O'er the verdant hills, below the parapets of stone,
To the West and the East, all of the expanse is home.
Skies of gray, felled by valiant sun ev'ry once in a while,
Bring rain-bogged summers, yet I greet such with a smile.
Flowers cut down by the dozen grace the baroness' velvet morn,
All for dear-old Mother placed fresh by her only son and child born.
In the forest by rolling hills, a hunted roe lays dead upon sunny ground;
Our day ending, I am but a young page again, and Father, he smiles proud.
A fire tugged upon his side, grabbing his attention as it waned at last. Everything was warm and soft - even flat on the stone floor that was rather hard against his head. Why was he on the floor? Well, because he wanted to sleep, and he'd fallen from bed while frolicking in a meadow of dreams. Now he would go back to sleep, and it would be an easy thing since…
"Arthur."
"... hmm?"
If only that hand on his shoulder would go and shake some other fellow.
If only he had a brother… or any sibling, for that matter.
"..."
"Arthur."
"Leave me be… if I'll not be a knight today… I shan't get out of bed…"
Soft upon his shoulder, touching him so as to bring wakefulness, he could ignore it no longer.
"No, tell him I… shan't be… long…"
The hand of a mother, gently pushing him to start the day. It was to such effect warm, and feminine, and rousing him without hurriedness.
At this feeling, and the knowledge that he would soon step out into the sun-graced barony he was born to one day rule, he had a fond smile.
It was the kind that was felt even in hazy half-slumber, beneath a thick blanket that sapped his will to get up before he'd even gotten up.
"Ha…"
He would never, ever open his eyes so long as he wasn't being hauled out by his father to begin the day.
"..."
Oh, maybe he could, just a little bit… and then he would see the sunlight filter in softly, and the many specks of dust might be lit up in their flight. They might form a greater beam that looked majestic in its own mundane way. Everything would be perfect.
Could I… could I keep dreaming for a little while longer?
His eyes opened, yet there was no sunlight. They opened just enough to see a head of golden hair above him. Mother didn't have such hair, not such short or bright hair atop her head.
"What…"
Feebly he tried to grasp the place and time before him, yet all that he met was the calling which his lineage awaited.
Like a crack in a wooden shield, the divide only grew and all dreams departed.
Memory flooded into his mind - there was bloodshed, journeying, compassion and a quest unfinished. A kingdom in need of a Lord, and a barony which bid its heir farewell.
Within the waking world, present duty called.
"Ah… greetings…"
His fuzzed mind fumbled for the name of a blonde maiden. No, not gentle Fia, not Rya with the necklace and bad posture, definitely not Irina… right, Roderika, yes.
"... Roderika."
It was here that he realized just how many blonde women with vowel-ending names that he'd encountered. When not discriminating by hair color, the list only grew.
"The rain has stopped. You told me to wake you when it did."
Memory returned.
"Ugh…"
He verbally kicked himself with such a groan.
"... of course I did. I should have told you to wake me a bit later than that… I was having pleasant dreams."
"I could tell. You were smiling, and not in the usual way. It was…"
Like the dreams in his slumber, the words in her throat died. She could put scarcely a description to the sight of his unconscious expression, could only wonder what prompted it.
"... pleasant."
When all else fails, repetition is one's stalwart ally.
"I see. What time is it? Does the sun still loom?"
He had wonders of his own, and turned to his side. The desk, or what was left of it, was burning several feet away… though that warm feeling he still cherished in his chest wasn't related to that.
Quite the good idea, setting it aflame - he was proud of that one.
The knight turned to the other side and blinked the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. Outside of the archway, Liurnian air hung blue in the aftermath of rain. Only the faint rustles of a breeze that raced off the lake could be heard - no water striking the ground proper.
"It's evening. The sun won't be up for much longer."
Sitting up only tore him further from thoughts of home, and he realized just whose cloak blanketed him - Melina's. Not quite a thick layer of familiar blankets, though comforting anyway.
"Then… it is only wise to get going. Gather up the provisions, and let us venture forth."
