Not just a recurring spectre in being but in mental image, she was here. The woman spoken so highly of by the knight and the jellyfish.
"You're… Melina?"
Unmoving beyond turning his head to face the spectral woman, Arthur still held up his fingers in their taunting gestures. Melina - she seemed to be Melina, since he'd called her that - stepped forward to be directly by his right shoulder, turning her head to face him as well. Just as Roderika opened her mouth to say something else, an unknown something, the spectral woman spoke.
"There are things of greater importance to do…"
Melina stood there, a head of short hair next falling back as she peered up towards the indignant blue woman. As Roderika looked upon her, it was clear that her distinction didn't end just at being a spirit. Her left eye was closed, a very strange marking above it, and she wore over her garb a hooded black cloak whose lowest point was at her ankles. Evidently hardier travelling attire than her own silk, though she liked to think her clothing sufficient still.
Even something like a one-eyed nature couldn't detract from how… kindly her features were. Very, very slightly taller than Roderika, and in that slightness far shorter than Arthur still. A face that was soft-featured though bearing a neutral expression, with hair an equally-soft reddish-brown.
A fair woman, in a sense of beauty, albeit with an obviously-spectral atmosphere about her. The air around her, even in this chilly climate, was discernibly swirled with the sensation of something more than flesh and bone. It was cold, deathly-cold, though not quite dead.
"... are there not?"
She was, indeed, quite the fair woman. That she would attach herself to him, of all people, was fascinating. How had they met? Why had they chosen to journey together? What did they speak of?
With this line of thought, a familiar, dry feeling in her chest rose up and then immediately was washed over, drowned. It reminded her of the jealous - yes, it truly was jealousy - suspicions that had been birthed the day prior.
Ah, but that was the past, no matter how recent.
I have nothing to worry about.
All was well, even if some nefarious element of her mind suggested otherwise.
Still, she pursed her lips in silence… half for being peeved at having not received a response, and half for being generally unsure of the greater situation unfolding here.
"If you mean to suggest that I depart, you've no luck in store."
Even with such a curt reply, Melina's expression was unmoved. Not quite stony or unfeeling… but reserved, rather. It was in line with her voice - measured, without hesitation or doubt. Her emotions were kept in true balance, outwardly at least.
"Arthur."
"Yes? I ask again, is there an issue?"
"Grace surely leads you elsewhere. Your efforts would be wasted on this. There is no throne to be claimed here… nor fragments of the shattered Elden Ring."
Not so unmoved as her, with a voice clad in bravado and fervor… but also steeped in just a hint of personal resentment.
"I will not yield… to kiss the ground beneath vile Carian feet and be cowed by a vainglorious wretch. Oh, gods, gods, why should I? Be you so inclined as to regard holiness with scorn, you may flee… but I stand as the sword of all virtue, and ever shall."
Quite the rude response, in her honest opinion… but, then again, this seemed to be an overall rude situation. Following a short silence Melina turned to look at the knight again, briefly skimming her eyes over Roderika as she did.
"Such is the duty of a kn-"
Before any more could be said, the witch's voice was heard from above.
"Tarnished, grope about for power in lesser domains… as that is thy place. Presume not to taint this place with thy foul breath."
He used his left index finger to point upwards at her, his right hand still making the taunting gesture.
"Silence! I will deal with you later! … anyway, what was I saying?"
"You said that you would not leave."
"Ah, yes. Such is true, Melina. Bid Caria achieve me, my bloody demise, and defile my bones. I bid them, and shall gladly fall in battle if only never to live with ignoble retreat. Never again."
Feeling something of an outsider to this, as she did with the Hunter D, Roderika stood and watched without much speaking… but she certainly did much thinking. Particularly, of how - in his wrathful voice and the general actions taken thus far - this seemed to be a matter of wounded pride.
Though his leg and arm were in proper fighting shape, there was some bleeding cut beneath the armor. It'd not dry like the blood already over it, but instead drip down into that pooling emotion which might just be hate. Festering hate.
Even in his sleep, duty which could not forget fell drop by drop upon the heart until he muttered and condemned - "avenge it, I swear, hunt her like a dog, kill her". No matter what, she couldn't entirely forget that moment of the night - so unlike him, perhaps the first sign of something darker than his knightly courtesy.
She also thought, particularly, of how it seemed even chillier than it was minutes ago. Wet, as well, and not just from the fog. Her head and shoulders barraged with some projectiles or force, she tilted her head up and was met with raindrop upon raindrop.
