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Glory to my Proofreaders: Bakenekon and Solare. For they are the ones who point out mistakes and act as my favourite walls to bounce ideas off of.
Yo. Sorry this took a while, let's blame it on seasonal depression and move on, yeah?
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Tarnished tightened the strap of the second gauntlet, giving it a firm pat to ensure it was secured. The Night's Cavalry wrist armor gleamed darkly in the dying light.
It was sleek, ominous, and oddly elegant in its layered design. Charred silver bands wrapped around his forearms like sinuous cords, each plate blackened at the edges from years of shadowed duty and ghostly rides beneath the moon.
Across from him, Marika sat atop a nearby boulder with one leg crossed neatly over the other, her expression amused as ever. "Art thou sure thou dost not wish to don the helm as well?"
Tarnished followed her gaze to the helm lying in the dirt nearby, still faintly dripping with blood from where the knight's head had been. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head.
'Nah. I'd rather not have the smell of brains and blood clog up my nostrils for the next however-many-days I wear it. Besides, killing a guy then wearing his clothes is already distasteful enough, I'd rather not steal his entire look.'
Marika arched a golden eyebrow. "So… thou art willing to kill the man in cold blood without a second thought, but thou draw the line at wearing his helmet because of its hypothetical smell and general distastefulness?"
He paused. That… actually hadn't occurred to him.
'I guess so?' he thought. 'Is that weird?'
She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin against her hand with a smirk tugging at her lips. "No. Not for thee. 'Tis exactly the kind of asinine logic I have come to expect of thee."
Tarnished blinked a few times, finishing the last strap on his gauntlet. "...I'll take that as a compliment."
He stood up fully, rolling his shoulders to test the fit. The Night's Cavalry armor hugged his form well, it was dark as obsidian, with crimson stitching along the edges and long coattails that shifted slightly with each breeze.
Despite its heavy look, it flowed well with his movement, and the crimson accents matched the ember flicker still glowing faintly in his draconic pupils. He wore no helmet, leaving his chiseled features, piercing eyes, and now distinctly sharp fangs visible beneath his wild hair.
Behind him, Melina stood with her back against a nearby ruined wall, arms crossed loosely. She turned her head slightly at the sound of him finishing. "Art thou done yet?"
He turned, chuckling. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry to keep you waiting."
As she stepped away from the wall, he struck a pose with his left hand splayed across his face, two fingers angled to frame one eye, the other arm stretched outward dramatically.
"How's this? This armor suit me?"
Before she could answer, he shifted, sliding one foot forward into a deep lunge, the other extended back. He twisted his torso, raised one arm in a horns gesture, and pointed the other downward in perfect symmetry.
"Don't I look cool as fuck?" he declared proudly.
He wasn't done. In a fluid spin, he crossed his legs, wrapped one arm tightly across his torso, and bent the other toward his head in an exaggerated dramatic pose.
Melina stared, expression blank as he cycled through pose after pose, each one somehow more Bizarre than the last.
From the side, Marika blinked in total confusion. "What… in the Lands Between… art thou doing?"
'I'm doing JoJo poses, you uncultured swine!' He shot back mentally, still mid-pose with his arm bent backward and one leg pointed. Then paused, realization hitting. '...Oh wait. You wouldn't know what those are. You can't watch JoJo's here… I weep for you. Truly.'
He smirked and turned his attention back to Melina, now leaning slightly to the side with one hand at his hip.
"What's this? Nothing to say?" He pointed directly at her with all the dramatic flair of a seasoned anime protagonist. "I know! You're so impressed that you're speechless!"
Melina blinked once. Then again. Finally, she sighed with a helplessly amused smirk.
"Very well... Let us say that is the case."
"We must work on thy decorum and common sense at some point…" Marika sighed, rubbing her temples.
Tarnished tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing. 'Hm? What's wrong with my decorum and common sense?'
Another long, tired sigh echoed through his mind like thunder through a canyon.
"Everything, my champion. Everything."
Melina arched an eyebrow as Tarnished finished tightening the chest straps of the Night's Cavalry armor, her arms folded neatly across her torso. "Why didst thou not don the helmet as well?"
