying size - some small, some large, only one large enough to fit the tome that was the prayer-book, most stuffed with basic necessities, a couple lying in wait.
Thankfully I have little packing to do. I travel light… besides my armor and swords.
Father always did point out how many things women tend to bring on their travels.
"Us men need nothing except for the clothes on our back and the head on our shoulders; whatever is missing, we make do."
I suppose I will know whether he was entirely right very, very soon…
"... brooch."
Then, as he looked up from the new page, he saw Roderika's gloved palm softly impact her face, perhaps thinking 'I am an idiot'. The brooch was there on the bedside table, unmoved, and now she came to remember that. Before long she'd taken it in her right hand, swaddling it within the fine red-velvet cloth from whom it hadn't parted.
"That? Well, I imagine you would want to take a thing so precious, yes… what about your clothes? Shall you be warm in that silk?"
His own hand pointed to her. Quite the vague gesture, but its meaning wasn't lost - the white-silk garments accented with leather elements (namely the neck and arm-garters) didn't look especially rugged. They certainly felt good upon her skin, but were they well-suited to the hardships of travel?
"Yes, I'll be fine."
Vividly he remembered just how… softly the fabric brushed and graced his own skin every time they touched. Through it there was that distinct warmth of flesh insulated properly; not even Stormhill's winds could stifle it.
"Alright. Liurnia is rather temperate during the day, so you should, indeed, be fine. Do you… have anything else to wear, though?"
Such a question prompted her to turn and look at him, look away from the brooch.
"Why do you ask? Do you think my clothing is ill-suited to travel? I did my own share of travelling before coming to stay at the Hold… and there's hardly a scratch on anything."
Arthur shook his head. More was on his mind than the ordinary rigors of travel.
"To travel? No. To danger… well, yes. My concern is ensuring that you'll not roam about looking like a pauper if anything should become torn, muddied or bloodied… gods forbid the latter. What sort of knight would I be, were my Lady subject to such indignity?"
In this moment she folded her arms, brooch still in hand, and looked off to the side.
"You don't need to treat me like some sort of… dignified royal. I'm as much a princess as I am a brave warrior - not really."
"You seem quite brave to me. You must be, to come along with somebody like myself. Anyway, it is only right to treat people with respect… especially when you care for them."
With an encouraging smile he nodded.
Her own smile developed, seeming to have indeed been encouraged; alas, the distinctive 'Roderika rosiness' - the blush he found quite pretty - did not appear. With how much her confidence had burgeoned lately, it might take something like 'my Lady, let us hold hands and frolic in a field of flowers for all eternity! Marry me today!'... and he was no frolicking type.
At least… I do not think I am.
His charms proved less effective, besides when he'd lay flirtation on thick with whatever appeared in his head. So long as she wasn't unhappy, though, he was doing things right - for somebody who had never courted a girl before, let alone a woman (and he'd been told they required very different strategies), that was quite a proud thing.
"I see. I hope you're right… about being brave, I mean. You're definitely not wrong about respect."
For some bizarre reason, as she approached that word - respect - the tone of her voice wistfully turned. When she finally said it, it came off of her tongue like a concept foreign. Known-of, but foreign.
Her smile dimmed just a bit, and she gazed at the floor, but she wasn't visibly about to burst into tears or proclaim a disdain for life. A pleasant present merely fended off an attack from bad experiences, perhaps.
Even though he hadn't known her all too long, he'd developed a sense of when something reminded her of them. The family that had cast her out under the pretense of grace.
The 'family'. Wretches.
"Well, Roderika, I have little idea of what it means to go without respect, with a few scarce exceptions…"
Varré, namely.
"... but I imagine it is virtuous only to give it freely rather than to demand a price. I respect you… and I know that Hewg does as well."
There was no damned way he'd bring up the fact that Sir Gideon didn't. Being a wise-man doesn't make all of one's statements correct. If there was only one time in the old scholar's life where he was wrong, that was it. She wasn't a 'whelp' - not after all she'd been through.
"Thank you. You always know what to say, so that you might… calm my nerves. Can I be honest with you?"
Why ask? The pensive, unsure expression she now wore didn't quite answer it… unless she was afraid of how he'd respond. Still… why should she be? Was his opinion really so impactful?
"Of course you can. Honesty is blood in the heart of any bond… so say what you wish."
