It was a cold, mid-winter morn. The snow drifting gently down from the misty skies, silently building miniature worlds on the window sill. Gwyn was watching his city with quiet interest, pulling at his cloak to keep him warm. Gwyn shook his head and took a sip of warm tea, savouring the bitter, black taste in his mouth; perfect to keep the bitter chill out.

He started pacing a slight, both for setting his mind into gear and to warm the muscles in his body, watching Raphael in the corner, writing on some fresh parchment. The throne room had taken on a blue tint, even in the morning sun; Gwyn could have sworn it was making the room even colder. The little fireplace at the side was doing little to ease the air, but it was something, Gwyn thought, warming his hands against the comely heat.

"Sir," Raphael said suddenly, appearing at his side quietly. "The Commander is here."

"Ah, send him in," Gwyn replied with a smile. The great metal doors creaked open in the cold, giving way to Gwynhaul, face of stone, bowing a slight as he entered.

"Father," he said, pulling on his cloak too. "Are you busy, at all?"

"No, no, not at all, my boy! Come, have a drink, keep the cold out," Gwyn replied with a warm smile, motioning to the table. "Raphael, leave us, please."

"As you wish, your Grace," he said, giving a warm bow to the both of them. The advisor soon left, leaving the Father and Son alone. There was a spark of sorts in the air, Gwynhaul sat quietly, respectfully taking a drink; black, of course.

"Ah, well, it's good to see you, glad you've been keeping yourself busy!" said Gwyn, taking another sip. "I've heard great things about you since becoming Commander. I expect nothing less of you, of course. I'm proud of you, nonetheless."

"Thank you, father. That means very much, coming from you," replied Gwynhaul, nodding politely. "I will admit, it's been rather simple. I feel as if I'm...blunting, or dulling, so to speak."

"Ah, well, in times of peace, warriors like you and I are not as needed, I suppose. The price of peace, but that is not a bad thing, is it?"

"Of course not. Peace is what we have always fought for."

"Exactly, my boy. If anything, this gives you a chance to pick up a new hobby or skill. Never too old to learn! Why, you used to be quite the artist back in the day, if I recall. Perhaps it's that time again to pick up the chisel!" laughed Gwyn heartily. Gwynhaul shared a slight smile and laugh, but said nothing.
"Speaking of, that reminds me, how is your former apprentice? Handling the new station well enough?"

"He is. Settled into his new role quickly. Been training the recruits swiftly, though he is sharing my thoughts, too."

"About the price of peace?"

"Yes. Tells me he spends most of his days at the manor with the others. Says they are keeping him company well enough," replied Gwynhaul, smiling slightly. Gwyn shook his head and gave a sigh.

"I am still not certain having the three of them under one roof was such a sound decision; it's uncanny, truth be told."

"Four," Gwynhaul corrected. "There's four of them now."

"Oh?"

"Do you remember Artorias?" said Gwynhaul. Gwyn paused a moment, creasing his brow in thought. A wave of realisation came over him as he thought back to the night they met again, on the balcony overlooking the twilight sky; a memory that Gwyn remembers frequently, one that paradoxically fills him with ease and unease.

"Yes, of course. Turned down the knighthood. Strange that he's with them, despite this."

"They invited him to their house. Officially, they call him 'a long term guest until further notice'". Gwynhaul said with a laugh; Gwyn returned with his own, scratching his head in thought.

"Well, it's their choice. As long as he doesn't cause me or them any trouble," said Gwyn, sipping on some more tea. "Are you sure you wouldn't want them to have their own houses, with staff? Seems like less of a knightly manor and more of a training dormitory..."

"Like I said, they're unique. Having them under one roof might help them adjust and build on their bonds-"

"By doing the dishes together?" scoffed Gwyn.

"Ah, well, I did offer them some housekeepers, but they refused; Lady Ciaran in particular was very adamant on not having any staff on the grounds, I'm not certain why. When the time arrives for them, I am sure you will see my idea come to fruition," reasoned Gwynhaul.

"I see... oh, why do I bother, ha! I'll trust your judgement for now. Perhaps you're right," said Gwyn.

"I appreciate your patience, thank you," replied Gwynhaul. The two sat in the quiet for a moment, taking small sips of hot tea. There was still a slight charge in the air.

"I'm glad you're here. It feels like it's been too long since we sat down and talked," said Gwyn, beaming; fading just as quickly as it came when he gazed upon his son's grave face. "Is something on your mind? Come, speak it."

No reply; Gwynhaul stared blankly at his drink, rubbing a thumb on the porcelain handle slowly.

