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Glory to my Proofreader: Solare. For he is one who points out mistakes and acts as my favourite wall to bounce ideas off of.
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"…Is that… fucking Patches?! What the hell is his bitch-ass doing here?!"
"Oi! I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak my name with such vitriol, mate!" Patches shot back indignantly, turning around from his plate of half-eaten stew. "What'd I ever do to you?!"
Tarnished rolled his eyes as he and Melina finally reached the table, walking with trays in hand. He plopped down beside Roderika with a long-suffering sigh, while Melina took the seat on his right—her eyes flicking cautiously toward the gathered group. "Didn't you try to kill me as soon as we met?"
"Is that so?" came a deep, resonant voice from across the table. One of the seated men turned to Patches slowly, his expression grave and clearly unimpressed.
The speaker was a tall, thickly built man draped in ceremonial robes of sun-bleached white and radiant gold trim. A large, rounded cone-shaped miter sat atop his head, slightly tilted as if he refused to adjust it out of pride or stubborn habit.
His beard was meticulously kept, his brow stern, and his posture so rigid that one could mistake him for a statue carved in reverence to the Erdtree itself. A heavy golden medallion, a symbol of the Two Fingers, hung around his neck like a burden of duty.
Corhyn's gaze sharpened at Patches, and for a moment, the air around the table grew heavier.
"That was after he tried stealing my stuff first, alright?!" Patches snapped, jabbing a finger in Tarnished's direction. "You can't just help yourself to a man's personal belongings and expect him to smile about it!"
He punctuated the sentence with a frustrated slam of his hand against the table, causing his tankard of ale to slosh dangerously near the edge.
Corhyn's eyes narrowed, the full weight of his judgment shifting to the one seated across from him, Tarnished.
But Tarnished merely shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Well he shouldn't have left it lying around in a cave somewhere unattended. I figured it was abandoned, so I helped myself."
"As if anyone believes that, you rat!"
"Hey, watch it, Baldy!"
Patches bared his teeth, and Tarnished grinned with equal mischief. The two locked into an increasingly petty verbal sparring match as their companions looked on.
Melina facepalmed softly with a sigh. Corhyn looked thoroughly disappointed. Roderika had a helpless smile on her lips. And then there was the final man at the table, who had been quietly sipping wine and observing the two with an amused gleam in his eyes.
He was lean, refined, and dressed in elegant robes of layered indigo, worn slightly at the hem but still noble in design. His face was partially shadowed by his wide-brimmed, feathered hat, but sharp eyes and a contemplative aura radiated from him like the hush before spellcasting. A runed cane-sword lay rested against the side of the table within arm's reach, and faint blue script glimmered faintly along its hilt.
Rogier set down his goblet with a faint clink, and finally interjected.
"That's enough, the both of you," he said with calm authority, voice smooth but firm. "If you wish to continue acting like children, kindly do it elsewhere. You're making the wine taste sour."
His words cut through the tension, and while Patches and Tarnished both muttered half-hearted retorts under their breath, they did settle down… begrudgingly.
Roderika cleared her throat gently, drawing everyone's attention as she leaned forward just a bit. "Right. Now that the mess has settled, let's do this properly."
She turned toward the two newcomers beside her and gestured politely. "Everyone, this is Sir Tarnished and Melina. They've helped me greatly, and I thought it only right to introduce you."
Tarnished gave a short wave and nodded. "Any friend of Roderika's is a friend of mine. Nice to meet ya."
Melina's eyes subtly drifted toward how close Roderika was seated beside her companion, so close their arms almost brushed. A flicker of discomfort crossed her features, but she shook it off quickly and offered a curt nod. "Yes… It is an honor."
Corhyn straightened in his seat and placed a hand over his chest with respectful formality. "I am glad you have been safe since last we spoke, yesterday. May Grace continue to guide your steps."
Then, his head turned slightly toward Tarnished as he bowed ever so slightly in greeting. "I am Brother Corhyn, servant of the Golden Order."
The man across from him, Rogier, gave a slight, amused tilt of the head. "So you're the 'Sir Tarnished' we've heard so much about, huh?"
His voice carried a distinct, lilting cadence, it was smooth, confident, and undeniably foreign. The faintest French accent colored his words, catching Tarnished slightly off guard.
Rogier casually stabbed a piece of roasted venison with his fork, brought it to his lips, and chewed thoughtfully. Then, with a smirk tugging at one side of his mouth, he muttered:
"Well, it is good to finally have a face to the idea. Let us hope you live up to the hype, eh?"