With arms still folded, her fingers tightened around her elbows.
"Now that I'm going to join you, starting from today… I wonder whether I'm really brave like you've said. Respect is what I feel when I think of bravery… and you've earned my respect entirely for yours. In all of this, you've exceeded my expectations… and I only hope that I can live up to yours. That's a part of why I'm going with you."
"..."
Even ignoring her shorter stature in comparison to him, she looked so… small at this moment. Her arms folded in, her slender frame tensed like she wanted to take up as little space as she could. Soft, well-kept golden hair covered her face as she looked away.
You wish to be respected… to meet expectations.
Were you starved of respect by those around you, in your home far away…
… or am I wrong?
If not… if you wished to know the pride and worthiness of a child in the eyes of their parents…
… if you still wish for it… we are kindred spirits, indeed.
Ah, but my parents are mine, and yours are yours.
What is virtue for me might be wealth or prestige for you. No two prices are the same.
When he'd concluded his thoughts, those vulnerable green eyes of hers were looking back at him. If he didn't know better, he'd think they pierced through to his spirit and could see just what was going on in his mind.
He'd think that she could see it, just how little he knew of an unhappy family. A bad family, maybe, or maybe not. He knew little of how to comfort her on this, therefore… and maybe she could tell from his words alone.
"You already have. I only want you to be happy, free from the troubles of days past, and I only expect you to try. Beyond that… I ask nothing more."
As Arthur sat upon the bed's edge with a book in his lap, speaking to the woman in white-silk and hoping she'd not dismay any more…
You wish to be respected… by me, in particular?
Some vagabond Tarnished knight - no, a squire?
Ah, but then again, I suppose you are a vagabond Tarnished princess.
Neither knighthood nor royalty hold much 'import' in these lands, as Diallos said.
Perhaps he feels like you… or perhaps like me.
Still, if respect is your wish, then from my heart you have it.
Ever since that night we truly met have you had my respect as a strong girl… and, starting today, I admire you as a woman.
… Roderika, fortunately, seemed overjoyed to hear such. Even without deep understanding of her plight, that he could do good for one person was enough. Anything would be worth it to uplift those in need - whether they be a peasant or a royal.
"You're too kind to me. I still feel so undeserving… but thank you. If you… take another axe to the head, I'll show my gratitude by saving your life again. I hope I can repay you in a less… bloody way, though."
Her spirits lifted, the knight had succeeded once more.
Even knowing that this was not the end of insecurity, not the end of yearning or wistfulness, he was able to smile in response to her offer.
She surely would tend to his wounds when his skin split or hemorrhaged, and maybe he liked her tender hands wrapping bandages around his head by the fireplace, but he liked even more the way she retained innocence. His own seemed forlorn, in its place an iron resolve to endure horrors and to shield others from them.
If that meant to spare her harm, he would do it. If to protect innocence, or its vestiges, was to invite threat upon his own life… he would.
At last he stood up, leaving the prayer-book open atop the bed.
"You repay me just with your affections. I never would have imagined that I could find such… dear companionship with a princess. Believe me… there is nothing to be owed or repaid. Now… how goes the packing?"
The woman, rather than turning to avert her gaze out of awkwardness, shifted to approach the various cloth sacks upon the bed.
In the mundane, serene feeling upon his flesh and his hairs, there was heralded a sense that the times of trouble were over. Not even the past could halt a future, to be written into history and engraved with glory.
"Well, I think. I haven't taken any food yet, but we should have enough space for everything. … there's not much to take, is there? I don't have much… and neither do you."
To demonstrate the truth in what she'd pointed out, he stepped towards the bed adjacent to him. Bloodied, stalwart steel armor was laid out properly with its cuirass at the center.
"Indeed, nothing except what I wear. Swords and armor, pouches upon my belt… ah, and my heart on my sleeve, of course."
"Is that so? Don't you think you should put it back in your chest?"
The knowing smile on her face was a good sight, yes, a good sight indeed. If humor leaves a person, hope is soon to follow; she seemed far from that point.
"Maybe I should… but life is bleak without needless risks, do you not agree?"
One of her eyebrows briefly raised, and there wasn't much question as to why.
"Between saying such things as that and your approach to training safety… it's not a mystery why you get into so much trouble."
"What do you mean? I only find myself in a moderate amount of trouble.", he lied.
She knew.