"Son, I may be the Lord of this realm, but I am still your father. You can talk to me about your doubts, fears, anything," Gwyn said, offering a hand. Gwynhaul remained quiet, sipping on his tea, finishing it off suddenly, clattering the cup onto the saucer suddenly.

"You sent Ornstein and the others to raid ruins on the border a few months ago. They recovered a scroll from the main chamber and brought it back..."

"Ah, yes. Somehow, the administrators and record keepers have lost the damn thing. Still looking for it to this day, but no luck-"

"I have it," Gwynhaul interrupted.

"Oh, well, fantastic! Where was it-"

"I took it from the archives," Gwynhaul interrupted again. Gwyn was taken aback from the sudden sharpness of his tone. He leaned back in his chair, mouth slightly open from surprise and confusion.

"Why?" he finally said after a moment. Gwynhaul took a breath in, closing his eyes. The next few words would have to be chosen carefully.

"Father... Is it not enough for you to have crushed them? You've won the war, there is no need to raid their sanctuaries, their homes!" Gwynhaul said sternly. "Why continue this path?"

"This nonsense again," Gwyn groaned, standing up and brushing himself off. "Your attempts at peace will be ignored. They care not for you, and you ought to do the same for them. You cannot reason with them; you should know, you were there."

"It's too far, you've won. Leave them be." Gwynhaul said, standing up. "What you're doing is tantamount to genocide."

"Is that not they deserve? What have they ever done for you, for us?" Gwyn said, turning away, gazing out of the window. The silence was his answer. "Exactly."

"That doesn't justify anything..." Gwynhaul said, stepping forward with a sad sigh, "Just... think for a moment. You've won. There's nothing left to prove."

"There will be nothing left to prove when there is nothing left of them, enough of this. Come, speak of something else," Gwyn said. The spark in the air grew a moment. Then it came, the few words that decided the fate of them both, at once.

"And what would Mother say?"

The air fell deathly silent. Gwyn turned on his heel, looking at his son directly in the eyes.

"She...keep her out of this," Gwyn spoke quietly, yet the anger grew in his voice.

"What would she say, seeing you like this? Would she approve?" said Gwynhaul, standing up to meet his father. Gwyn's face twitched suddenly, a gleam came into his eyes that he struggled to control.

"Enough. Leave her be," said Gwyn, turning back around, glaring at the white beneath his window.

"Surely you've avenged her by now?"

"What?"

"Hasn't enough blood been shed over her?" said Gwynhaul, shaking his head. Gwyn felt his mouth go dry, his palms turned clammy, even in the bitter chill.

"That's not-"

"Not what?" Gwynhaul cut in. "Not why you went on this crusade?"

"Son-"

"You never told me how we lost her. Was it truly the dragons?"

"Yes, it was the bloody dragons!" Gwyn raised his voice a slight, catching himself with a deep breath. "Please, let us not talk about this. You're not ready, I am not ready to talk about her... not yet."

"Why not? Has it not been long enough?"

"Gwynhaul!"

"Tell me! I am not a child any more, whatever it may be, I need to know."

"You do not need to know this! Not yet!" boomed Gwyn. The walls shook under the weight of his voice, the dust being shook off them rather forcefully. "There's more to this than you think..."

"Just tell me!" Gwynhaul answered back, walking forward. "I'm sick of left wondering, kept in the dark! I deserve to know too!"
The light in Gwyn's eyes faded a slight, dimming with the welling sadness he felt in his chest.

"No, you don't deserve to know... not this," he replied. Gwynhaul's anger only grew, rubbing one hand down his face as he tried to coax it out of his father.

"It's time to forgive, father,"said Gwynhaul. Gwyn turned around again, eyes shot open from the sheer audacity and anger that suddenly burst forth.

"What did you just say to me?"

"You cannot keep this pace of vengeance forever! It has to stop at some point!"

"No! Not until every wretched scale is crushed under heel will I cease," Gwyn spat vehemently.

"Let it go. Please."

"Never!"

"Please! Do it for me, your family, for your wife!" Gwynhaul begged. "Will you not keep her in your heart and mind?"

The spark suddenly gave way, Gwyn bolted and turned, voice ringing through the halls like a thunderstorm. The words came into his head and out through his tongue without hesitation; years of pent up rage and torment suddenly burst forth into the room, and laid itself upon Gwynhaul, his eyes widening with every word that came out of his father's mouth.