In this moment, he set himself on his feet and knew there was no home around him - only a strange land which held the fragments of his purpose. The means by which his parents could know that their son was worthy.
With the freshest smile he could muster, shaking off the traces of slumber's haze, he looked out that archway where rain prior fell.
A thread of grace hung in the air, pale shimmers mingling with pure Erdtree gold, and at Queen Marika's behest would he go.
"We have our path laid out for us."
Duty awaited - not only to Marika, but to mother and father dearest.
If only it could wait for the morrow.
Sometimes, only sometimes, I question everything…
… but I cannot bring myself to despair for long.
In cold iron there lies just a little bit of home, even after all of this time.
Moreover… to my heart, the Elden Ring calls.
Down the lift, brief submersion in dark and then back into light.
From the trees and the bushes, in the eve's lazy wind-blows, leaves kept falling away.
Down the path, blood gone stale and dark even before its spilling washed down the slope.
Leaves fell away, littering the ground with nature's less vibrant colors.
Large hands of wrinkled, pale flesh laid where they died - the sight of blood had hardly an effect on her, if at all, for she'd seen enough of it upon his armor.
Maybe it was because they were more like monsters than severed appendages; the latter were harder to stomach, perhaps against all logic.
Silver rains, in some hour gone by, oppressed all caught within their grasp. Now there was only sunshine, or what little poked over the horizon to greet them.
The courtyard of Caria Manor, behind them now, lay in just the same state as when Arthur first entered. Days away had little effect, for what is in stagnant ruin remains there - so with the whole of the Lands Between.
Under the raised iron portcullis…
"I wonder what it would be like to be crushed underneath that."
Out of everything to say, she hadn't expected him to choose such.
"The gate? Why?"
… they passed, and Torrent was called by the knight. He stood before the manor's steps, ready.
"Well, the castle of my home had one, as I suppose all castles do, and ever since boyhood I have imagined just what would happen to anybody caught beneath it. … I apologize if I put a grisly thought into your head."
In pointing that out, he caused her to step forward just a bit more, solely for the sake of not dwelling underneath.
Saddled with that grisly thought, Roderika could only stare out into the wide expanse… and in this she got her first true look at Liurnia.
Fields, on the left bearing trees with autumn-yellow leaves yet to fall, on the right surrounding remnants of a wooden fence down the path.
The stretch to the left of the manor and its stone walls had signs of warfare past - dozens of oversized swords, plunged tip-down into the dirt… and one looming even above them all, taller than any should be.
That sword, colossal among them, was nearly tree-height; it commanded her attention… which probably was its purpose.
Just what happened here?
"What is… all of this?"
"It is a field."
"I meant the swords, the ones over there."
Nothing sweet, in short.
"Spots like that are just how the state of these lands manifest. Monuments to the glorious dead and the mourned dead. I saw quite similar memorials in Limgrave, in… Castle Morne."
During that conspicuous pause before the mention of the dreaded place, he looked up to the sky.
Through the visor of his helm, a sliver of darkening blue he could see. The sky saw him in turn, looking through its own visor of clouds.
He couldn't bring himself to look away… just yet.
"These are storied lands, indeed. In manors, in castles and villages… all of the moments have come and gone. There lies only stillness."
… the stillness of conflict past, a knight arrived too late to his quest - of a cavalier delayed too long from the battle.
Ah, but grace is still guiding me - so bright and illustrious, just as Queen Marika herself!
Where do I see it? It jumps across the land in a single arching bound, like a rainbow sweetest without care for paths or bridges.
It points me to the South - there lies the Academy on the lake.
What a wonder, what a blessing!
My purpose yet shines, so perhaps I might have my time in the sun.
"... I think we had best get going before it turns to moonlight."
"Hmm?"
He looked down at her, caught in the midst of thoughtless, grandiose gesticulation.
"Oh, was I… speaking out loud?"
The woman nodded, and had to keep down a soft chuckle.
"I see, I see. Indeed, I… sometimes do that when I am alone. Well, not alone, since I've all of these spirits about… but I cannot hear Aurelia, and Torrent is… a horse."
Said horse let out a whinny.
"Fine, a spectral steed. Is such your preference?"