"If you say so…"
"I do. … anyway, trouble seemingly finds me, rather than the reverse. I live yet, which is a good sign. Still… I would be quite dead without my armor, which reminds me of an excerpt I read in the prayer-book. Listen to this."
Her interest gotten, she approached and watched as he turned to take the book. In its still-open pages, the black text was so clear against their yellow that reciting was no issue.
"... 'put upon me the whole armor of Marika - the breastplate of righteousness agleam, unblackened even by hell-fire.' … this was the first prayer I happened to read. Truly, if that is not a sign from the Sovereign Eternal, I have scarcely a clue what is."
"Wait… you're not thinking of wearing that old armor out there, are you? It's quite… damaged."
Before receiving a reply, she knew very well that Arthur was.
When she'd said it looked good on him - silently agreed that he was still 'dashing' in it - had she not meant to entice him into wearing it again?
"Maybe it is, but to be battered is not to be broken. That armor you speak of, with the rune of Queen Marika upon its chest… it is ancestral armor. My great ancestor wore it - William Vallance, among the first of the Tarnished."
The rune of Marika… her face, why did it look like that for a brief second? He couldn't really ascribe words to it, but upon the mention of Her Eternal Majesty…
"... and you think you should wear it, too? You'd wear it even if it's so battered and dirty?"
"Yes, I do. Yes, I would. The men of the Wallace line have waited two-hundred years for grace to call upon us… and whoever did see golden rays was bound by duty to bear upon himself the iron suit. It was perhaps my fate from birth to do just that and walk the earth."
Even the lingering trace of that odd expression gave way to a look of understanding. The pride that burst at his voice's seams like a sun-ray beating against white clouds, parting them, was something deep. Deep to him, at least.
"I took it from my home and wore it in my wayfaring journey to the coast, to the ship which crossed fog… as well as my voyage through Limgrave. Would it not be a shame, a spitting in the face of my ancestor, to leave it for rust?"
"I wouldn't know anything about it… but if you feel you should, then I suppose you should. Just… be sure to clean it before it's more dirt than metal."
He nodded. Of course, that was the first priority when they returned to Liurnia. Perfect lakes, so clean that you could hold baptismal ceremonies for even the worst of the damned.
"Surely, I will. This steel armor on the bed has served me quite well, but… it is not truly my own. It was taken off of a display near the room where Fia dwells."
The helm, crested with a dragon ornament, looked at him with its abyssal gaze.
Fearsome and impressive was it… but he would rather play the part of knight than dragon.
"In no way does it match the affection held for my iron panoply, nor for my old claymore. Both are heirlooms of my ancestor, though according to Hewg the sword was nearing its end."
Her nod proved that she understood. Even if she'd not inherited something like a grace-centric duty or had cherished heirlooms passed down to her, the core idea of making one's family proud… it resonated. It was evident in the still-vulnerable yet resolute expression that he knew rather well.
"I suppose that I should retrieve that armor, then. Would you see to the food? It is a fair distance between where I last was and the dwelling of Boggart, but when we get there he will serve us properly."
"Of course. You spoke of his cooking quite highly… so I'm looking forward to trying it. You said he made shrimp?"
"Yes. Never did I consume such great seafood. He is a culinary genius, I believe. They were salted perfectly - neither with excess nor frugality - and were terrifically moist. Their quality cannot be overstated, not at all."
As he recalled the utter perfection, he smiled and slowly closed his eyes.
All thoughts were of shrimp.
It might have just been a delusion of hunger and substantial sleep deprivation, but if asked he would have sworn that he could smell a steaming plate right under his nose.
…
…
…
"Ah, right. The… what was it? The armor? Right, there are still some things to attend to before we depart. Let us be on the way."
"Yes, that seems like a good idea."
His talk of shrimp made me feel quite hungry…
Surely it's not of any consequence if I…
The royal woman pilfered from the pantry a thick loaf of bread and bit into it with no regard for crumbs or a moderate pace.
Even without anything to accompany it, it was just very, very good - especially after her stomach cried out with an empty grumble while the knight looked over the armor outside.
Already she was thinking about how great it would be to set her teeth into the next loaf, but ended that thought (yet not her chewing) as she realized she might just end up eating what should be a fair portion of their journey's supply.
She stopped at the one loaf, and got to stuffing the food into the cloth sack as she was meant to, rather than her stomach.