The other two then looked up - the sun appeared to, for the time being, falter in its struggle against heavy gray clouds. Virtue was beaten back, contrary to their wishes.
"Yes, indeed, there is no path but up the stairs and into the lair of the knave most sinister. To this end, will y-"
A sound of pattering against the helm's hard, unyielding metal surface. Next the pauldrons, and then the ground. Light now, but unending and perhaps growing. He pulled back one arm and opened its bare hand to be a basin, and surely enough some drops of rain were cupped.
The gauntlets thrown to the ground were without separated fingers and instead were of a mitten-esque type. It was doubtful that they proved warmer than her own leather gloves, even with the benefit of keeping his fingers together to stave off the cold. Despite this, little good could be done by standing bare-handed and issuing taunting gestures to the woman in the tower.
"... oh, lovely."
At last, Roderika spoke.
"We should find shelter, shouldn't we?"
She only further tightened her arms around her chest so as to conserve heat. How the knight wasn't visibly cold proved a mystery, though how the spectral woman wasn't… wasn't.
"I… well, I suppose. I would never wish for you to be soaked by rain… especially not soon into our grand journey… but I have unfinished business here. Important business…"
Still with his middle fingers raised.
"Even if taunting her is so important… surely you can do it later?"
Melina stepped forward once more, without regard for anything but him.
"She is right. There is no step towards lordship to be taken here. Our journey lies elsewhere."
'Our' journey. You say that as you stand without a drop of rain on you.
Even his layers beneath the armor are wettening.
Despite any other thoughts in her head, it was a good sign, surely, that even before formal introductions had taken place they both were on the side of reason… and of not being drenched in rain.
"… but what about Ranni? You surely know well how I feel about this, Melina… what she did."
"Divested of a Great Rune as she is, there remains no purpose in quarrelling with her. Greater good might be found elsewhere, on the road to the Erdtree."
She tenderly put her hand upon his shoulder, bringing it to rest on the pauldron - its skin was scarred with the marks of flame, but Roderika didn't notice that in particular.
I don't think she's 'turning runes into strength' by doing that.
There it was again, the sensation in her chest, though rather small and insignificant.
"Forget her."
He looked to the nigh-shivering Roderika. Beneath his greathelm, perhaps his eyes widened slightly at seeing her so affected by this clime - she couldn't really tell.
The knight sighed, lowering his hands and their middle fingers. His eyes closed and, after a still moment, he nodded in a resolute motion.
Something about the sight of a woman hugging herself to keep warm restored sense to him.
"... yes, you two are right. Let us… be off, then. There is not much to be done here besides bask in the rain."
He looked up to the top of the tower for a final time; by this point, Ranni had lowered her four arms, as well, and now merely looked down at the three people. At him in return.
In the dark eyes that pierced through his helm's visor, there was something left unsaid and yet conveyed… even if dampened in the journey through fog and rain.
'This is not over', said the glare.
'Bring about thy meager utmost', said the returned glare.
No longer did the knight and witch make crude hand gestures towards one another - this was no time for pettiness or childish taunts. When next they met, he swore, it would be a battle.
"She will have her time…"
"Don't forget those."
Roderika pointed to the ground before him, where the iron gauntlets had been thrown down. Just as he bent down to retrieve them, she bent and finally let go of herself in order to pick up the cloth sacks by her feet. They'd been dropped without too much care, but thankfully nothing fragile was within.
"Let us be off, then."
Melina looked upon them both, seeing the rainfall assail the dirtied iron armor and drench Roderika. The girl… or, if she would rather be called it, woman. Her blonde hair was slick and halfway-flattened with rainwater already. Her face was cold, and her silk was absorbing water, as well. In contrast, it only served to run the crusted blood and grime down the knight's panoply, one bead of crimson or brown at a time.
"There is shelter down the path. Hurry along!"
"Which way?"
"That way!"
Down the small incline that led away from the staircase, she ran first until realizing she didn't even know where to go. He overtook her and, after equipping his gauntlets once more, led her by the hand. Gentle but firm, his grip was undeterred by rainwater.
There grew those pretty, cerulean-blue, bright flowers in the grass along the path, vibrant even in the fog. A warmth lit her chest, despite her white-silk garment soaking up rain faster and faster, as she thought of those ones he'd picked for her.
Was the similarly-warm sensation in her gloved hand some heat burning from his own through the iron gauntlet?
… or was it just her body beginning to suffer from exposure? It was so terribly cold, given the fact that she was drenched and not exactly acclimated to the region.