The air suddenly fell silent again, save for Gwyn taking in a few haggard breaths. The slow realization suddenly settled upon him, and he so desperately wished he remained reserved very quickly as he watched his son's face change from shock, horror, and then unbridled wrath. The next few moments came in a flash. First a hasty apology, than a sudden smash of windows breaking as a golden spear came flying to Gwynhaul's side. Gwyn z responded by summoning his sword to his hand.

Father and Son clashed. No amount of desperate words from Gwyn could stay the murderous wrath. The body of a perfect warrior was being pulled along by a child's unrestrained sorrow and anger; Gwyn was thrown about the throne room, barely managing to parry and protect himself from his own flesh and blood.

In just a few moments, the room was scorched and the air ablaze. In just a few moments, Gwynhaul was upon his father, smashing his weapon against the other. A flare of adrenaline filled Gwyn as he pushed back against his son, throwing the blade aside. A blur of flashes, yellow and gold, and then, one of crimson red.

Gwynhaul staggered back, hand upon his split breast. He crawled and groaned in pain and anger towards the balcony, doors thrown to the side during the brief battle. He staggered up, leaning on the railing weakly, breathing shallow. Gwyn threw as his sword to the side, offering his hands as he cautiously walked over to his wounded child.

"I'm sorry," he said, fighting back his sorrow, voice shuddering, "I'm sorry."

Gwynhaul groaned and stood up slowly, trembling from the cold and pain; anger plain on his face. He remained silent, save for the shallow breathing.

"I know... I know I have failed you many times over as a father... but this... is something that should have only have stayed in my night terrors," said Gwyn, walking slowly over. Gwynhaul backed away, pressing himself against the balcony. "My... my little boy."

Gwynhaul pulled himself up right, hanging his head down, hoisting himself up onto the railing, clambering upon the edge. Without a word, he dropped off the balcony, barely escaping Gwyn's grasp as he fruitlessly raced over, watching his son fall down into the white mists below him.
"No..." Gwyn breathed out, clenching his blood covered hand.

Then, it all faded, not into white, but into a deep, warm glow of orange light. The blood on his hand, too, faded into memory. The cold air broke into a sweet summer breeze, and Gwyn found himself back on the balcony, looking down into the lush, deep woods below.

Gwyn gave a small sigh and looked up, following the woods through to the mountains, looming in the distance, a great stone barrier between civilisation and the vast, desperate unknown.

"Still you have yet to return," Gwyn mumbled. "You've made your choice? Then, I shall do the same." Gwyn turned at the waist, clasping his hands behind his back, sensing a summoned visitor. Knight Ornstein knelt quietly in front of him, head bowed. His body was littered with bandages, and he winced as he knelt. Gwyn shook his head a slight, waving away Raphael. There was a deathly silence for a moment. Truthfully, Gwyn was unsure as what to say to him; as a matter of fact, he didn't think it was worth the effort.

"What happened, then?" Gwyn finally said. Ornstein lifted his head, but stared at the floor still.

"The earthquakes hindered our mission. Artorias-"

"Not that!" Gwyn said sharply. "I have heard enough about that. The fact you nearly lost one of my greatest warriors is terrible enough. No, you know full well what I speak of. Forget your oaths, have you? Perhaps I misjudged your strength; misjudged your will; your loyalty. And especially your inexperience. Captain, you are not."

Ornstein bowed his head again. "Forgive me-"

"Silence. Your newfound penchant for speaking out of line is irritating me. I aught to have you executed and be done with it..." Gwyn took in a deep breath, eyes closed. "Fortune smiles upon you, however. You command much respect amongst my armies. Moral is already low enough after Izalith, and putting your head on a spike wouldn't do them any favours. Therefore!" He turned, stroking his beard in thought. "I am changing your station. Henceforth, you are no longer the Captain of the Four Knights, instead, you shall be Captain of the Royal Guard. You shall move into the cathedral and report directly to the Princess. Perhaps on the quiet days of guard duty, you shall think upon your previous actions. That is to say; every, single, day. Raphael will give you the full detail," said Gwyn. Ornstein's shoulders sagged, but he remained stern, standing up on his Lord's command. He bowed respectfully, and turned to leave.
"One more thing," said Gwyn suddenly. "I am putting Smough, on your guard shifts. Step out of line, and I trust he will do his job, and put you out of your misery."

Ornstein walked away, posture unreadable; Gwyn wondered if he should even bother, again. No matter, he thought, and left the window side, walking past the thrones and through that secret corridor again. The white marble turned to dark green and soon black, his only companion the torch light and the light splashing of his feet wading through ankle high water. Drip, drip, drip went the ceiling. The twin orange lights were already there to greet him, however sombre.