Without thought - as it was routine - he gathered up the bloodied and half-blackened armor. His feet pushed against the iron sabatons, heavy atop the wooden floor. The rest of the bottom-half hugged his shins, calves, knees and mid-thighs snugly… just as they always had. Leather straps and iron buckles held true.
It still fits. It still feels right.
This is the armor of Marika, truly - perfect for me. Only for me.
Fated for me?
The armor stand still held his chestplate - the cuirass with the rune of Marika etched in deep black. Such an emblazoning stood out on its grimy surface like the sun poking through clouds of gray - though they loom and blot, there will always be the sun in its splendor. Much the same were the holy emblem and surrounding filth; it had not gone away, and soon would the armor be restored to a full state of cleanliness. Cleanliness is godliness.
The buckles of the cuirass would later be fastened, with a bit of aid rendered from Roderika again. For now, he could not tolerate the various unsightly dents marring the cuirass. The back-end seemed fine; it was only the frontal plate that had such damage.
Now for the greathelm…
This helm is a bit… misshapen.
It was, in fact, more than a bit misshapen - there remained the conspicuous, great dent upon its top-right. His head would have been caved in by such a blow, were it not for the iron protecting it.
When his index finger dragged across that spot, crusted blood scraped against his skin. Rough, dried, certainly not usable as it was.
My head hurts merely to think of how I got this.
"Oh, gods… is it… is my skull broken? Please, gods, help me… take me away from this place…"
It feels so… silly, looking back upon it and knowing what I know today.
Behind him, Roderika approached. As light and graceful as they were, her footsteps retained their distinctive sound - leather against a hard floor. That was the tell of her returning presence.
"How goes it? Plenty of food in that sack?"
Taking the damaged chestplate into his hand, he noticed the full cloth sack in hers.
"Yes. Bread and cheese, just like you said."
She held it up.
"Good. Thank you. I hate to simply hand you another task, but that is precisely what I am about to do - would you close the prayer-book and put it into one of the large sacks? I left it upon the bed."
A nod.
"Of course. Everything else is packed, I believe."
"Thank you yet again. I would do it myself, but I am going to have my armor serviced by the old smith before we head out. It is only proper to speak with him one last time, anyway; who knows when we shall return to the Hold next?"
It would be awfully humiliating to be put into bed-rest again by a debilitating wound. Just as his previous wounds had seemingly healed, too…
With this in mind, he could only hope for a lengthy journey full of scratches to his armor rather than slashes to his skin.
That book, that book in reverence to the golden harpy Marika. She'd lured him in with grace, and now he would be reading prayers written to exalt her.
She should hide it, perhaps, and tell him that it was nowhere to be found.
Perhaps she could discard it once they'd ventured out of the Hold; it wouldn't be terribly hard to find a moment alone. 'I have to relieve myself', or 'I think I saw something in the bushes over there'.
No, just to be on the safe side, she should throw it into the fireplace. Here and now, it would surely make good kindling; all of its pages must be equivalent to at least a couple of logs.
If she could halt the pull - the siren-like allure - of Marika… things should stay so happy as they are. That woman, the supposedly-benevolent goddess, had already put them through such ordeals that nobody should endure.
Why, then, did he seem so invigorated by this recent fire that faith had lit? It was almost like he were a man possessed, in the sense that he'd apparently thrown out his hesitations and fears once Marika came into the matter… even if it took some additional convincing on her own end.
He had to have known that Marika wouldn't ever deign to speak to him, not when she'd been content to bring about their suffering in the first place.
If he didn't… it just made her resent the supposed queen even more, for she'd tricked him as well as harmed him. It was one thing to bring hardship upon her… but somebody so well-intentioned and honest as him? What ruler could do such a thing but a sadistic tyrant?
Marika had stuck out grace for him like bait on a hook… and when he bit down, maybe the piercing would be tenfold worse from that confidence, from that trust. The devotion to her 'will' would see him bleed, for… what? Her amusement, her gain?
If only he'd not seem so encouraged by this newfound faith of his. If only. If only she were walking to the hungry orange flame and not up the pantry stairs to tell him everything was packed.
Roderika decided that, between two fires, she'd sooner see blazing hope in his eyes than that book in a crackling pile of logs.
"Old man, I have need of you once more."
The hammer halted mid-swing. Perhaps the sword it loomed over breathed a small sigh in relief.