Tarnished grinned, running a hand through his hair as if to emphasize the point. "And rob you, and the rest of the world, of the pleasure and privilege of laying your eyes upon this handsome visage~?"
He caressed his cheek smugly. "I wouldn't dare~!"
Melina blinked once. Then let out a soft, melodic giggle behind her hand, head shaking slightly in amused disbelief. "If thou sayest so."
Marika, now floating lazily behind them with her chin resting in one palm, rolled her eyes in silence, but a ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips nonetheless.
Melina tilted her head gently. "Then… art thou ready to depart? Shall we make our way to the Roundtable Hold now?"
Tarnished nodded once, a warm smile playing across his face. "Yeah. Let's go."
Her expression softened further, and she stepped toward him with quiet grace, stopping just inches away. "Very well then," she said softly, her voice like a distant song. "Let my hand rest upon thine, for but a moment."
He lifted his hand without hesitation, offering it to her with a boyish grin. She took it gently, her fingers brushing his palm with a delicate touch before her eyes fluttered shut.
A heartbeat passed, then, a flash of golden light erupted around them, blinding and beautiful.
The world bent and twisted around their forms as Grace itself reached out, taking hold.
And the two vanished.
…
Tarnished and Melina now stood at the center of a vast, circular chamber. The air was still, solemn. A massive roundtable occupied the center, and above it burned a quiet but radiant flame of Grace, suspended in the air like a divine heart.
The table was marked with scars. Nicks from blades, burned edges, dried blood faded into the wood. A place meant for warriors… and those waiting to become legends.
Melina gently pulled her hand away, stepping forward.
"This is the Roundtable Hold," she said softly. "A haven for Tarnished guided by Grace. Beyond the reach of the Erdtree's light, where few things may follow."
Atop the table, leaning back against the golden flame itself, sat Marika. Her legs were crossed with one hand idly twirling a lock of hair. She examined the place with narrowed eyes, gaze drifting slowly across its walls, statues, and gathered remnants of lost purpose.
"So this is the so-called 'Roundtable of Grace'…" She murmured with something close to solemn nostalgia in her voice. "A memory cast adrift in the void. A hollow echo of what once stood in Leyndell."
Tarnished raised a brow, glancing between her and the hall. 'Wait, you knew of this place? Even before the Shattering?'
Marika smiled faintly. Not fondly. "Aye. Though it was… different then. A place of meeting and making, a place of tone and steel. I had it forged myself. Not this empty dream of it."
Before he could press further, a voice interrupted.
"Oh, this is a rare occasion…" Came a calm, measured tone from across the room. "I can't remember the last time a new Tarnished made their way to the Roundtable…"
Tarnished turned, already knowing the voice before his eyes confirmed it.
Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing.
He was tall, draped in stately white robes marked with gold, the man carried himself with the arrogance of royalty and the gravitas of a man convinced of his own invincibility. He leaned slightly on a dark staff inlaid with runes, the rings on his fingers catching the firelight.
"Oh, it's you," Tarnished said flatly. "The Odin wannabe. Gideon Ofnir."
Gideon's head tilted, intrigued, but his gaze didn't waver. "You know me?"
Tarnished nodded once, placing a hand at his side as he turned slightly to look Gideon in the eye. "Not a lot of people go around calling themselves the 'All-Knowing' while knowing so little."
Behind him, Marika's eyes sharpened, her voice curling like velvet laced with venom as she eyed Gideon down with a tilt of her head. "A mortal Tarnished who claimeth to know all? Hah… Hubris most divine. I'd almost be impressed by his gall, were it not so… Detestable."
Gideon's brow twitched as his eyes narrowed further. "I beg your pardon?"
Before Tarnished could say more, Melina stepped forward quickly, placing a hand gently on his arm. Her grip wasn't tight, but the message was clear.
"Mayhaps thou shouldst not start making enemies within a place of refuge," she said, looking into his eyes. "We just arrived."
He paused, eyes flicking toward her… then toward Marika, who looked on in mild amusement.