Tarnished didn't even flinch at Rogier's subtle challenge. Instead, his sharp ears honed in on the first part of the scholar's words and twisted it into something far more mischievous.
He turned toward Roderika with a grin already forming, a teasing air building around him like storm clouds before a thunderclap. "So you've been talking about me, huh~?"
Roderika's cheeks flushed bright pink as she ducked her head shyly, nervously tapping her index fingers together. "O-Only a little bit… maybe…" she mumbled, barely meeting his gaze.
Melina's brows twitched as she crossed her arms, her voice laced with cold detachment. "How very fortunate for you… to be so frequently on the tongues of women."
That biting comment earned a hearty laugh from Rogier and a nasally chuckle from Patches.
"Oi, lad's got his own fan club already, eh?" Patches jeered, elbowing Rogier. "Next thing we know, he'll be kissin' hands and signin' runes."
Tarnished simply shook his head in amusement before turning his attention down to his meal. He scooped up a spoonful, took a bite… and frowned.
Crunchy carrots. Boiled potatoes. Bits of chewy bread soaked in lukewarm broth.
"…This is all vegetables," he muttered, unimpressed. "Should've gone with the more expensive one… If I knew it had no meat, I'd have paid the extra."
Melina didn't even try to hide her smirk as she cut a dainty piece of her food. "Perhaps next time you should read before you agree," she said with maddening poise before taking another content bite.
Patches practically cackled as he chomped dramatically into his Flamed Elk Roast. "Mmm~! You taste that? That's roasted dignity! Absolutely delicious!"
Clicking his tongue, Tarnished grumbled under his breath and kept eating, chewing with the enthusiasm of a man eating salted gravel. A few moments passed as they all ate in silence, then the priest shifted slightly as he turned to face Tarnished.
Corhyn adjusted his posture slightly, then without a word, slid his plate of Flamed Elk Roast toward Tarnished's side of the table.
"We may trade, if your current dish fails to satisfy." He offered calmly.
Tarnished blinked at the gesture. "...You'd do that for me?"
"I would." Corhyn nodded, gently nudging the plate closer. "One of Queen Marika's divine tenets is to show kindness freely, and treat others as you would wish to be treated."
Tarnished was silent for a moment, then slowly glanced upward.
There, Marika reclined on a glowing cloud of Grace above them, legs crossed lazily, chin resting in her hand as she watched the dinner unfold.
"Aye… That one was mine," she mused aloud, her golden eyes distant. "A campaign for a more unified kingdom, through neighborly acts and gentleness… Alas, it failed to take root as deeply as I had hoped. Still, 'tis good to see at least one of mine faithful holds to it."
He gave a slight smirk and turned back to Corhyn, who sat quietly with the faintest of smiles behind his blindfold, hands folded neatly.
Tarnished accepted the plate of Flamed Elk Roast and slid his Traveler's Stew toward the priest in return.
"…If you've got enemies that need taking care of… you come to me. Got it?"
Everyone at the table went dead quiet.
Roderika's spoon froze halfway to her mouth. Rogier coughed mid-sip of wine. Patches just blinked. Even Melina arched an eyebrow.
"I-I doubt that would ever be necessary, Sir Tarnished," Corhyn said after a moment's stunned silence. "But… I thank you for the offer?"
Tarnished nodded with almost comedic solemness, before digging in with all the fury of a starving beast.
The tension cracked like glass. Rogier chuckled under his breath. Roderika covered her mouth, giggling softly. Even Melina let out a faint, amused sigh.
And from above them all, Marika rolled her eyes with a crooked, entertained smile tugging at her lips.
"Mine champion… ever dramatic. At least thou know'st how to leave an impression."
As Tarnished eagerly devoured the last scraps of his Flamed Elk Roast, the rest of the table had already begun to drift into different conversations.
Rogier was in quiet discussion with Corhyn about the state of Leyndell's lower catacombs, specifically the lingering Deathroot corruption.
Patches was, unsurprisingly, boasting to an uninterested Roderika about a "perfectly executed" heist on a traveling merchant caravan.
Melina had gone quiet, silently sipping from her mug as her eyes occasionally flicked toward Tarnished.
Eventually, the conversations began to merge, and somehow drifted toward the topic of Spirit Tuning.
"You know." Tarnished said offhandedly between chews, "Roderika here might actually have a real talent for spirit tuning."