"Well, it seems the time has come, so swiftly," said Gwyn.

"So it would seem," replied the deep, earthy voice. "You seem at peace with it all..."

"Hardly," replied Gwyn, a little harshly. "I loathe to admit it, but that Witch is right; I am fading. I have felt it for a long time now, in fact, I cannot remember the last time I was happy. Not the fleeting glee of a drunken eve, nor a well told jest, no, true happiness is what I have missed."

"And when was that, if I may ask?"

"I can no longer remember. It's all a fog in my head. Even the morning sun feels faint and far away to me... ever since..." Gwyn paused, his brow furrowing, whether that was from anger, sorrow or disgust, the guest could not tell.

"Then, the time has come for you. To relink the fire," the voice said, voice sombre. "To preserve your age of fire and light, without you."

"Yes... cruel on the fates part," Gwyn began. "Why is it, that I must be the one to sacrifice everything? Why is it that I must do everything and more for the world? I have done everything for the sake of my family and subjects, yet for the most part, they would gladly take it all and give nothing back. There are exceptions, of course..." he paused, rubbing his temples. "And now my life must be cast into the flame. Why?"

"The rekindle it, of course. You bear the most powerful and richest of Souls. You could single-handedly rekindle the Flame for many life times," the voice answered. Gwyn stepped forward, torch raised.

"My Soul? Only my Soul? I thought you said...?"

"Souls are needed to fuel the Flame. As shards of the First Flame, they can rebuild the Flame back to a stable condition."

"Ah, yes." Gwyn replied, hand on beard. "Hmph, perhaps I should have thrown the traitor witch into the Flame, save me the trouble."

The air fell silent, the guest shuffled in the darkness; a great, leathery shuffle of something massive moving.

"Lord Gwyn?" the voice asked. Gwyn had a hand on his beard, slowly brushing it with fingers, muttering to himself. He began to pace in the cold water, lightly splashing it about as he thought, pace quickening gradually before he came to a stop.

"Remind me; how many Great Souls were taken from the Flames?" he eventually asked. The voice did not answer immediately, contemplating the question for a moment.

"Your Soul, The Witch of Izalith, Gravelord Nito-"

"And the Last One, yes?" Gwyn interrupted.

"Correct. The Dark Soul," the voice answered. Gwyn remained silent, eyes alight with the torchlight, and something else. "Lord Gwyn?" the voice asked again. Gwyn did not reply, but brought his hand up, and in the air above his palm, a small, circular flame appeared, wavering in the tunnel air.
Though it burned like fire, the sinister light that it radiated was unlike any other flame; where fire seeks to illuminated, this ring of fire sought to hide away its light, hiding away from the gaze of Gwyn and the other.

"I wonder..." said Gwyn quietly, reflecting the ring light in his eyes. "Well, I must be off then. The Flame will not relink itself now, will it?"

"What will you tell your people?"

"I'll leave that to Gwyndolin and Gwynevere. I have little patience for speeches these days. I'm sure it will not reassure the people to tell them I'm leaving, any way. Not when the rumours of the Abyss are spreading..." Gwyn replied, turning away. "I will however wish you a fond farewell, my friend."

"And the same to you. Go with the blessing of the light. Fare thee well, Lord Gwyn. May your sacrifice bring a new day for many years to come," the voice replied. The earth under the dark stone work began to rumble the guest vanished into the darkness beyond the ledge.

"Fare thee well, Frampt. Thank you for your guidance, as always. But, there are some things I must learn about for myself," said Gwyn to the fading, orange lights in the darkness. He stood there alone on the dark, wet edge, listening the drip, drip, drip of the ceiling, and plunged the torch into the water.


Ornstein gave a huff and threw the front door open, slamming it shut behind him. He practically leapt onto his chair and kicked his feet up on the table, pushing aside books, candlesticks, what ever poor item got in the way of his frustration. He couldn't decide if he was happy that he wasn't due for execution, or upset at the prospect of dying out of sheer boredom. Afore he could make sense of it all, Ciaran came out from around the corner, a little cautiously.

"You're back!" she said, smiling. "You're not dead."

"Hooray for me," said Ornstein. "You sound almost disappointed."

"Don't be stupid, though I could say the same about you?" she replied, sitting on her chair. Gough came back from the outside, sitting down quietly on his chair. Ornstein gave them both a humourless smile, taking a little breath in before answering, telling them what happened.

"Oh. Well, that's...that's good?" said Ciaran, quietly.

"Hah, no. I'm a glorified guard dog, at the beck and call of the Royal family, along with my second hand man Smough. Say, Gough, what does he do again?"
Gough hesitated for a moment before answering.