Ethereal, soft whispering emanated from Roderika's person.
"... Aurelia tells me that you do it a lot more than 'sometimes', but Melina doesn't say anything about it."
He turned his head in surprise.
"Really? That much? I never realized…"
In minor epiphany, he scratched the back of his head… or, he would have, were his fingers not covered by a metal gauntlet and head by a greathelm.
Being in the Hold had made him comfortable, though not too comfortable - have I already forgotten just what I am? A vagabond man of iron and blood? - and suddenly he wondered if he still knew how to use a sword.
No, of course he did, he wasn't an unlearned idiot. He could do fair battle with any man in the world, and this knowledge gave him a sense of safety.
… but, forget it, time was wasting.
"Anyway, I think we had best be heading on, as you said."
There she stood holding cloth-sacks of supplies, the knight bearing the Hunter's prayer-book upon his back.
"Here, let me… tie those to the saddle. There should be rope in one of these, so you shan't have to carry them while riding. Such a thing might be dreadful."
She handed them over to him, and he commenced his search for the length of rope - hopefully none of the Hold's residents intended to meet Marika anytime soon, for just the one length of it taken on this journey was all that could be found.
"I pray that you are accustomed to long rides. This territory seems vast, after all."
Not found yet.
"I hope I am… though I haven't ridden a horse since you took me to see Siofra."
Found now.
"Well, that makes sense. Have no worries; Torrent is exceptional among all horses I have ever ridden."
Another whinny.
"Yes, he has horns, and he's a… spirit."
The aura of undeath was unmistakable.
"Not only that, but he understands human speech… though he lacks the, err, physical ability to speak humanly."
Roderika raised her eyebrows very slightly, finding this a bit… strange. More than a bit, really.
"He… what?"
Arthur patted the steed's side and looked at his head.
"Would you… stamp at the ground with your right hind-leg?"
Nothing.
The knight sighed.
"Torrent the spectral steed, would you please do as I ask to demonstrate the truth in my words?"
At last, the steed obeyed his specific instruction.
"Thank you, Torrent."
Taken by surprise, she was impressed with such an ability. If only all horses were so blessed, equine accidents might have been a less common occurrence.
Arthur shook his head and continued to tie the provisions to his saddle.
"He sometimes refuses to heed my commands unless I address him by name and refrain from calling him a 'horse'."
The knight turned away from his efforts briefly to face her, whispering.
"... I think he has an inflated sense of self-importance."
"Without him, you would have to walk… wouldn't you?"
A fair point, perhaps even a good point.
"... yes. I suppose it might not be entirely unwarranted, then. Either way, he does as I command when in the midst of battle, so I cannot complain too much."
At last, the final sack of supplies was tied up properly. It took much of the stock of rope, though it was of little concern to Arthur.
As hanging seems to be a fashionable mode of execution, finding spare rope should be little issue.
"That should be it."
Getting himself onto the horse was no issue - that leg of his healed up nicely, considering its bloody and painful state not very long prior.
Back in the saddle, his fingers shook beneath the mitten-like gauntlets and the padding within them. Anticipation.
"Are you ready?"
She didn't have to think about it long, though she did have to think about it.
"Yes, I am."
Before the gate, he maneuvered Torrent and soon settled so as to face Roderika with his right side.
"Then come - Liurnia awaits."
An extended hand, as much belonging to the knight as to adventure itself.
Something about this, a calm evening ride across grassy field with a dear companion holding on to him, just felt so… right. It was right, more so than riding alone.
The spectral steed settled into an unhurried trot, guided along the dirt-trail parting grass by his rider.
Even in this peaceful moment, the knight - the epitome of mounted warriors, trained to smash himself and his horse into even the thickest lines of footmen - imagined swinging a sword.
Hopefully it would be a long while before such an act was necessary.
"So… have you gotten used to the climate of Liurnia yet? I imagine it was best that you did not suffer being drenched for too long. Pneumonia is a dangerous thing."
"I think I'd prefer to be wearing that doublet of yours… but I can manage."