The blonde girl nearly choked on her water. "W-What makes you say that?" she asked bashfully, her cheeks turning rosy as she nervously twiddled her fingers under the table.
He shrugged casually. "Just a gut feeling. I've got a good sense about these things. The Jellyfish spirits seemed to like you well enough, didn't they? That kind of resonance ain't normal. I think you should pursue it. Properly."
Rogier rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Hmm… He is correct, spirits don't just let anyone handle or connect with them so easily. There may be merit to our friend's intuition."
Patches leaned back in his chair with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Heh… Just imagine how a gifted spirit tuner could help me 'liberate' from some grave-bound noble..."
Smack!
"Ow! Bloody hell!" Patches yelped as Corhyn's palm met the back of his bald head.
Corhyn gave him a cold glare before turning back to Roderika. "Spirit Tuning is a sacred art. You would be wise to pursue it, young lady. It is no mere parlor trick."
Roderika flushed even deeper, clearly overwhelmed. "But… where would I even begin to learn something like that?"
Tarnished leaned back, wiping his mouth with his sleeve as he swallowed the last bite of his meal while trying to think of a way to nudge them towards his plan. "Maybe… ask Hewg?"
"The Roundtable's smithmaster?" Rogier raised an eyebrow. "What would he know of Spirit Tuning?"
Tarnished scraped up the sauce at the bottom of his plate with a finger, earning a disapproving shake of the head from Marika, who still lounged lazily above them on her shimmering throne of Grace.
"Well," he said, licking his finger. "He's been here longer than any of us. Maybe he met a Spirit Tuner before? Or maybe he knows more than he lets on. Perchance."
"Thou can't just say 'perchance' and expect it to make thee sound profound," Marika scoffed.
'I just did, didn't I?' he replied mentally with a smug grin.
"…Ugh. Infuriating…" she sighed, rolling her eyes.
Standing up with a satisfied stretch, Tarnished announced, "I'm gonna grab some more food."
Before he walked off, he reached over and ruffled Roderika's hair gently, grinning down at her. "If you do wanna talk to Hewg, I'll help you out. Just say the word."
She looked up at him, blushing brightly but beaming. "No, I think I got this one, Sir Tarnished. But thank you!"
"Then there's nothing to thank me for." He replied with a soft smile before strolling back to the kitchen counter.
A few minutes later, he returned, with two more full plates of Flamed Elk Roast stacked on top of each other in his hands.
He set them down, sat back in his seat, and dug in immediately.
Everyone stared.
"...What?" he said through a mouthful. "I'm hungry."
"Aye, I'm famished as well," Rogier muttered, eyeing the mountain of food with wide eyes. "But you don't see me about to inhale three entire meals…"
Patches leaned forward, squinting at Tarnished's chest. "Oi… I've been meaning to ask, but does it have anything to do with that weird glow on your heart? What's up with that, anyways?"
Tarnished chuckled. "Something like that."
Now properly intrigued, both Rogier and Patches leaned in.
"You've got a story there, don't you?" Rogier smirked.
Tarnished grinned mid-chew. "Tell you what… Buy me another plate or two, and I'll happily tell you."
Patches grumbled but waved a hand to the kitchen. "Fine, but it better be good, you glutton."
They returned shortly after, awkwardly balancing four more plates of food and setting them before the now even more smug Tarnished.
Clearing his throat theatrically, Tarnished tore into his fourth meal as he began to speak between bites. He began animatedly explaining his and Melina's journey through Dragonbarrow, their devious plan to kill Greyoll slowly and then their daring escape.
Melina paused, her eyes fixed firmly on him now as she heard him recount their adventures. Roderika, on the other hand, was completely enraptured, her eyes shining like stars.
"And when I offered Greyoll's Heart to the Cathedral of Dragon Communion, it gave me boons beyond my wildest imagination." Tarnished raised a hand and gestured to the strands of white hair among his predominantly black mane, then to his draconic eyes.
"One of the results of which being the shockingly handsome figure before you."
There was a long pause around the table.
Roderika gasped softly, her hands clasped together near her chest as she stared at him in wonder, completely ignoring his smugness. "You… took the heart of the Great Wyrm… and survived communion? That's… Amazing! I didn't even know that was possible!"
"Neither did we," Melina muttered, her voice dry as desert sand.
"And yet he insisted." She narrowed her eyes at her companion, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her pride.