"He's the Executioner."

"Ah."

"It's rumoured he grinds the bones of his victims for supper."

"You're joking," said Ornstein. Gough did not laugh; Ciaran grimaced; Ornstein made a sickly smile. "I need a drink," he said, sitting up.

"Hold a moment, where does that leave us?" Ciaran asked. Ornstein gave a shrug and a sigh.

"No idea. I assume one of you three will be the new captain. I'm moving out within the next day or two, I reckon," said Ornstein, "Just waiting on the message, from Raphael."
There was no reply from neither Gough or Ciaran, just a saddened glance towards each other. "Ah well, we had a good run, nothing lasts forever, as they say. I'm sorry that it has to be this way."

"Don't say that, surely we can-"

"Against Gwyn? I don't think so," said Ornstein. "Don't do anything stupid on my part. I don't want you to throw away your accomplishments like I have. Please."

"It's not fair," said Ciaran, sitting back, slumping on one hand. "You did nothing wrong. I mean it, don't give me that look!"

"I agree," said Gough. "I am not one for talking behind someone's back, but Lord Gwyn acted rashly back there. I'm amazed any of us came back alive after what he did."

"See?" said Ciaran, "and it's not the first time either."

"Am I any better?" said Ornstein sadly. "I suppose... I suppose we should tell Artorias. How is he, by the by?"
Gough and Ciaran glanced at each other; Gough shaking his head.

"He's...awake, I think," said Ciaran. "I saw Sif running about the woods earlier."

"Let's not dance around the subject; he's sick, plainly so," said Gough.

"I know," replied Ciaran and Ornstein together.

"I don't know what ails him so, but I have an incline..." said Gough. "The toll it has taken upon him, it's cruel to watch him go on."

"I don't know what I can do to help him; what to say to him. And we all know he hates me right about now," said Ornstein.

"You must try," said Gough. "We all must, afore we lose him. Ciaran?"
Ciaran was pulled from her thoughts, looking at them both before nodding quietly. Before another word could have been said, a loud clatter and smash came from the kitchen. Ornstein muttered something before standing up quickly with the others. They walked through the doorway into the kitchen, where they were greeted not by the smell of warm, cooked food, but Artorias, on the floor, picking up pieces of white shards. He glanced up, and they could all see his gaunt, dark face and thin build.

"I dropped a plate," he said dryly, hurriedly picking the rest back up. He turned away from them and began to scrub at some more dirty plates.

"Don't worry about the plate, are you hurt?" said Ornstein. Artorias shuddered a slight, pausing mid wipe.

"No, I'm fine. Just slipped out of my hand," he said, getting back to the dishes, barely wiping them dry before putting them aside. Ornstein glanced at the others, stepping forward.

"We need to talk," he began. Artorias paused again, but did not turn around, shuddering again. "About... numerous things, really." No reply, Artorias began to wipe slowly again, the plate already bone dry as it was. Ornstein turned to others, shaking his head.
"Will you please just turn around so I can speak to you face to face?" he said, stepping forward, reaching out to Artorias, placing a friendly hand his shoulder.
Suddenly a plate was flung across the room, smashing against the far wall, Artorias spun around and threw Ornstein's hand off his shoulder, growling as he did.

"Get off me!" he shouted. Gough stepped forward, ready to break them up. "What more do you want from me!?"

"Nothing! Easy, I don't want anything from you!" Ornstein pleaded, stepping away. "I just wanted to say-"

"I don't wanna hear it! Stop talking!" he shouted, "Every god damn day, or night, you always need to pester about something or another!"

"No I don't; we barely talk any more! Just calm down-"

"Stop!" he shouted again, voice cracking, hands trembling. "I-I can't do it!"

"Do what? I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Ornstein replied. "For Izalith, and for-"

"Shut up!" Artorias shouted, backing away from the three. His face was damp with sweat and stress, eyes darting around the room frantically, looking towards the shadows. He suddenly broke into a run and barged out of the door and into the night. Ornstein was about to give chase, but stopped, huffed angrily, and stormed away into the common room.

Gough grabbed a cloak from the hanger and quickly put it on. "See to him, Ciaran. I'll be back soon," the giant said calmly, walking through the ajar doorway.
With a shaky sigh, Ciaran walked into the common room; Ornstein was slumped on the sofa, feet up, bottle of whiskey in his hand. He threw the lid off and was about to take a drink.

"Hey," Ciaran said, putting a hand over the lid.

"Oh, come on, let me have something today," Ornstein said wearily, putting his head back. Ciaran walked over to the cabinet, getting out two small drinking glasses.