"What is it?"
His attention gotten, he turned his head.
"Dented iron. The thing that… what was it you told me, 'cries out for merciful death'? You certainly are eloquent when it comes to inducing pity for my equipment."
The right hand gripped a cuirass' frontal plate, the left a greathelm.
"Do you believe you can fix this?"
The smith lowered that hammer down to his side and ran his gaze over the dented iron in question.
What a silly question - of course he could. A minor chortle came from the smith as he cleared the half-perfected blade from the anvil.
"Lay out your armor. Let's get smithing."
It proved rather simple to smooth out the dents from the frontal plate; all it needed was some good hammering directed at the interior, in the opposite direction of those dents. Now, besides the grime and blood still dirtying it, it was in proper fighting shape.
"Well, this looks wonderful. Thank you. More important of these two is the helm, though. This denting was pushing awfully against my head when I last wore it."
At this information Hewg nodded; he promptly set the helm upside-down on the anvil's surface and peered inside. After assessing what needed to be done, he moved to act upon it.
Unfortunately the stone hammer was far too large to reach into the helm. Its stone head uselessly scraped against the weathered iron, making no progress inwards.
"Great. Well, do you have a smaller hammer?"
"No."
"I see. … thank you anyways, Hewg."
The knight removed his helm from the anvil, but before he could turn it was snatched.
"I didn't say I can't fix it."
"... do you intend to ask Queen Marika if she has a smaller hammer?"
Wordlessly, the smith stepped away from the anvil and walked to the side. The chain around his leg rattled, eventually being pulled taut as he walked to its maximum length.
"She would surely cast it down from the heavens for you, but I think she may be somewhat busy at the moment… being a monarch and all."
Fortunately that was all the range he needed, for his object laid on the floor amongst myriad armaments.
Arthur failed to understand his intention as the smith dragged it back to his anvil… that colossal hunk of iron he'd showed him a week ago. It was certainly a great sword.
"That thing? Do you intend to smelt it down into a multitude of small hammers?"
Next the smith moved the greathelm to sit upon the floor with the same orientation. Above it he lifted the gigantic weapon, its gargantuan 'blade' (if it could even be called that) pointing upwards and barely missing the ceiling. From the strained noises he emitted, it was obvious that he was putting all of his strength into the act.
"Hewg, what are you doi-"
Holding the colossal slab of a weapon by the thick crossguard, he plunged the hilt pommel-first down into the helm's depths and hammered it against the interior.
Caught between the wooden floor and the metal armament, that helm was the only one of the three which would give way. The effort was, without doubt, a significant exertion for the smith… but one does not make swords without being able to raise them.
"Huh… I suppose a man has to make do. I never figured you to be quite so strong.", Arthur said while stepping back. He'd rather it didn't fall upon him if Hewg lost grip.
Too focused on his work, he didn't respond immediately. He only grunted and clenched his teeth as the absurd weight of the weapon bore down on the helm's inside, its impact concentrated on the round pommel.
"Given time…"
By the end of it, the helm was less dented… and what few dents remained were now beaten outward, rather than inward.
"... technique never fails, unconventional as it might be."
At last, Hewg set the weapon aside; that is to say, he attempted to set it down before letting it crash atop the pile of smaller armaments with thundering impact. They clanged and scattered, and such was the natural order of it, for the weak should fear the strong.
"... at least that sword can be hoisted by somebody. I was made to think you forged it for a giant."
With a shake of hands and an apprentice's smile, the appointed time was nearing.
"Worry not, Hewg. All will be fine."
Still gripping the Misbegotten's gnarled hand, he turned briefly to glance at Roderika before turning back.
"In fact… I imagine all will be wonderful."
"Alright. I don't doubt you, but don't be a fool."
The two men retracted their hands and onto his the knight returned the gauntlet, smiling and nodding. The smith now turned to the woman.
"Don't let him be a fool… and be careful."
"I will, Master Hewg. Thank you again for everything."
The smith palmed the back of his head while shrugging.
"I just told you a few things about spirits. Nothing more."
Ever-resistant to gratitudes and similar sentiments, he was. She knew better than to waste her efforts… though, if she didn't know any better, she might have thought that he secretly appreciated her thanks.
"You've done more than that."
"Do you still have that bell, Roderika? He might like to see just what can be done with spirits."
Eagerly she took from her possession the spirit-calling bell.