I prefer to think that I'm not in danger of dying by exposure… even if it is awfully cold.
Despite the weather, that single persistent contact made it rather… nice.
In her contemplation, maybe she almost slipped on the wet-and-getting-wetter grass, or maybe she just lost balance on her own. Either way, he didn't let her tumble the whole way into the mud, and their rain-beaten flight from the tower's base continued on.
Crystalline growths dotted the landscape around, but in all of the fog they might as well have been nothing. Otherwise they would be fantastical.
Down the incline and near to that thing which seemed like a building, she couldn't even see past the two of them given the fog. It had perhaps grown worse, or their rain-harried race to shelter had made better vision difficult.
Still carrying their supplies with her, she handed off some to him while they rushed through a courtyard of chairs and an extensive circular pool. The wooden seats passed by her in her speed, and she didn't much concern over them. She did notice, however, that among their number many were smashed apart.
Even in the not-very-temperate climate of watery Liurnia - fog, rain and lakes presumably all around - she wasn't entirely miserable. If asked, she might have just said that she'd been having a ball.
More rain.
More haste.
As cold as it was, it was still preferable to actually attending a ball. She would know.
Shortly after they rounded a corner and came to vast stairs, the way split into left-and-right. They went right, stepping so hastily that they might have asked for a tumble.
In some very odd archway was passed through - it moved. It was a pair of legs, gigantic legs. The knight pushed his page in front of himself so as to shield her from any potential harm, and she skittered down the steps at this insistence.
An inhuman, bellowing noise chased them down the stairs.
With a turn of her head (while still fleeing towards shelter), she saw just why. A… well, a monstrous being as tall as ten men with a slab of metal in its hand. A sword? No sword could be so large. On its head was a knightly helm, adding what abysmal splendor it could to the being with a cloak and grotesquely-concave chest. It must have been a giant, or a troll.
Such a sight as that only served to hurry her in what might have been minor fear. Luckily it was rather distant by the time she'd looked, but her pace quickened surely. Stormveil's army of ordinarily-sized footmen was one thing, but a… a whatever-that-thing-was?
If this was ordinary business for Arthur, then… well, she could adjust, surely. Still, it cast his already-frightening ordeal in a new light. Who could voluntarily return to it?
He could. He had.
Interestingly, Melina had not been sighted alongside or behind them this time - she surely followed along in the way spirits do oft cling to the living.
With one set of stairs passed and one more to descend, neither Tarnished tripped and stumbled down so far, though some four bodies did lay as stationary obstacles. Two in black fineries, two in scholarly robes of white now tainted dark-red.
The maiden, of course, was no stranger to corpses. Stormveil had ensured it.
At least I know what it's like to look at them… the dead.
It's far better to speak with them, though.
"Aurelia, how are you doing?"
"I'm well!"
Unsurprising. Being a spirit, the cold had no bearing upon her… and, even if it did, her ashes were nestled safely within the folds of her own royal silk (albeit wettened silk).
"I wish you could have seen Arthur fight the people on these stairs. They had no chance, not one! Even being shot in the shoulder was nothing!"
"That's nice."
The beginnings of militarism, no doubt passed on from the knight during their travels… albeit unwittingly. Bizarre, it was, to witness in the spirit of a girl only thirteen years of age. Ten years her younger, Aurelia had surely witnessed more blood-and-guts combat than any child should.
Ah, but here came the end of the grand stairs - and here came a thundering noise closer to a roar than a mere bellow. That, and… the noise of clattering iron.
Upon her right shoulder, the air felt nearly like it were rent asunder by a powerful force - was a storm abrew? - and the knight visibly stumbled down the half-flight of stairs. He managed only to avoid falling on his head by jutting his arms out to break the fall.
"Are you alright?", her question was as she attempted to help him stand. He was on his feet quickly, though. It must not have been a very harsh landing.
"Yes, I just felt the most peculiar pushing force at my back. Nevermind it, though; continue on!"
With supplies in one hand and hers in the other, he led her once more. The tall stone archway heralded yet another flight of stairs, only this one was far shorter and not quite so steep.
A return to the grass, and a slew of trees whose silhouettes were visible despite the fog. In it she thought of the misty woods with runebears and the cold. Limgrave. Camping in the forest after a rainy outburst from the sky might be unpleasant.
Rain, ever-growing.
Paved was the way, and it was very shortly after that they found their sought shelter. To the right of their ascent into it - 'it' being a rather small room preceded by another small set of stairs - was what should be a fine view of Liurnia. Unfortunately it was not quite so beautiful, on account of being gray and cloudy, as when Arthur had first seen it.