"Let's keep it civil," she said, walking back over, pouring two drinks out. She sat down on the armrest, clanging her glass with Ornstein's, and took a swig.

"I don't know what to do, any more," said Ornstein, gloomily.


Branches and leaves scraped Artorias' face as he ran into the woods, frantically panting and darting around, running away from unseen assailants. He tripped, rolling along the muddy ground, before staggering to his feet and carried on going, running over to the lake side, collapsing onto the gravel, clutching his head. The voices grew, louder, louder, louder, deafening all but themselves, they spurred him on, taunting him, accusing him, cursing him incessantly. Artorias looked around, and all he could see where dead eyes staring back at him in the dark, in the trees, in the stones. He clawed at his ears until they bled, his teeth clenched to breaking point, before he lifted his head up and screamed, a pitiful, terror filled scream, echoed across the lake and into the night.

The voices ceased for a moment.

Artorias fell onto his knees, curled up, helpless.

A crunch of stone was heard from his side. They stopped suddenly, just to Artorias' side.

"Quite the view, isn't it?" a voice said. Artorias looked up, and saw him, standing at the lake side. The pale moonlight illuminated the pale, dead face of Piers, nonchalantly standing with with hands in his pockets. "Seems that wanderlust of yours has worked out for you... though, then again..."

"You..." Artorias breathed out. Piers chuckled dryly and stepped in front of him.

"Look at you, cryin' like a babe. If they could see you now, o' Knight. They'd probably piss their pants laughing. The great Abysswalker, slayer of darkness and the purest evils. Oh no; he's a little, crying, pathetic, useless sod."

"At least I'm alive," Artorias spat, glaring angrily, "Unlike you, get lost! Leave me alone!"

A cackle echoed through the air. "You mongrel. Still got some fight left in you, eh?" Piers replied, squatting down. His face twisted and darkened as he leant closer, eyes shifting from icy blue to burning orange. "Did you forget your promise to me, my friend?"

"I told you, I'm not your friend, and I will never serve you, ever!" Artorias heaved as he spoke, coughing and sputtering spit onto the rocks. "I will fight you, for the rest of my life if I have to!"

"Well, that won't be for very long at this rate!" Piers replied, laughing. "Resist me all you want, defy me all you want, I will break you."

"Why don't you piss off?" Artorias said weakly, collapsing to the ground. Piers knelt down beside him, a rictus grin plastered on his face.

"Not until you do as I say, like a good little dog!" he sneered, shuffling closer. "You're mine, whether you admit it or not."
No answer. "I will tell you one last time; do as I say, or you will never, ever, see them again."

Artorias shot up, slamming his hand onto the patch of dirt where Piers was laying down. He was gone, of course, save the the hollow cackle as he faded into the air.

A clatter from behind.

Artorias turned and saw Sif, carefully approaching, tail and ears down. Artorias was too exhausted to say anything, and hugged Sif as the wolf whined and snuffed at his face, kissing him with gentle tongue licks on his cold, damp face. The wolf's ears pricked up, turning towards the forest. Artorias turned to see Gough standing in the clearing; for a large man, he was certainly a quiet one. In his hand, he was holding onto a cloak, gifting it to Artorias by placing it on his shoulders.

"How long have you been there?" Artorias asked.

"Not long," Gough answered. "Come home, please."
Artorias stood up and pulled his cloak closer to his body, walking away and muttering something. Gough followed closely, remaining silent all the way back.

"Stop following me," Artorias said suddenly, stopping on the wooded knoll. He moved forth again, Gough following still. "I said stop!" he said again. Again, the giant refused to stop, and followed promptly. "Gough! I said-"

"I know what you said," the giant replied, folding his great tree trunk arms across his chest. "But I am not so easily swayed, like the others at times. I am not leaving until we talk, even if it's just for a moment."
Artorias said nothing at first, and walked away, Gough following as he did before. They came back to the house, albeit by the very back entrance, Artorias walking over to the sparring ring. He picked up a discarded sword off the floor, inspecting the worn blade and cracked handle.

"Distract yourself if you must," said Gough, sitting down on the grass with Sif, petting the wolf reassuringly.

"There's nothing to say," said Artorias.

"Of course there is."

"No there isn't!"

Artorias threw off the cloak and got into his fighting stance, swinging the sword in swift yet shaky vertical chops, staring into the distance.