Corhyn stared at Tarnished with open disapproval. "You offered up the heart of a great dragon…? To what end, exactly?"
Tarnished took a long, theatrical sip from his mug before flashing the priest a grin. "Power, of course."
"Pfft! Of course…" Patches muttered sarcastically, though even he looked slightly impressed. "I'll give ya credit, though. You've got guts, mate. Not a lotta folks would piss off every dragon in the Lands Between and live to brag about it."
"I did say it was a daring escape." Tarnished replied with a smirk.
Rogier chuckled, resting his elbows on the table. "So… that's why your eyes burn like flames now. And here I thought it was just your naturally intense disposition."
He leaned over and squinted at the streaks of white in Tarnished's hair. "Hmm… distinguished. Though if you grow scales, I might have to reconsider sitting this close."
"That's a fair concern." Melina said pointedly, crossing her arms. "He did roar at a stray dog yesterday."
"It barked first!" Tarnished defended, completely straight-faced.
That finally drew laughter from the whole table – Patches doubling over, Rogier chuckling into his drink, and even Corhyn letting out a reluctant puff of amusement.
"And you barked back…" Marika repeated under her breath with a grin. "What a magnificent imbecile I have chosen…"
Melina simply shook her head, though the corners of her mouth curved ever so slightly.
"And what happened?" Rogier asked while leaning forward, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Well, then I went and fought Commander O'Neil with Melina and an… old friend. He didn't stand a chance." Tarnished grinned.
At the mention of an "old friend." Patches visibly flinched, but tried to hide it behind his tankard. Only Tarnished noticed, and he allowed himself a very faint, satisfied smirk.
"Oho~… So that's why thou wert so unbothered by O'Neil's warning…" Marika mused, her tone laced with realization.
Corhyn, however, didn't share the awe. He frowned deeply, arms crossed. "You would do well to step away from such a primal and sacrilegious path, Sir Tarnished. Communion with Dragons is no holy feat."
Rogier laughed softly. "Aye, but if there's any truth to his tale, you can't deny the results. Can you?"
Corhyn looked away with a tight sigh. "…I suppose I cannot."
Tarnished smirked, lifting his tankard in a mock toast.
"I'm not stupid. I weighed the risks. But so far… the benefits?" He bit into another piece of elk. "They've far outweighed the cost."
…
Tarnished and Melina strolled through the stone halls of the Roundtable Hold, the flickering torchlight casting soft golden hues along the walls. Melina's sharp eyes trailed downward toward the satchel he carried, from which a faint aroma of seasoned meat and roasted roots wafted.
"Did you really need to bring all of that?" she asked, brow raised in quiet judgment.
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, I'm sure Millicent's starving after what she's been through. A hot, comforting meal and a warm bath... That's probably the best thing she could get right now."
"Hmph… What I would do for a hot bath right about now~…" Marika's voice drifted in, her tone wistful.
'As long as I get to watch~' Tarnished replied mentally, a grin tugging at his lips.
"And I would let you drown for the attempt, mine champion." Marika deadpanned back, her voice as cold as the winds of the mountaintops, though the tiniest trace of amusement lingered in it.
Unbothered, Tarnished smirked and kept walking. They reached the door to their room, and Melina pushed it open.
Inside, Millicent was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, her single arm propped beside her, eyes scanning the room in faint confusion. Her crimson hair, though still matted from days in Caelid's filth, shimmered faintly in the lamplight.
"Oh! It is you…" she said upon noticing them. "Do you know where I am? I don't recall coming here, only inserting the Needle and then… nothing…"
Tarnished chuckled as he stepped inside. "Yeah, I figured it might be weird waking up somewhere else. We didn't want to leave you lying there alone in that broken-down ruin, so we brought you here, somewhere safe. Hope you don't mind."
Millicent shook her head slowly as Melina walked silently past them, disappearing into the adjacent washroom. "It's fine. I held no connection to that place anyway." Her voice was quiet, but steady. "Where exactly are we?"
"This is the Roundtable Hold," Tarnished explained, walking up and gently handing her the bag of food. She flinched slightly at the warmth in her hand, surprised. "A sanctuary for warriors, smiths, scholars, and now… survivors."
Millicent examined the warm bundle in her hand like a newborn creature, eyes filled with almost childlike curiosity.
Melina's voice floated from the room behind them. "It was built for the Tarnished who follow the Two Fingers. But over time, it became a refuge for any who stand under their ideals. It is a haven… of sorts."