Forget the view, though - they'd finally reached someplace untouched by the rain!
"Quickly, get inside."
No need to tell her.
The stone archway here was unfortunately not a doorway… for it had no doors. If it did, he would have closed them. Thus did the cold seep into the place… but only slightly. Blue candles, perhaps of that glintstone-flame he'd been assailed with before, burned in their holders and sticks. In this place, not even the fire's hue was warm.
"What luck. I never expected for that kind of weather to greet us so… vigorously."
In this room, upon its cold stone floor, there laid scattered books by the dozens or perhaps the hundreds. Clearly the royal servants had no discipline… or their masters had simply that voracious an appetite for knowledge. The various wooden desks around which these books amassed evoked a certain… feeling. A reminiscence of Sir Gideon, perhaps.
"Neither did I."
The woman laid down her handful of the supplies in a pile near the room's center. The cloth sacks were pocked with raindrops but not badly wet, especially not nearly as much as her garb. A steady drip-drip-drip rhythm from water falling from the hem of her garment to the stone-floor below. It repeated faintly against the now-thick pattering of rainfall outside.
Grace-gilded by the mercy of Marika, his armor shone brighter the closer he got to it - a holy stake, jutting upwards from the ground. So as to get a better view he removed the greathelm - he could see only a fraction of life's beauty while nestled safely within iron.
"Look at my armor. Positively agleam with gold, is it not?"
Awkwardly she ran a gloved hand over her elbow. The silk clung to her skin in its wetness as she did.
"I can't see grace."
Her only sight was of cold-blue candlelight flickering against wet, muddled metal. A sinking feeling, guilt, took up residence in him at having reminded her of that. The circumstances behind her exile, the false pretenses. Not all could be so blessed as to inherit grace, even were they born of golden wealth.
If she never saw grace, was she truly Tarnished as he?
"Well… yes, I… I know that. I simply forgot for a moment. Forgive me."
Her eyes picked up from the floor and now gazed upon the iron.
"... but it is much cleaner than before."
Looking downwards at it, he could only smile at the indeed-bloodless surface of his armor.
His own blood, the blood of foot soldiers, the blood of murder. Gone.
Even when scars remain, sin can be cleansed by silver rain.
Washed clean, it was like a baptism. A new journey had commenced, one for the both of them, and the rain was a blessing in disguise upon it.
"Here, could you set these alongside the rest?"
After taking a moment to continue holding herself in shivering chilliness, she took from him the supplies. Rain had gotten her well, it really had. At the very least her hair was flattened from its luscious golden state into something like a rain-caught stray's fur… a beautiful stray, despite it.
"As my page, it is your duty to keep track of supplies, anyway… not that I would ever force you."
He knew quite well that he didn't have to. His expression was quite un-serious, for he did not truly consider her a page so much as a dear companion.
"... are you alright?"
Her shivering noticed, a concerned look now took over his face.
"... I'm cold."
He could tell as much. An admonishing 'I told you that silk might not be enough' was left completely unsaid, because it would be of no help and, worse, rude.
"I figured as much. Forgive my misplaced attention. Do you… well, I have no cloak, otherwise I would offer it to you. … and any branches outside would likely be too wet to catch flame now, otherwise I might make a bonfire. I said earlier that we could sit by one… so I apologize for disappointing you."
Her face seemed a bit disappointed only by his lack of action. Was "I'm cold" meant to convey some request, rather than just information?
"At least there's light from the candles. They're quite strange, though… they're blue."
"Ask him about the dragon he found out on the lake!"
"... Aurelia says to ask you about the 'dragon out on the lake'."
He ran a hand over the back of his neck, having removed his helm. From the chilly iron gauntlet's contact, hairs stood up.
"Oh, well… we need not discuss that. She likely means to point out how glintstone-blue flame is quite common in this region."
It was one thing for Melina to have witnessed such a disordered retreat as his upon that foggy night, but for Roderika to know of it? The shame and humiliation would be without end.
… but, as he recalled being blasted with a gout of glintstone fire, he had a very bright idea.
"… wait."
"What is it?"
Her answer came when, from a nearby corner of the room, he hauled a wooden desk to the center. Next he gathered up two of the blue candles and held their burning wicks against that desk. The poor, poor desk - ah, but thus is only the nature of this big, bad world; kindling is kindling and ash naught but ash.
"There can be no camp without a fire."
"You can't be serious."