Her silk, well-made as it was, seemed better for a warm environment. Conversely, just the thought of a summer in full sunshine made the knight bake within his iron armor.
It would still feel better than being burned alive at the hand of Godrick, or a dragon.
"Yes… well, I hope you have no regrets about leaving behind your hood in Stormveil. Quite a lovely pattern, it had."
"Perhaps I should have kept it. It was very warm."
"Eh, that was a touching gesture, to… leave it in tribute. It was honorable, and as you know, honor is all that counts."
What other response was there to give? Without honor, what is a knight or a lady? What is a person?
"... that's easy for you to say. You're well-adjusted to this weather."
His philosophy wasn't quite so insulating as a riding hood.
"Maybe we can find you something along the way. With all of the armies that the local upstarts mustered, there is sure to be at least one garment without blood upon it."
"Seeing how things seem to go in these lands… I'm not sure."
Only a quarter of the way across the field, Torrent, usually not whiny to an extreme, kept interjecting. It was almost as though he were troubled.
"Th-"
Something felt… wrong.
"What is it? What are you neighing for? Tired already?"
Behind them, some series of impacts rained down - arrows didn't sound like that, not so heavy or thudding, and the rain certainly hadn't returned as hail.
"Oh."
Even without turning to see, he knew just what Torrent's trouble was.
"What is that sound behind us?"
The knight tensed upon the horse's back.
"Well, err… look only forward, not backwards, right? So with the past, so with this field!"
She looked back anyways, doing it in the hope that it was just her imagination.
It was not.
An army of vibrant blue projectiles barraged the terrain behind them, starting distant but soon nearing them.
They descended, and they advanced speedily - they were quite close, weren't they?
Torrent had reached a full gallop almost instantly, for the knight had spurred him urgently.
Were she riding side-saddle, Roderika might have fallen off of the horse in shock. Thankfully she wore pants rather than some skirt or other.
"What is that?"
"Nothing!"
"Why are… should we be worried about it?"
"No, no, have no concerns! All is fine!"
Her silence spoke loud enough, for it was uneasy.
"That is just a… a theatrical display to entertain guests as they approach the manor!", he lied.
She held on to his torso just a bit tighter, hoping not to be unhorsed as they picked up speed.
"It shouldn't come directly towards them if i-"
A final javelin of blue pierced the air, dissipated upon the ground… a bit too close for her liking.
"I know not the ways of magic! … go, Torrent, onwards!"
Codex Carian - Illustrated Edition
Red wolves, for all of their supposed heroism, are most beastly canines. As dictated by the laws of their being, they are utterly unfaithful to their spouses - consequences of their imprudence and impropriety.
Limgrave swallows fly South with the sun, as the Liurnian martin seeks warmer climes in winter - so are their ambitions proven, as they choose when the time emerges, much like a snake during drought, to seek their fortune far away. A scarce few choose instead to migrate to Leyndell, abandoning their mate and children in the vain, selfish hopes of finding a better life elsewhere.
One after another of the usual sounds - magical impacts on the ground. Not enough to justify lifting his head from the book. It never dulled, not even on the fiftieth read… especially thanks to the brilliant, lifelike illustrations of regional fauna.
Perhaps an errant rabbit had set off the snare, that dangerous and dreadful thing. Nobody had passed by him since that young knight - Arthur, wasn't his name? - and nobody should be leaving the manor… for there was no one alive but Lady Ranni.
"Greetings, Iji!"
Hooves came from the manor's direction, speeding along. A voice, familiar, shot by like an arrow in its course, not slowing for anything.
"Fare-well, Iji!"
They had long-faded into the distance in the time needed for him to look up (or, rather, down).
His aged ears picked up just one more voice, this one utterly foreign… and feminine.
"Who was that?"
The troll turned to the right, catching sight of a young woman on horseback looking back briefly - in the waning light, the master of that horse seemed to be some knight or other.
Soon enough they were gone, having sped around the corner, and with it whatever conversation they might carry on.
Without anything else to do, his shoulders shrugged and he returned to his scholarly pursuits.