"And that," Tarnished added, pointing to the food. "Is Flamed Elk Roast with Pickled Roots. No doubt you're hungry. I doubt your last place had room service."
Millicent tilted her head. "I do not know what this 'room service' is, but… yes. I am hungry."
She slowly unwrapped the packet, revealing the still-steaming, succulent dish. Her eyes widened. Her mouth watered unconsciously. She lifted the plate as though to bite from it directly.
"Whoa there," Tarnished stopped her, chuckling. "That's not how you eat a meal."
She blinked in confusion. "Then how should I?"
He pointed to the spoon beside the plate. She looked at it, picked it up awkwardly, and slowly scooped a bite into her mouth, eyes locked on him for approval.
He gave her a thumbs up and a low laugh. 'Like teaching a toddler,' he thought.
Leaning against the wall opposite the beds, Tarnished took a breath. "Alright… I think it's time I finally gave some answers."
Millicent paused mid-bite. Melina peeked from the washroom. A shimmer of golden grace formed midair as Marika descended on her cloud, arms crossed.
"Finally! I have waited long enough. Speak, mine champion. How came Millicent into this world?"
Melina stepped back into the room, now without her cloak, her eyes narrowing. "Yes. You've mentioned much… but never the how or why."
Millicent nodded, the food in her lap momentarily forgotten. "I… do not remember much. But I'd like to know what you do."
Tarnished exhaled, walked forward, and sat on the floor cross-legged before them all.
"Millicent… You are the daughter of the Demigod Malenia, the Blade of Miquella."
A silence fell over the room like snow.
Millicent blinked, unfamiliar with the name, but quietly engraved it into memory.
"But you weren't born in the usual way," John continued, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "When Malenia fought Radahn, when she bloomed into the Scarlet Aeonia, it wasn't just destruction that came from it. Something else… someone formed."
He looked her directly in the eye. "You."
Millicent's lips parted, but no sound came.
"The rot took almost everything from her," he went on. "Her memories. Her sense of time. Maybe even her sense of self. But that bloom… it tried to make something. A vessel. An echo." He gestured lightly toward her. "And that echo was you."
"Interesting…" Marika's voice dropped to a thoughtful murmur. "Malenia's bloom was always a thing of horror. But the idea that it could… create? That it could birth life?"
She floated forward, golden eyes burning. "Perhaps that is what became of Caelid. The bloom did not merely destroy, it is attempting to terraform. To give birth to a new, alien existence… That is terrifying."
Millicent's breath caught. "I… Are you certain? I don't remember anything from before…"
Melina frowned, feeling great sympathy for Millicent. After all, she knew all too well how it felt to know almost nothing of your own origins. "It's… difficult to believe. Even for your madness. But if it's true… it explains much."
"The rot eats memory. Eats identity," Tarnished said. "A man named Gowry tried to help, he acted as your father as much as he could. But he wasn't your father. Not really. Just someone trying to save what he thought he could."
He knowingly left out the part where Gowry was a worshipper of Malenia, more specifically a worshipper of the Goddess of Rot, her Order of Rot, and the cycle of Decay and Rebirth she could bring upon the world.
One earthshaking reveal at a time, he supposed. What Millicent chooses to do about his true intentions is her choice and her choice alone.
"A daughter forged not from love, but from agony," Marika murmured, more to herself than to him, unaware of his deeper musings. "I suppose the apple doesn't fall far from the tree…"
John exhaled through his nose, waiting a moment as Millicent's expression twisted through a storm of emotion. His thoughts drifted inward again.
'You sound surprised, Marika,' he said silently, brow arched. 'You do remember you're technically a grandparent, right? Golden Lineage ring any bells?'
There was a pause, followed by a noise that might've been the divine equivalent of a groan.
"I am not surprised because of that, mine Champion." she replied dryly. "I am surprised because Malenia, my beautiful, cursed daughter, having a child is a notion that defies all reason, decency, and several laws of nature."
John blinked. '...Wait, what?'
Marika's tone grew horrified in a way only a divine matriarch could muster. "The very concept of Malenia in a romantic entanglement is both unbelievable and deeply distressing. Who could even survive such a union? To lay with her is to invite rot into every tender place a mortal might possess! The thought alone-!"
John winced, cutting her off with a raised hand. 'Okay, okay, message received. Horrifying mental image. Never bringing that up again.'