"I am. I would sooner burn a desk - even one so fine as this - than see you suffer the cold. Besides… I care little for the possessions of House Caria, knowing what I know of them. You would like to sit by a bonfire, would you not?"
Burning a wooden desk inside was surely a wise idea. If he was suggesting it, it must be.
"Yes, I suppose."
With that confirmation, he torched the desk. Utterly torched it.
A fire soon engulfed the object, and it was warm yet cool, magical yet so comforting like an orange flame. Fantastical to somebody who'd only ever sat by a conventional fire.
"Why is it that we always seem to find respite by a fire?"
"..."
Pondering, sharing her curiosity - such was his expression as he looked upon the blue flame.
"I know not. I know nothing, in fact, other than that there is no other I would rather do it with."
If not for the smile on her face, he would think his powers of smitten (though clumsy) flirtation to be vanished.
"Well, I feel the same."
By the stake of grace, his armor still bounced the light off brilliantly, with flickering blue flame now added. It was no mirror-sheen, he knew it, but it was reflective and splendid anyway. Holy-gold met magic-blue, and they were together here for just this long moment.
Royal-white and knightly-gray, surely, would cling to one another for a good while longer.
"The rain seems as though it is, possibly, here to stay until the evening. I suppose we should settle in. For that reason, would you help me take this armor off?"
"It wasn't so long ago that I helped put it on, but… of course."
The prayer-book, slung in a cloth-sack over his back, was lowered into the pile of other sacks and the process (by now familiar) began.
"Thank you. I believe we have some spare rags in one of these sacks; this rain did a fine job loosening up the unsightly coat of filth on my armor, and seizing the chance to do away with it altogether seems wise."
While undoing the many buckles of his plate armor, she took notice of just how tall he was compared to her. Half-a-foot, just about.
She'd stood alongside him a fair many times, and knew generally of his height, but in this moment the realization struck her quite suddenly. It was mostly the internal wonder of whether he'd ever banged his head on a smaller-than-average doorframe.
"Is there anything I might do for you? Your clothes are a good deal less dry than mine, and we have no spares."
Maybe packing a blanket or some sort of covering would have been wise.
"I'm fine. Perhaps I'm still a bit cold, but this fire helps."
The smell of petrichor - the earthen outside impacted by rain - broke through the open entrances. Slowly, steadily, surely. Condensation, in a mustered army from the heavens, rammed against the ground outside with an almighty charge that did not relent.
The last of the iron panoply's pieces was set upon the ground, as well, and now he stood in his arming doublet worn over the white-linen shirt. If not for said doublet, he would have been quite uncomfortable. Wearing plate armor over nothing but an ordinary shirt? Ridiculous! He'd learned that lesson at too formative an age to forget.
"..."
Arthur looked down at himself and had another bright idea. He, standing beside the waterlogged woman, worked out in his head just what he should do.
"... I believe I can help you with that."
Her interested expression was only accentuated further by curious eyes that looked up at him and were met quickly.
"How so?"
"Take your shirt off."
Despite being less-than-warm, her face reddened deeply over the course of the following moments. Her eyes shot wide open, still looking up at him.
"... what?"
Even though he was not possessed of divination powers, and could not see into her head, it dawned upon him just how this seemed.
"No, that was… I meant to say that… you can wear my doublet instead of that drenched attire… since it is dry and such. I did not… well…"
He stepped back a bit and looked away, not knowing what more to say.
"... ah, I see…"
Surely he could do without the doublet for the time they were waylaid by weather - its various tassels were the means through which his armor was laced to himself, but he didn't need armor right now. Her silk was probably not very comfortable when wet… so…
"So you would like to, then?"
She'd settled into an expression much less shocked than before, and nodded.
"Yes… that would be good."
"Then… well, I will turn around and you can remove yourself from the miserable wet sheet that is your upper garment."
"It's not a 'wet sheet'... but alright."
"Good. Good. Great."
He awkwardly turned around, as stated, because why would he not? Chastity is as much a virtue as patience, and looking at people - women especially - when they're disrobed does not quite align with it… even when you'd been entangled in some wonderful romantic affair with the person. The thought of turning around prematurely didn't occur to him at all, not even once.
It didn't!
The sounds of distinctly-wet fabric being shifted and then splattering against the hard floor indicated that she was done. He'd pulled his own arming doublet, a rather thick piece beset with many tassels and leather tabs for attaching plate armor, over his head in the meantime. Now he was reduced to the base layer of a linen shirt which remained comfortably dry.
"Here you are. Just… here."