"Ah, yes. Look at this, Master Hewg."
The bell chimed out with a sweet sound as she rung it. Without delay the all-too-familiar form of Aurelia came into the visible realm, her faint blue glow in contrast to the heat of warm torchlight. While Roderika stood to the knight's left, Aurelia floated to Roderika's.
"Well, where'd you find something like that?"
Upon the smith's face there was surprise and then amusement, only growing as the spirit jellyfish bounced about with all of her childlike energy.
"Arthur gave it to me. … hello, Aurelia."
She waved with one of her several tentacles; Roderika returned the wave with one of her two hands.
"Hello, Roderika! We're going to Liurnia; isn't it so exciting?"
The knight nodded so as to confirm this.
"Yes, I got it from a witch. We are… no longer on speaking terms, but it is quite the valuable item."
"He tried to fight her, but it didn't go well… but that's alright, because he tried!"
Roderika turned to look at the young spirit who spoke words that neither man heard. One of the jellyfish's tentacles extended past Roderika and wrapped around the hilt of the flamberge; despite her best efforts, she couldn't pull it out of its sheath on Arthur's back. Instead, with every tug of the handle, she merely jerked the scabbard uselessly.
Rather than discourage her or issue reprimand, he pulled the sword out for her and flipped it to hold its blade. Here he extended its hilt towards her, allowing the girl to take it without issue.
"What are you doing, Arthur?"
Both the smith and the woman became slightly wide-eyed.
"Be careful with that."
"... and he fought a knight before that; she was a spirit, like me, but when I tried to speak with her she didn't say anything. He swung his sword like…"
Aurelia floated towards the corridor leading to a closed door, stopping out of slashing range from any of the people in the smithy, and swung the sword amateurishly. It was even less practiced than Roderika's novice form, being of a jellyfish. She wrapped an additional tentacle around the hilt and began a series of wild swings mimicking the knight's own… or trying.
"I think you have a long way to go, Aurelia… but good effort!"
"That's very nice, Aurelia… but I d-"
"... and then he took his other sword and…"
She handed the flamberge back to him and then pulled the glintstone arming sword from his hip, having much less trouble this time. With it in hand (or tentacle, rather) she returned to the same spot and began swinging again.
"Aurelia, be careful with th-"
Just as the two Tarnished individually feared, upon the imitation of the decisive final swing against Loretta, the magical greatsword shot out of the blade and swept across the smithy in the swing.
"Get down!"
Hewg sheltered himself behind the anvil only a half-second after the knight had thrown Roderika to the ground and then joined her there. In her shock at just how fast it happened, she was quite bewildered until she wasn't.
Slowly the three of them stood; Arthur was the first to, lending a hand to the maiden as she did. Just as they returned to their upright stances, various spears and tall shields displayed on the wall opposite the anvil broke apart; in a mix of wooden and metal rubble, they covered the floor.
The maiden, knight and smith exchanged glances. Some irritation was present in Hewg's eyes, and Arthur approached the spirit jellyfish slowly.
"Well, I hope you had fun, Aurelia. We can do that again when we leave the Hold, alright?"
His tone was almost like a parent, rather than somebody only eleven years the girl's senior. He grabbed the arming sword's blade, his hand safe beneath its iron gauntlet, and gently pulled the weapon out of her grasp.
"Alright!", her reply was as she relinquished it. Even knowing that he could not hear a word she said, she couldn't help but respond. It brought Roderika to wonder just how much she talked while out travelling with him as a phial of ashes in his pocket. At least she had that 'Melina' woman to keep her company.
Now the knight turned to face Hewg, sliding the sword down into its scabbard.
"... what did I say about not being a fool?"
A stern expression hung from his face, clearly not very amused.
"Wha… me? This is my fault? I did not tell her to start doing that! She did it on her own."
She despised arguing… but this was a civil conversation, not an argument, so she joined in.
"Arthur, you gave a dangerous sword to a child."
He shook his head.
"The child took the dangerous sword from me."
Hewg grew even more unamused at this defense. Roderika simply looked to him with her arms folded and rung the bell once more, returning Aurelia to the phial once more.
"Do not act like I facilitated this. … but anyway, just calm yourselves, would you? Everything is fine. Nobody was injured, and all is well. That sword likely would have gone over our heads even had we stood unflinching, so let us settle down."