Gideon adjusted his staff slightly and offered a thin, professional smile, one barely visible through his helmet.
"You would do well to listen to your Maiden," he said smoothly. "As your senior, I shall forget this lapse in judgment and bid you welcome. It is safe here. You may let down your guard."
His tone cooled like a blade drawn across ice as he turned to walk away.
"But allow me a word of advice." He said without looking back. "You are a mere visitor to the Roundtable. A guest… who has yet to earn their keep. Remember your place, newcomer."
He paused at the edge of the table, voice quiet but sharp as a knife's whisper.
"Arrogant fools tend to meet rather abrupt, and unpleasant, ends to their journeys."
He walked away, his staff tapping softly against the stone floor. The echo lingered long after he was gone.
Tarnished exhaled slowly, expression filled with mild annoyance and disdain which was shared by Marika as she smirked faintly from her perch above the flame.
"Charming. I see the spirit of the old court lives on in all the worst ways..."
Melina's hand tugged at his arm the moment Gideon walked out of hearing distance, pulling Tarnished closer with a subtle but undeniable force. Her eyes, now sharp and narrowed, met his with that quiet intensity she only pulled out when she was genuinely vexed.
"What in the Lands Between possessed thee to pick a fight in a safe haven?" she asked, voice low, her tone wasn't angry but undeniably firm. "We just arrived. It is meant to be a place of peace, not a battleground for thine petty pride."
Tarnished shrugged, entirely unrepentant. "I hate smug know-it-alls. They annoy me."
Melina didn't buy it. Her expression didn't soften, if anything, it grew more skeptical. Her lips parted to challenge him further but was cut off.
"Sir Tarnished!" came a bright, bubbly voice from off to the side. "It really is you! I almost didn't recognize you!"
"Hm?" Tarnished turned, blinking for a second before his face broke into a grin. "Oh! Roderika! You made it!"
She jogged over, her face lit up with joy. The once-nervous girl from Stormhill Shack looked more confident now, wrapped in a simple cloak and travel leathers, her red-gold hair slightly windswept from the road.
"Yeah!" she giggled. "All by myself, too!"
"I knew you had it in you," Tarnished said with genuine warmth, beaming at her.
Melina watched the interaction in silence at first, her teal eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Something… twitched at the edge of her thoughts. An odd tingling sensation flared in her mind, and the faintest vein bulged near her temple.
"…Huh." She muttered under her breath, barely audible. "...Why do I have the odd urge to kill this woman?"
Atop the table, Marika visibly slumped. The spectral goddess sank backward against the bonfire's golden heart, a groan escaping her as she buried her face in one palm.
"My daughter… falling for a complete moron… and so painfully unaware of it… Perhaps I really have failed her." She muttered as a moment later, she vanished into golden mist without another word.
Meanwhile, Roderika tilted her head, stepping closer. Her bright green eyes widened slightly as she looked him up and down.
"What happened to you since yesterday?" she asked, fascinated. "You got so tall! And your hair, it's has white strands now! And your eyes are… a little scary! Oh, and this armor! You've been busy, huh?"
Tarnished chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish but amused. "You could say that again. And yeah, about all that… it's kind of a long story."
She clasped her hands behind her back, leaning in with a faint blush, eyes shining with excitement. "Well, I've got time! I'd love to hear all about your adventures!"
He laughed again softly, and for a second, he imagined a pair of soft golden retriever ears and a tail wagging behind her. The mental image was enough to make his grin widen.
That's when Melina stepped in. Literally.
She moved just slightly to stand between them, subtle but deliberate, tilting her head as she turned to him with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"And who might this be, my companion?" she asked with just the faintest edge in her tone. "Wouldst thou care to introduce us?"
Tarnished's smile twitched. Just for a moment. He recognized the shift. Subtle venom disguised as grace. Carefully, he cleared his throat and gestured between the two of them.
"Melina, this is Roderika. We met back near Stormveil. She's… a good friend."
Roderika beamed and extended a hand cheerfully. "It's nice to meet you!"