He reversed slightly and held the doublet behind him, taking care not to look backwards. Even in this caution he stepped back just a bit too much, and his wrist brushed against the soft flesh of her bare right shoulder. More specifically, it grazed the space between her shoulder and neck. Surprised equally by the contact, they individually jumped up mildly.
"There you are. Perfectly dry."
His voice shook awkwardly, like he was quite off-set by this turn of events. She quickly accepted the garment from his hand, which had lifted itself so as not to graze her shoulder again.
"... thank you."
He walked forward to give her some space, his right side warmed by the fire like her left as they were back-to-back.
"You simply pull it over your head. It should go on easily.
…
…
… well, I think it fair to say that I had barely realized that travelling with a woman would entail a situation like this."
"..."
"Do you understand it? 'Bare'-ly? Your, err, torso is presumably bare, hence th-"
"Arthur, your humor seems quite… unconventional as of late."
Her tone was clearly not amused. He could tell even as it was muffled by her head being only halfway-through the doublet.
"Would you rather we stand in uncomfortable silence? I'd not."
"I don't know. Perhaps… or perhaps this is more uncomfortable."
Even with the clumsy attempts at negating mutual embarrassment, he still felt the warm skin beneath his wrist despite having long-parted. It was…
"Are you… finished robing yourself?"
His face felt warm. No, hot. The fire truly helped.
"Yes."
He turned to face her - thankfully, true to her word, she was.
"How is it? Better?"
The doublet was a tad large on her, given the vast difference in their builds. Still, she seemed immediately better off for having donned it - a snug piece, it was in very good condition for something found discarded in the Roundtable Hold. Just how many champions had come and gone? How many knights and maidens?
"It's very… thick. I can see why you weren't cold like myself."
Not only thick, but still warm with his own bodily heat. It was like sitting directly next to a furnace. … or was that just the actual fire burning up the desk some three feet away?
"Indeed. It is a bit oppressive in hotter weather, though. Go ahead and warm yourself; I shall take care of the wet clothes, and the armor."
Gladly striding away, he approached another desk in a farther portion of the room and took its accompanying chair. Bringing the ornate wooden furniture-piece to the fire, he set it some five feet away and then draped over it the white-silk layers.
Ornate, drenched and hers… the silk felt just a tiny bit like when they held one another by the fireplace. The rest of its feeling was of sopping clothing articles that had just been stripped from their wearer. With that in mind, he set it out to dry.
It was not quite as good as leaving it to dry in the sun, but that sun was, just like them, waylaid by inclement weather.
"Here, this should be better than the ground. Only the best for you, of course."
He brought another chair, this time to a spot within safe warming distance of the fire. It was still burning quite splendidly, being fueled by a robust wooden desk.
"Thank you."
At last he excused himself to search the stock of supplies for some cloth or other. Wiping down the armor would keep rust at bay, and he needed something to do.
As he rifled through the sacks, his voice lowered.
"I was beginning to believe that I might fall dead in embarrassment."
Nothing.
"Melina, are you silent out of some irritation, rather than a simple lack of hearing?"
Nothing.
"Perhaps you are, like the occasion in Limgrave upon which I… Melina?"
Nothing.
Something, now… but not in his own immediate proximity. Rather, by the fire, alongside Roderika.
"Greetings."
At how suddenly the spectral woman had appeared by her, Roderika startled and, in some darker reality, might have jumped into the fire by accident.
"Ah!"
Even being in tune with the spiritual realm, she was caught by surprise - was that deliberate on Melina's end?
"So… you're Melina."
With her thin, scarred hands folded in front of her, she was otherwise still. Conspicuously she was perfectly untouched by the rain, unlike Arthur… and especially unlike herself.
"I am. You… are Roderika, yes?"
The blonde woman to whom the name belonged, she pushed the still-wet hair back from her face.
"Yes. I'm… told that he and you are good friends."
Components of plate armor sat nearby, far cleaner than they'd been in quite a while. The silver rain washed away Limgrave dirt and blood, in large part.
As much as the knight wished to join the two women, there was still some armor left to be dried. That, and watching them interact unimpeded seemed the best course to take. Like a gash that hadn't scarred over fully, the memory of Roderika's insecurities about Melina - her fears - remained. His role in them.
That sense of disappointment in himself for letting such a heartaching thing fester… it lingered on, it wouldn't go away, why wouldn't it? It was so small but as he saw them stand together it came rushing to the forefront of his mind.