As they prepared for the next round of discussion, they all realized this wasn't really worth it.
"... I doubt that, but…"
"Yes, of course you do, Hewg."
"I think we should get going before anything else… happens."
Hewg pointed his arms at the mess of broken spears and shattered shields on the other side of the room.
"Well, what about all this?"
"Oh… I suppose Sir Gideon can have a fun time cleaning that up… assuming he does not have Nepheli do it. Anyway, good day!"
"You can't just leave. You have to clean that mess up."
Arthur began to back away, towards the staircase down. The old smith moved as well… but his approach was halted by the chain around his ankle.
"Well, no… I think I am deathly allergic to broken spears, and Roderika here, she told me in confidence that she catches plague every time she touches a broken shield. Best not to chance it, I would say."
Roderika joined him as he went further and further from the anvil, turning just in time to avoid tumbling backwards down the stairs.
"Goodbye, Master Hewg. We'll be back soon… I think."
Something like an encouraging smile formed on his face, mixed with the typical expression of an elder that just said 'oh, those youngsters'. He nodded.
"Be safe, would you?"
Before he knew it, he was alone once more. Alone but for his hammer and anvil.
"... what am I ever going to do with those two?"
Their supplies gathered up, the journey was imminent. Venerable iron hugged his body, familiar in feeling. Royal silk and leather proved warm around hers, and in this moment within the great-hall it was but a matter of minutes.
"We had best be off now, I imagine."
We're truly about to leave the Hold. It's been quite some time since I've walked on grass, or felt the sun.
At least carpet and fireplace-warmth have been ample substitutes.
… but I won't need substitutes any longer.
"I think so."
On both of their skins - covered as they were by iron and silk - there tingled the anticipation of something important about to commence.
"We'll not return for some time… barring dire circumstances."
Around her waist she tied the belt, having put the shortsword on again. She'd need it, if not for self-defense then for the knight's peace of mind.
"Like what? You getting yourself into trouble again? I'll have to keep you safe… even if it's from yourself."
A smirk upon his face, wholly jovial.
"Oh, is that so? You shall keep me safe? By all means, if you want to play at being a gallivanting knight, you are welcome to. Unfortunately, my plate armor ill-fits you, so maybe you can find a smaller set… or a hauberk of mail."
'Hmm… if I could obtain for her a suit of munitions-grade armor in some armory stockpile or other, maybe she would be safe then.
The mass-produced things are obviously inferior to armor like mine, but I doubt many knights have her precise build… or such a small build at all.
Luckily, that sort of armor is… how do they say it, "one-size-fits-all"?
I can simply imagine her clanking around in looted armor too large like some child playing pretend.'
In all truth, that idea of Roderika dying horribly - and worse, dying under his neglectful care - was still in his head.
Thank golden Marika, then, that it was diminished and itself dying with every time he looked upon her face.
He didn't see the eerie stillness, nor the split skull, nor the deathly expression of the girl Irina. In that place there was determination despite uncertainty, a desire to cling to life and to live it however it fares.
Ornate brooch upon her chest and velvet cloth tucked into one of her arm-garters, she looked proper - a proper lady. From her resolute expression, she also seemed ready. Ready for a journey… but for a battle? Doubtful.
"Roderika?"
She looked up from the sacks by their feet and at him.
"What is it?"
"... thank you for joining me."
Warmth, equal to the torches and the fireplaces in this place, seemed present on her expression now.
"I couldn't let you go alone… not after all you've done for me."
"Yes, and I could hardly bear to go alone after being graced with your company for such a perfect pair of days as these… so this is good."
With his helm between his arm and chest again, he looked down at her. The eyes of an innocence not so much untouched as unvanquished gleamed, their green hue unique amongst the dead eyes of foot soldiers aplenty.
"Before we go, I have only one thing to ask of you… if you permit it."
"Yes?"
"For the time being, keep yourself from battle… would you? I should feel much relief to know that it is only my skin in the fray, and not yours."
I wasn't intending to participate in battle anyway… but I suppose this is for your peace of mind.
"Of course."
He nodded immediately, saying "good, good" as he did.
They fell into silence that just waited for one of them to say the words - 'should we go now?' - and didn't have to wait for long.
"Well… there is not much to do now but leave. Liurnia awaits… and, by Queen Marika, have I some sights to show you."
"Each time you mention how beautiful it is, you only raise my expectations higher."