The gray wolves of Liurnia, like their rowdy feline rivals in the Caelid wilds, are exceptionally keen. Not a measure of arrogance or spite can be found in their actions - indeed, they are always in full control of their circumstances and go without intellectual equal as they lay their plans. Pettiness, spite and other lowly hindrances are unknown to these finest of creatures.
Oh, down, down, down, they rode down! Even as the dim sky fully darkened, they rode on.
"Do you know where we're headed?"
Past the belfries on the ascent, past a horde of dead bodies trampled unceremoniously, he had just the place in mind.
"Of course I do."
That lack of information brought concerns at to whether he actually did.
"... so where are we?"
"We, Roderika, are in Liurnia. Why do you ask?"
He did that on purpose, she could just tell. If not for the overall pleasure of a change from a Roundtable Hold's rooms, she might just find reason for alarm. Such diversion was unbecoming, and she knew a large deal about good manners.
"No, I meant to ask where we're going."
"To see Boggart."
… so he did have a destination, beyond 'wherever grace does lead me' or some other vague expression.
"I see."
Boggart - what an odd name for a person.
He once was a prisoner, wasn't he? Arthur'd mentioned as much.
I can only wonder how angry they would all be, my family back home… to know I'm going to interact with a criminal.
The scandal of a princess of the empire fraternizing with a convict… it's quite funny, when I think about it.
If that fog-smothered sea ever did anyone any good, it would be me… for it's separated me from my old life, even with all the pain I felt once.
It's no more, thankfully.
Maybe he was falsely imprisoned, or perhaps he'd changed his ways during his sentence… but it was either way a strange thing for him to be on such good terms with a knight. Knights and criminals should be parted by the biggest divide, rationally speaking.
The state of these lands was sordid, degraded to the highest degree, if two people of such opposite social standings could forge a bond.
Sort of like her and Master Hewg, in a way.
Quite similar, actually.
Now that I consider it, I've never experienced the inside of a prison.
… for an obvious reason, that being that I've never committed any crime but becoming branded as a Tarnished.
I suppose I'm lucky that such scandal as a member of one's dynasty being a supposed Tarnished was cause more for exile than execution.
Even without Godrick's 'Tarnished hunts', I've heard about those sorts of things happening in other lands, and…
… I don't quite enjoy thinking about this right now.
The horse cantered on and on.
She had gotten colder as the night progressed… and wished for that doublet of his. It was quite the fine piece, well-suited for a noble. A fortunate find in the Roundtable Hold, though so many items divested of ownership didn't bode well.
Roderika dared not ask how many people had come and gone, because that would just be a perfume-lathered way to question the death toll of the Hold's members.
"Perhaps the watery air by the lake will be good for clearing out my lungs - the atmosphere in the Roundtable Hold gets a bit stale after a while, does it not?"
Not to her… but then, they weren't wholly identical. Ever in search of wilderness, of new places and afeared of stagnation… wasn't he?
Looking over his shoulder, the path ahead was lit by absolutely nothing but the rising moon.
"... or maybe it is just me."
Maybe she was averse to change… at least, the kind of change that affected what few comforts she had in this new life of hers.
I've already changed before, and confronted pain… so that should be it.
I'm brave, I know as much.
She knew of her capability to weather any circumstance in the coming travels, and she smiled.
"I'm glad to be out of the Hold, as well."
"Look, the stars are so wondrous tonight!"
Where the sun had faltered, the moon and stars parted the clouds.
"Arthur!"
"..."
Unfortunately, Aurelia couldn't quite pierce the divide between living and dead.
"Arthur!"
"..."
Even with the rainy start to the new journey, she was enjoying herself.
"Oh, please, Roderika, would you ask him to stop? I want to see the stars!"
Now Roderika felt what Melina surely felt - amusement at her antics, all the while the knight had little clue. It manifested in a tired sigh, though without a trace of irritation.
"... Arthur?"
An equally-tired "yes?" was had as Torrent trotted along.
"Could we stop for just a moment?"
He gazed into the darkness for a time, surveying for peril. Ever-vigilant, he seemed to be.
"Of course."