Even after the time since Roderika's emotions came spilling out, there lurked a burrowing and awful feeling that reminded him of the sorrowful times in boyhood, like a beloved horse's death or momentary disappointment in himself as the failed son of his father.
He didn't know what he was doing with all of this romantic business, with her, but shouldn't his best be enough?
"..."
With all of this considered, he divided his attention between wiping down the armor and listening in on their conversation.
"Indeed, we are. Allies by pact, and companions by choice. I play the role of maiden, offering guidance and aid… and, to this end, turning runes into strength."
The two women, individually, recalled their first true meetings with the man. Chiefly in common was his state of being at those separate times - perhaps despairing, though holding taut the threads of an impossible dream, clad in iron so as to hide the blood and fear. It only smothered closer what he dreaded, as much as a cage as an armor.
"I see."
"It seems that the two of you are 'good friends', as well."
Yes, 'good friends', with that knowing intonation... that was a fine way to put it. What they had - something like a childish first love except it could persist and could endure - didn't need a proper term when explained to other people. If it had to have one, though, they could say they were 'good friends'.
'Good friends' can surely dwell around each other in a state of undress… as immodest as it can become. That's alright.
"... yes. "
Surely.
… but the woman, stoic and hardly-expressive, had something like a tiny smile playing at the edges of her mouth. What was that for? Just what was she so happy about?
"... how long have you been travelling alongside Arthur? I've been told that you're a great help in his journey."
A question always solves unsureness, even if only by distracting for the moment.
"I have been his companion for only a brief time - our purposes would have us seek the Erdtree, and there is wisdom in making a pact to that end."
"..."
"She means to say 'a month'. She oft speaks in fanciful, vague terms. It is her… thing, I suppose it could be said."
Having finished, the knight joined them.
"If you wish to know the circumstances through which our camaraderie came to be… allow me to put on a fine production, the finest play you ever did see - 'the first meeting of the knight Arthur and the maiden Melina'. I shall play all of the roles, since I recall exactly how it went."
While the spectral woman looked on without any change in temperament, Roderika raised an eyebrow slightly. She hadn't expected fine entertainment, nor ever thought of the man as an entertainer.
In all truth, it reminded her just a bit of home - of the minstrels and their varied acts. Her raised eyebrow fell in favor of a light smile at the thought of home… though maybe not the people in it.
"Melina, might I borrow your cloak? It will make for a fine prop."
Before receiving an answer, he'd already unpinned and borrowed it from her. The same characteristically-neutral expression remained upon her face.
He pulled it over his own form, bringing its hood over his head.
"Before we start, I must say that I can see why you adore this cloak so deeply. Where-ever did you find this? Its fabric is quite comfortable."
"..."
"... anyway, I begin."
The cloak, as its lowest point reaching to Melina's ankles, accordingly hung shorter on him. It reached what were perhaps his mid-lower-calves. He turned his back to the two women, Roderika having moved her chair to face him, and dramatically turned back a moment later.
Having his head bowed so as to conceal itself with the hood…
"Greetings, traveller from beyond the fog."
… he knelt and at the same time threw the hood off.
"I… am Melina. I offer you… an accord."
His imitation of Melina was quite similar to that of Ranni as performed for Sir Gideon… only without any of the scorn or condescension. Indeed, it was done only in affection for his dear companion.
After a moment spent kneeling, he removed the cloak, set it down and then hurried to an opposite spot, sitting relaxed with legs outstretched.
"Ah, greetings, madam. What brings you to speak with me upon this fine day?"
Accordingly he spoke in his usual voice without a hint of alteration. He next scurried to the cloak with intentions of continuing, only to be met with interjection.
"This… is not how our first meeting went."
"What do you mean? Of course it is! I would know. I was there."
"You were grasping your sword, shivering from exhaustion in the dark… were you not?"
"No, I was not. Melina, you are embarrassing me in front of her. Just go along with it."
In his efforts to speak with secrecy, he still whispered openly enough for Roderika to hear. Seeing the expression on her face, he quickly realized this.
"Alright, forget the whole of it. All that you…"
He pointed at Roderika.
"... need know is that it was a very productive and polite first meeting, and I do not believe you might object to that, Melina."
"..."
"It must have been… if you're still travelling together."
If Roderika was not bored in simply waiting around for the rain to pass, then his job was being done.
"Indeed. Now, what do… you…"
Just then, his eyes shut tightly and he shook his head before wiping at them.
"Are you alright?"
Soon enough he opened those eyes and nodded.
"Yes, yes, I only… I feel quite…"
Yawn.