"Ah, but Fair Lady of mine, none doth reign so beautiful as thou."
He placed the greathelm on his head, but though his view was now poorer, he did see the redness on her face.
"... 'thee'."
Even with improper usage of royal language, he'd managed it once more.
"I see. Let us be off, regardless… and thank you for the grammatical corrections."
"You're welcome."
In their hands they took the supply-sacks, full of provisions most essential, with him slinging over his back the prayer-book. Under that particular sack was the flamberge sheathed. A fitting place, for knowledge without might dies feeble, and might without knowledge dies ignorant.
All thoughts were of grace, and all grace was of Marika. Marika's blessing, return him to the roaming world where fear and hardship dwells. Take him away from this place of comfort, and lay before him the gauntlet that shall make him a man.
'Your Eternal Majesty, light our way.'
As in one instant they were side-by-side in the Hold, they were in the next side-by-side at the base of a grand tower. Blue crystalline growths on either side of the entrance, and all across the grassy terrain. Fog. Oh, she'd forgotten a tiny bit just how different the weather was out here.
"So this is Liurnia? It's a bit cold here… is it always like this?"
She dropped the sacks in her hands and put her hands on her forearms, trying to warm herself. She could feel the fog on her skin, and surely it would swallow her whole without a fire to drive it back.
"This is temperate. You must have simply gotten rather used to the Hold and always being near some fire or other. Worry not, you will adjust, and once we establish a camp you can sit by the bonfire."
"That sounds good."
The two of them peered up - past the clouds, gray clouds with winds that smelt of rain, bright spots poked through. The sun fought valiantly to greet them.
"Look at that. I believe it will rain soon… so we had best seek shelter. There is a manor down this way, and there are plenty of rooms good for such a purpose."
"It's just our luck, I suppose. Should we get going now?"
"Yes. Once we are safe from rain, I imagine that some formal introductions will be in ord… oh, this woman again. I forgot that I last was in the wretched domain of her!"
Past Roderika's head, the blue witch Ranni stuck hers out of her tower and peered down at them. Evidently she had heard the commotion outside, and deigned to dismount from her petty throne for a view.
In a bizarre display of what seemed to be contempt, the knight removed his right gauntlet, raised that hand with the back of it facing upwards and stuck out his middle finger. The other four on his hand remained closed. With bewilderment and confusion did the maiden raise an eyebrow.
"What are you doing?"
"Taunting a witch."
"... that's a taunt? What does it mean? Who is that?"
The witch Ranni's face, from what could be seen at this distance, let out a huff and then wore an angry scowl that tried to seem unaffected.
"You are lucky there is rain soon to be upon Liurnia, otherwise I would set ablaze your wicked tower!"
She returned the gesture with all four of her hands, poking her doll-limbs out from the thick cloak upon her body. For his part, Arthur threw down his right gauntlet, stripped his left and raised the off-hand in a second gesture.
"Thy mother is a hamster… and thy father doth smell of elderberries."
Her supposedly-aloof, cold demeanor broke as she jeered. He seemed to only intensify in his anger, but he clearly restrained it on some level.
"Damn you! What do you know of my parents? Nothing, because you had only a fool and a wench to raise you, unlike me! Go to hell! I will send you there just as soon as I find occasion!"
Some small level.
"Thou possesseth neither means nor morale to carry such a threat out, mongrel."
"Tell your father, that pitiful knave Radagon or whatever his name be, to fornicate with himself! I pray that your mother Rennala suffers misery sevenfold and dies alone; thus let your bloody crime be avenged upon her head! In the name of Queen Marika, Godwyn and the Erdtree do I condemn you! Damn House Caria - on my bones, I swear!"
Never, not once, had she seen him so furious or hostile.
"Begone, foul ruffian."
"Damn you!"
"Begone, I say."
"Silence, witch!"
"Begone."
"Damn you again!"
The air next to her felt suddenly much colder and very strange and somehow not that different from the feeling of a spirit… yet when she turned, Aurelia wasn't there.
"Arthur."
An unfamiliar voice from behind his right shoulder - a woman's voice - surprised her. It was cool, though not ice-cold, and without worry or hesitance.
Roderika turned from the spectacle unfolding before her eyes to face her, and Arthur turned as well (though still with his finger stuck out).
"Yes, Melina? Is something wrong?"
Melina.