"You remind me of when we first met. Stubborn, but well meaning..." the giant said, watching Artorias chop the air wildly. "Feels like so long ago since we met. I've seen you grow and change considerably since then."
Artorias kept swinging.
"But I've seen that face of yours you wear now... it is a grave face to wear, and heavy on the heart-"

"Whatever you've got to say, just say it," Artorias said rudely.

"What ails you?"

"Nothing..." Artorias said, swinging away at the air.

"Do you think me a fool? It is plain on your face as I have said. Speak, please."

"I said, it's nothing!" Artorias said, coming to a stop, taking in deep breaths. "You wouldn't understand."

"Educate me. I'm here," said Gough. He saw it then, the look Artorias gave him, a look he had seen time and again from many faces passing him by in life. A look of shame, anger and sadness all balled into one sombre picture. "Ah, I see."

"See what?" Artorias asked, turning to face Gough as he looked into the night sky, full of stars and pale moonlight. It was a beautiful, summer night.

"That day," he began, "I too remember it vividly. The last day of the war, where we marched onto the home of the dragons. I remember it all; the shot, in particular." Gough looked to Artorias, who was quiet, yet his face betrayed his mind. "I remember the cracking sound my bow string made as I loosed the arrow into the ashen air, piercing the sky like a bird on the hunt... and the sight of the dragon as it's corpse crashed into the mountain side, taking half our friends with it. It nearly killed you, if I recall, too..."

"That wasn't your fault," Artorias said suddenly.

"But it wasn't yours, yet you shoulder the blame single-handedly. I made the shot, it was my call. It was my responsibility," the giant continued. "I wept for them, I did, and my dreams were full of darkness and sorrow for some time. But, one day, I went to the memorial in the gardens of Anor Londo, and was given a chance. I carved the names of the fallen myself onto the stone, every single one of them that we lost that day. And that was the easiest part. Do you want to know what was the hardest part?"
Artorias said nothing, blinking in answer.
"The hardest part, was forgiving myself. I thought it impossible by myself, but it was thanks to you, Ornstein and Ciaran, that I learnt to let go of them. Not forget them, no, but to let them go, to be at peace. I cannot bring them back, as painful as it may be... but I can wish them a peaceful rest, free from the troubles of this life, and continue on, in their name. For that is all I can do, now."

"You make it sound so very easy; how can I forgive myself for what I've done?" Artorias said, shoulders sagging.

"New Londo, that was not your fault," said Gough. "What happened was a true tragedy, but were it not for you, the darkness would have spread beyond their borders. You made the difficult choice that a lesser man would have broken under."
Artorias said nothing looking down at his feet. Gough looked towards the rusty sword in his hand.

"You are a truly remarkable man, Artorias. I am truly blessed to call you one of my closest friends. The legends you hear of compare naught to you," said Gough, standing up. "But you are not invincible; no, I daresay that you are the same as that sword. You are on the verge of breaking, and soon, you will shatter, and then there is no chance for us to help you. You must give us a chance, I beg of you." Gough walked over to Artorias, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Think on what I've said; when you're ready, speak to us. I promise you, whatever you may think, I shall not think less of you. Never, for I know who you are, under all this; you are a good man."

Artorias clenched his fists together, looking away, letting out a shaky sigh. Gough gave him a gentle pat on the back, and smiled warmly.

"There's some food in the oven for you, just needs warming up. And make sure you get some sleep tonight, you'll feel better. Good night, Artorias," said Gough, walking back into the house. Artorias stood alone on the training grounds, and tossed the sword aside into the dirt, pulling his cloak back on. He looked about in the darkness, save for the dim candle light coming out of the windows.

Sif suddenly sat up, ears perked, looking straight ahead. Artorias turned to see a carriage pulling up just outside the main gate.

His stomach knotted. He knew what was to come.


Raphael fiddled with the small, wax sealed roll on his desk, pondering. He was alone in the drawing room, dimly lit by white candles on top of gold, engraved sticks. Rather extravagant, he thought, but what wasn't in this city?

The news came abruptly and rather secretly. He had no idea on how to break the news of Lord Gwyn's departure to anyone; it would be an incredibly difficult challenge, not everyone was going to be pleased.

He glanced to the parchment again. The contents were delicate, and he knew that if they got out, panic would run rampant in the streets, which is why breaking the news to the general public about the missing king wasn't going to be enjoyable. But this needed to be done, and there was only one man who could help him with this.

The door opened slowly, right on cue, Raphael thought. Artorias stepped in, closing the door behind him quietly.

"Thank you for coming, I won't take up too much of your time," said Raphael quietly, picking up the roll and placing it in his hands. "I'm sure you know what this-" he stopped suddenly, seeing Artorias' face in the dim light. "My word. Are you... are you well?"