Melina took the offered hand and shook it with a grip that was just a touch too firm to be polite. "Likewise," she said tersely.
The moment hung there, quiet and a little tense.
Tarnished resisted the urge to whistle. Instead, he glanced between the two and thought to himself: Oh boy… this'll be fun.
The air between Melina and Roderika crackled for a brief moment, silent but unmistakably tense. To Tarnished, the image was almost comical. He could easily picture the scene as a black Maine Coon cat, sleek and composed, trying to maintain its regal disdain while fending off an overeager golden retriever wagging its tail at full speed.
Still smiling, Tarnished stepped forward toward Roderika, rubbing the back of his head slightly as he spoke. "Hey, I don't mind telling you the full story. Hell, it's a pretty wild one. But it's getting kinda late, and we're trying to find a place to sleep. And maybe stock up on supplies for the road. You wouldn't happen to know where we can find either of those, would you?"
Roderika blinked for a moment, clearly caught off guard, but then nodded and perked up. She gestured behind them toward one of the stone archways. "If you go that way and take the left passage, you'll find a merchant who sells food, water, and travel supplies. He's a bit… intense, but his collection's amazing."
Tarnished followed her finger with his eyes. That hallway led to where the Twin Maiden Husks usually were. Though, curiously, the entire wing looked far more populated than he remembered. More 'NPCs' milled about, and there were branching passageways that hadn't existed in the game's Roundtable Hold.
Roderika then pointed down the hall that led to Smithmaster Hewg's forge. "Down that way, past the anvil, you'll find a clerk near the old library staircase. He manages the sleeping quarters. The bigger rooms are expensive, but there's a basic one. It's just a bed and a bathroom but it's pretty cheap. That's what I use."
"Perfect," Tarnished nodded, flashing her a bright grin. "Thanks for the advice."
And, without hesitation, he reached over and ruffled her hair again.
Roderika squeaked slightly but didn't stop him. A blush spread across her cheeks like wildfire, though she smiled shyly, clearly pleased.
"It's no problem, really," she said softly. "I wouldn't be here if not for you. Without your advice back in Stormhill, I would've never made it…"
Tarnished chuckled. "Nonsense. You had it in you. With or without my help."
Melina's sharp, purposeful cough into her hand snapped the moment like a twig. Tarnished turned toward her instinctively and found her already stepping closer, her gaze firm.
"As thou didst say earlier," she began coolly, "we have little time. I shall acquire the provisions so that we shall eat well tonight. Thou, meanwhile, go seek out sleeping quarters."
Tarnished gave her a nod and reached into his soul, summoning a familiar golden shimmer into his palm.
[–10,000 Runes]
"Here," he said, handing the shimmering essence to her. "Get us some food and use the rest on… whatever. Meet me back here when we're both done?"
Melina accepted the runes, giving him a subtle nod of approval. But before turning away, she shot Roderika one last hard look. Her lips curled downward ever so slightly, and she gave a sharp "Humph," before pivoting and walking briskly down the hall.
Tarnished stood there for a second, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. He turned to Roderika and offered a sheepish grin. "Well, you heard the boss. Gotta get us a room before she comes back and bites my head off."
Roderika giggled into her hands, her eyes twinkling. "That's okay. I'll be around the Roundtable for a while. If you ever feel like talking… I'd really love to hear more."
He smiled at that and, without thinking, reached over and ruffled her hair one last time. Her face flushed a deep crimson, and she stood frozen in place as he turned and walked off.
From somewhere deep in his mind, Marika's voice let out a long, tired sigh.
"I swear… I cannot tell whether thou art more oblivious than my daughter, or she more than thee. Perhaps I've failed her as a mother… Truly, what God could prepare for such mortal foolishness?"
'Huh? What do you mean?' Tarnished asked, brow furrowing.
"Pay me no mind. Go. Do as thou must."
He shrugged and kept walking.
Tarnished stepped into the right-hand corridor, the quiet clang of a hammer immediately catching his attention. He looked up and spotted Smithmaster Hewg, hunched over his anvil, sweat gleaming across his weathered bald head as he worked in tireless rhythm. Flames flickered around the forge, casting sharp shadows against the stone walls.