With this, they stopped and dismounted, while he looked all around them again. His left hand instinctively lingered on the hilt of his arming sword, as if he couldn't conceive of a peaceful moment here.
Roderika gave the bell a chime and, sure enough, the jellyfish-girl burst free from the chains of a realm betwixt life and death. Her spirit brimmed with energy that the two lacked.
Indeed, her radiance reflected from the surfaces of his armor - in Roderika's eyes it was a gentler sight than grace ever could be.
It was at this opportunity, with tiring eyes and the glow of Aurelia around her, that she remembered Siofra.
Perhaps a memory just as tired as her, but forget it all, something like that couldn't be disregarded.
It was her first real taste of travel by his side, or by anybody's side since… all of the business with Godrick's men, and Stormveil.
In the stars above, she saw dreams ablaze in the sky - did she see her own? She hardly even knew what it could be, and maybe she would have passed it over in unrecognition.
Until the night she spotted it at last, it would await her there, and that was enough for tonight. Her feet grew content to wander the grass, searching only for the little joys strewn along the environment.
In trees, in bushes and the flat grass to the lake's West there was a serene element - with every swaying leaf and shadowed spot foreign to moonlight there was something mystical.
Upon a hill, meandering, taking a break from the saddle for just a bit; it was for Roderika's sake, not his own. He could ride at full gallop from dawn to dusk, and Torrent surely had the heart for it, as well.
The waters swayed to the East, and the travelling party would soon meet them, being over halfway down this dry region.
Now she seemed just a bit more energized, though still tired. Her step was considerably less lively than before, even in being spared thanks to Torrent the pain of wayfaring.
The girl Aurelia bounced so eagerly, so full of vigor that she seemed unlike a spirit.
In all truth, he tried not to keep in mind that he was surrounded by dead companions.
It was easy, as they hardly seemed dead.
He knew well enough about death, anyway. Knew what it looked like through a helm's visor, what it smelt like through the ventilation holes… and how much it distressed his already-hampered breathing.
Through his hands he knew the feeling of blood which could never be washed, and inflicted death upon a hundred men. Beasts, too.
Still, beneath the cold and stifling greathelm, the knight watched and held on his face a smile. Within himself, he found some peace that could not be bloodied by circumstance.
Moonlight broke through his visor, and even in the dark with his vision limited by the helm, he thought it was beautiful.
Nobody - not the spirits or the living woman before him - knew of the expression. Nobody but himself.
Did Queen Marika know? Did iron hide from gold in its dull nature?
All of them were caught beneath a sky-high tapestry of stars, and by their feet was a small patch of cerulean blooms - the flowers he'd seen just once prior. He'd not recalled any instance but those on the lake; perhaps they stood out less by day than night.
Now Roderika had the chance to witness such virtues for herself, not just in a few picked instances (which he'd forgotten to show her before they wilted, unfortunately) but from the ground by her own hands.
They were scant here, and though it might have been infantile for a meadow, it was a meadow nonetheless. Meadows are where peace reigns, and there was only peace here.
Through the stillness of night, spectral whispering came from Aurelia's direction.
He could only think of the warm feeling in his chest as he saw the jellyfish-girl pluck a cerulean bloom with a tentacle and hold it up…
"So this is where you found them? Well, I can see why you like Liurnia so much."
… and the warm feeling in his face as he saw Roderika's light smile pierce through the dark.
The moon is so lovely tonight.
All of us, looking on as shadows beneath its light…
… it, strangely, makes me forget how frightening the moon is.
I dread to be lost in fog, alone within a long night.
… yet, I find my dreading has no basis. Not tonight.
In togetherness, he forgot of things such as the Carian full moon which fled from the golden dawn of Marika, or even of Caria altogether.
He did not miss home, for his memory of leaving it had vanished.
Even whilst his hand rested idly upon the knightly sword, and he grasped the pommel in readiness, he ceased to think of violence.
This felt right.
Arthur shuddered; it was not for any cold, but for knowing, in his heart of hearts, the diversion would not last.
"..."
The shuddering ended beneath Aurelia's glow as she stuck into his helm a cerulean bloom, its stem and petals more precious than even the finest plume.