"I'm fine, just a little tired," said Artorias, twitching his neck suddenly. Raphael swallowed before continuing.

"I... apologize for bringing you here so late, but the contents of this particular problem are a little more delicate than the other targets you've gone too. Please ensure that you do not let anyone see the contents. Especially our mutual friend, Lady Ciaran."

"I'll keep it close, and take it with me," replied Artorias, reaching out for the scroll. Raphael hesitated, pulling it back a slight, then placing the scroll into Artorias' hand.

"Everything you need to know is there... are you certain you are well?" he asked again. Artorias put the scroll away wordlessly, and turned to leave.

"Good night, sir," said Artorias, leaving as suddenly as he came. Raphael suddenly felt his stomach drop, a wave of guilt suddenly hit him. Lucius was right, he was just one man.

"Good night, sir. Godspeed..." he replied quietly.


Ciaran closed the cabinet door, making sure to lock it up in case Ornstein got any funny ideas during the night. The whiskey was stronger than she remembered, she thought, tidying up the common room, fluffing pillows back into shape. She blew out some of the lanterns on the wall and the candles on the table, and made her way to the kitchen, picking up the broken plate pieces from the floor that Artorias missed earlier, and the ones he made shortly before he ran out.

Ciaran looked about the kitchen. It was quite big, of course, but it was the most humble room in the manor, and she loved it. It felt cosy and welcoming, and the wooden dining table in the middle with four chairs felt underused lately. She couldn't recall the last time all four of them were sat around it, laughing and enjoying each others company, Gough cooking up a home made meal for them all, like the good soul he is. Her heart pinched as she brushed a hand over the oak wood, sighing sadly.

She walked over and opened up the large oven door; a tray of cold food sat there, waiting.
"Still not back yet..." Ciaran said to herself, closing the door shut. Just as she was about to go to her room and to bed, a grey figure walked past the window; Sif quietly bounded away into the woods, enjoying the cool summer night under the trees. The front door opened with a clunk, followed by a quiet lock of the latch. Ciaran poked her head around the corner, watching Artorias tug at his cloak as he walked through the common room. She walked out slowly, as to not frighten him again.
"You're back," she said. Artorias nodded and stopped in his tracks.

"Are you... are you okay?" he said, somewhat struggling to find the words.

"Yeah, fine. Are you?"

"Is Ornstein okay?"

"He's a little upset... but talk to him tomorrow, not now," she replied. Artorias nodded again, struggling to hold his gaze.

"Well, good night, then."

"Artorias, hold on a moment," Ciaran said, stepping in front of him. "Can we talk? Please?"

"I should really get some sleep," he replied, walking past her, towards his room.

"Arty," she said, turning around. "I'm sorry for what I said to you at the lake. I...I was being selfish; you've got more than enough on your plate as is."
Artorias turned around; his eyes flickered for a moment with something. Ciaran's thoughts turned to Izalith; to Quelana's words.
"I know what you've been going through. Some of it anyway..."

"You do?" said Artorias, more surprised than sardonic. Ciaran thought about her next words carefully.

"Whatever this Abyss is, it's real, and it's deeply hurt you, hasn't it?" she said. Artorias looked at his feet for a brief moment. "You don't have to do it alone anymore."

"I have Sif."

"Yes, but that's not what I-" she began, cutting herself off. "Do you remember the first time we met?"

"...I do," Artorias replied. Ciaran could have sworn she saw a flash of warmth appear on his face, even for just a moment.

"And how much we've been through since then?" she continued. "It's been up and down, but we've always got through it all together, haven't we?"
No reply; Artorias looked down in thought, his eyes briefly flickered with that familiar light. Ciaran took in a little breath before asking something else. "Do you remember when we went archery training, and you shot that bird down, and then, Sif came running out to try and snatch it!" she laughed lightly. Artorias blinked as he thought; as if he had forgotten something to say in response.
"Do you remember the night you were knighted? How happy you were?"

Artorias looked blankly at her; the smile on her face faded away.

"Nothing?" she said, "Nothing at all? Not even a word?" the knot in her stomach tightened. Artorias' lips parted a slight, but nothing came out of his mouth. "Do we even matter to you any more? Do I even matter to you any more?" she said. Her arms went limp to her side; the silence was her answer.
"Well, you should get some sleep. Good night."
Ciaran left hurriedly, disappearing into her room quietly, leaving Artorias alone, standing in the common room. He glanced about, looking at the gilded doors leading into the other knight's quarters.

His dry mouth opened.

"Of course you do," he replied.