But it wasn't just Hewg that caught his eye, there were others here. Several, in fact. Men and women in various forms of attire, moving about the stone halls, muttering amongst themselves or resting in quiet corners. It was far more populated than he ever remembered. Too many faces he didn't recognize.
'Since when are there this many people here?' he thought.
"What didst thou expect?" Marika's voice spoke up dryly, her tone tinged with bemusement. "From what Grace whispers to me, this place, this spectral refuge, is built as a reflection. An echo of the Roundtable that once stood in Leyndell's heart. A fortress, built to house not just wanderers, but an army, if needed."
'A fortress…' he echoed, eyes wandering. 'So it's not just this main chamber…'
"Indeed. Kitchens, barracks, sanctums, armories… All integrated into the bones of this place. And yes…" she added, almost with a sigh, "…even Hewg. As was necessary."
Tarnished's gaze shifted back to the hunched blacksmith, hammering endlessly into steel.
'So it's true then,' he muttered in his mind. 'You're the one that imprisoned him here?'
"Aye. I did."
'Why?'
"'Twas not for punishment, 'twas for preparation," she answered solemnly. "He alone possessed the hands to forge what might one day be needed."
'A weapon to kill a God?' He asked, repeating the line he'd once heard from Hewg himself.
"A weapon to kill Me. Should it come to that." She admitted without hesitation. "Or worse. There are fates more vile than mine death, mine champion. This was my insurance. And now… Now, we live in the worst-case outcome. Or at least, the closest one this world could bear."
Tarnished said nothing to that, there wasn't much to say.
His eyes wandered again, then landed on a door.
It was the one from his memory. Fia's room. Though unlike the game, the door was shut tight. Curiosity gnawed at him.
He stepped toward it and placed a hand on the cool wood. The hinges creaked gently as he opened it, and there she was.
Fia sat quietly on the edge of her bed, delicate hands resting on her lap, her soft green eyes gazing into the crackling fireplace to her right. Her skin was porcelain-pale, soft and immaculate. Her long golden-brown hair flowed like a shadowed waterfall over her shoulders, contrasting the softness of her simple black gown that clung gently to her form.
She was stunning, an ethereal kind of beauty that made time seem to pause for a moment.
She looked up when she noticed him enter, her lips curving softly.
"Greetings, great champion called by Grace. I am Fia." She said with a quiet, elegant warmth.
Tarnished stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. "I'm just a Tarnished of no name and no renown."
"I see," she said with an understanding nod. "I am not one to judge the circumstances of one's life, I bid you welcome. Hopefully you enjoy your stay. …My own circumstances have compelled my stay at the Roundtable Hold."
There was a slight pause as she shifted on the bed, seeming suddenly more hesitant. Her fingers played with the edge of her gown as a subtle blush touched her cheeks.
"Great champion…" she said softly. "Would you allow me to hold you, but briefly? Doing so will grant me the warmth of a champion…"
She looked up at him through her lashes, voice growing quieter.
"Do you think it vulgar, perhaps? Where I come from, it is a sacred act…"
Tarnished stared at her, unmoving. Fia's smile faltered slightly under his silence, and she began to shift nervously.
Then, with barely a flicker of motion, he blurred forward into her arms, wrapping himself around her like a drowning man finding the shore.
Fia gasped faintly but smiled, embracing him with open arms. Her hands gently ran through his hair, her breath warm against his ear.
"Ah… My thanks, great champion. You are… very warm."
Tarnished sank into the hug with a heavy sigh, tension rolling off his shoulders. The silence that followed was soft and sacred, until it was shattered by a familiar voice.
"…Seriously?"
Marika's tone was a perfect mix of disbelief, judgement, and tired resignation.
Tarnished didn't respond. He just melted further into Fia's embrace, hiding the amused grin playing across his lips.
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Author's Note:
To hug or to not hug, that is the question…
Our protagonist says hug!
Also, put the stones in the bag bros
…
Next Chapter Title: The Roundtable Hold II.
…
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