"... tired."
Weight like fifteen-hundred bags of sand tugged his eyelids down, and even keeping them open became hard labor.
"I scarcely slumbered last night, which may explain it. … or perhaps the noble art of theatre is more draining than I imagined. This has been an eventful day, even though little has happened. Do you two mind it if I retire to the land of sleep for a brief while?"
"Of course not… but do you have a place to rest?"
Looking around, this wasn't quite the best place to nap. Hard walls with a hard floor and scant furniture.
"Ah, I think I might just lie down by the fire. It is quite warm, after all."
"On the floor?"
Obviously not on the desk's surface… since it was burning, and all.
"Have no worries, for I have slept upon worse. Simply rouse me when the rain has gone; we can set off, then, and have an actual start to our grand journey."
He laid his back upon the stone floor and, in time, slipped away from the waking world. Even without a bed, he looked quite comfortable. Puzzling, it was.
For a while the two women dwelt in silence, save for the pouring rain outside and the well-fed flame behind.
Roderika made several false starts, opening her mouth and breathing in as if to speak yet not doing so for some reason or other.
"I…"
At last, she found her bravery and overcame the wall of bare acquaintance between herself and Melina.
"... I can't understand how he can sleep like that."
It wasn't the most consequential thing to say, she was aware, but it was better than silence maintained. Even so, she took care not to speak too loudly… not to make a soft impression upon Melina, but to keep from disturbing the sleeping knight beside her.
"In his travels, he has sheltered in myriad places… most without beds. He is of higher birth than many… or so I hear. In truth, of his past I know little more than he's seen fit to reveal to you."
Unsurprising. Luxury wasn't quite commonplace for vagabond nobles. The Hold was, within the context of such a journey as his, likely the best place he'd stayed since leaving home. The same definitely held true for her.
"Among this knowledge is the fact that Queen Marika guides him where few others see grace, if any remain. The grace his mother and father hoped would pass him over… instead chose him. Queen Marika chose him."
"From his actions so far… I can see why she would choose him."
Melina wasn't oblivious to that half–constrained look of resentment when the name 'Marika' was spoken. Like oil and water refusing to mix - for reasons only the heavens know - it was countered by the expression of fondness and admiration regarding Arthur.
"When I approached him… he was much the same as when he met you in the Roundtable Hold, though without recourse but for myself. It was not easy for him to put his faith in a simple stranger… unlike now. That he's taken to you so eagerly is only further given weight by this."
Melina bent down to reclaim her black cloak. For now she merely held it, neither putting it on nor draping over the knight like so many other times.
"In this, you are of the same cherished kind as the threads of golden light which guide him. I ask that you treat him with respect, as you have thus far - I harbor no doubt that he will do the same."
Of course, Roderika nodded. She would do no other, so long as she could help it… and, if her character should prove sufficient, she could always help it.
The fire burned behind them, and a silence came. It was hardly like sitting in silence with him - this was a bit more awkward, and unfamiliar, too. They faced the archway leading outside, and just seeing the rain fall made Roderika a bit cold for a moment.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"... I know of your uncertainty surrounding Arthur and myself."
In the midst of such prolonged silence, this sentence impacted Roderika especially. Of particular note was the phrase 'myself and Arthur'.
"Allow me to say… that you need not worry. Should you remain true in accompanying him… there could arise no opportunities for your fears to be made real."
In all of this merriment, it hadn't occurred to Roderika that she'd ever been jealous from hearing tell of Melina and Arthur. Only now did she remember it… but it was quite the harsh thing when she did. If she didn't know better, she'd think that it showed on her face.
"Even should you not, they would not come to pass."
Melina stepped forward, cloak in hand, to Arthur.
"Beyond the great matter of the Erdtree, great burdens have tested his shoulders. The burden of a son seeking his purpose, as a daughter might seek hers. The burden of fear - of battlefields and bloodied hands."
She did not spread that cloak over him like a blanket, though.
"Even in this, I am sure that he might become Elden Lord… if only he finds strength in companionship and compassion."
She handed it to Roderika, who did.
"To this end, I will ever linger by his side… until the day I'm needed no more."
Silence, a familiar and safe kind, emerged once more.
Beside the fire, as unconventional as it was, the three rested.
"Hello, Melina!"
Four, counting Aurelia.
"Greetings, Aurelia."
The blonde woman smiled and turned her chair towards the flame.
Jealousy? What cause for it did she have now?
It's not so hard to believe that they're just friends. Good friends. That Melina is kind.
"... so will I."