"I should hope not," she muttered, voice sharp with lingering offense. "I have witnessed many horrors in my eternal life, but this may yet be the worst. Even more so when I consider the notion of someone even attempting to court her in the first place!"
He rolled his eyes faintly, though the idea still amused him. 'You're so dramatic.'
"I made drama, mine Champion," she shot back. "The very art form trembleth before me."
Then, with a sigh that carried both weariness and reluctant amusement, her tone softened, just slightly. "Although… now that thou bringest it to mind, there was once a noble fool from Leyndell who dared try."
John blinked. 'Wait, seriously? Someone actually tried to flirt with her?'
Marika's expression in his mind's eye was unreadable for a moment, then her lips curved into something between fondness and disbelief. "A knight of the capital. Young, proud, and tragically enamoured of the idea of divinity in mortal form. He saw my daughter's beauty and mistook it for gentleness."
She paused, her voice breaking slightly halfway through from amused disbelief at the memory. "He approached her with flowers. Flowers, mine Champion. As if the Blade of Miquella would swoon for petals."
John already felt laughter bubbling in his chest. 'Oh no… what did she do?'
"She mistook his words for mockery," Marika said flatly. "Before anyone could intervene, she drew her blade and took his head clean off."
John's eyes widened. 'Holy shit.'
"Indeed." Marika continued dryly. "A most efficient rejection, though somewhat… final. It fell upon me to explain that the poor wretch had been attempting to court her, not insult her honor. Convincing her that 'love' was not a declaration of battle was… an experience."
John clapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking. 'So what, your talk worked?'
"She listened," Marika replied, with the long-suffering tone of someone remembering a divine headache. "Nodded the entire time. Then, the next time a suitor arrived, she merely removed his arm instead of his head. Progress, I suppose."
John tried his damndest not to laugh aloud. 'Pfft- hah! Fuck, that's-' He coughed into his fist, and let out a small suffering sigh to try and relieve his need to laugh. 'If I'd been the man in question, I'd have done better.'
"Oh?" Marika's voice dripped with mock curiosity. "Thou wouldst have done better than a Leyndell knight? Pray tell, how? By bleeding slower?"
He smirked faintly. 'By making her laugh before she drew her sword.'
"Ah, gallant and foolish. Truly, thou art determined to die a memorable death, over and over again." Marika teased, her tone warm and wicked. "Perhaps someone shouldst warneth my daughter in advance. I would hate for thee to lose thy head before thou even professed thy love."
John grinned under his breath. 'Appreciate the vote of confidence, your holiness.'
"Always." She replied too sweetly.
He resisted the urge to laugh aloud again, exhaling softly through his nose instead and glancing back toward Millicent, who sat quietly, still processing everything.
The reality of what was probably floating through the poor girl's head sobered him up rather quickly. And after a few more seconds of silence, Millicent's eyes finally trailed upwards from the floor to meet his.
"I thought I was just… Sick." she whispered at last, her voice small. "A mistake..."
John stepped closer, his tone soft but firm. "No. You're a survivor. Living proof that even rot couldn't erase Malenia's will. You are her legacy. And now, you get to choose what that means."
He extended a hand. "So, Millicent. What do you want to do?"
She stared at his hand for a long time, as though weighing the world in her palm. Then, her gaze lifted to his. "I think… I want to find her," she said quietly. "My mother. I want to meet her… see her with my own eyes. I want to understand her."
John's smile widened, warm and sincere. "That's the spirit. Rest, eat up. Because tomorrow, we move on. And you're free to come with us as long as you want."
"I'd like that," she said, smiling faintly.
"She was left to rot," Marika whispered again, this time softer, almost tender. "And yet thou brought her home. Thank thee, mine Champion…"
He smiled faintly, murmuring under his breath, "Don't mention it."
A loud, exaggerated cough broke the quiet.
Both turned toward the sound.
Melina stood there, one hand pinching the bridge of her nose, her face twisted with mock disgust. "You two bonding is adorable," she said in a nasal tone. "But you still smell like Caelid. Go. Take. A. Bath."
Millicent blinked rapidly. "I uh… Y-Yes! O-Of course!"
John burst into laughter, the heaviness in the air finally breaking.
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Author's Note:
Next stop… Limgrave! Where we'll meet a certain Good Boy!
Also finally reached Stormveil and Margit in the stockpile lmao, took longer than I thought…
Anyways, stones please.
…
Next Chapter Title: Who is Marika, to You?
…
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