The moment Eligius opened the oak door, Artorias was welcomed by the beautifully decorated parlour room.
The room was decorated with a stone fireplace and walls covered in dark wood panelling. Above, the plaster ceiling was adorned with intricate geometric patterns, while antique portraits of serious-looking men and women hung on the walls.
And there, seated in a high-backed wing chair before the mullioned windows, was his saviour.
He wore a of forest-green gown, with golden stripes. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, a porcelain cup in one hand and a leather-bound book in the other. He didn't look up immediately, letting the silence stretch.
Eligius cleared his throat, a soft, polite sound. "My Lord, your guest has arrived."
For a moment, the man continued reading. Then, slowly, he closed the book, placed it on the tea table, and raised his eyes. His expression was unreadable.
"Ah, Eligius," he said, his voice smooth. "Thank you. You may return the tray to the kitchen."
It was a dismissal, soft but absolute. Eligius bowed, collected the silver tray from the side table, and left, closing the door with a soft click.
Artorias stood alone in the center of the room, his hands twitching at his sides. He felt painfully out of place, a jagged shard of prison filth in a room made of silk and velvet.
"Artorias," the man said, gesturing to the empty armchair opposite him. "Care to take a seat?"
Artorias nodded and sat.
"I know you have questions," the man said, breaking the silence. "They are swirling on your tongue. Ask."
Artorias let out a shaky breath. "I have so many questions, so many things that's munching my mind... but one matters most." He looked the nobleman in the eye. "Why? Why did you help me?"
Petasius smiled. It was a faint, amused smile. "I promised you an answer, didn't I? But I cannot illuminate the entire path at once. Let us say... you are special, Artorias."
"Special?" Artorias scoffed.
"Not by blood," Petasius corrected quickly. "And certainly not by talent. You are special because of what you have endured. Most men break under the weight you have carried. They die after such horrors or they want to kill themselves to end their misery. But you?" He leaned forward, his crimson eyes gleaming. "You are still standing. That is why I saved you."
Artorias stared at him, stunned. For a year, he had been called a rat, a pig, a weakling. To be called special... it was almost umbelievable.
"That is... one reason," Artorias managed to say, his voice rough. "What are the others?"
"Soon," Petasius said, leaning back. "Trust me. The rest will come in time. For now, we must establish an understanding."
"Understand?" Artorias snapped, his frustration finally boiling over. "You speak in riddles! You helped me enter the city, bring me to a manor, and refuse to tell me why! Do you think I feel safe? Do you think I feel grateful when I am left in the dark?"
Petasius sighed. "I understand your fear. But before you ask "Why should I?", think about the situation. I saved you and brought you into my manor. You are fed. You are clothed. You are safe. Do I not deserve a little of trust?"
"Trust?!" Artorias shot up from his chair, his hands trembling with rage. "I made a guard trust me in that prison! I looked him in the eye, made him think I was his friend, and then I used him to burn that place to the ground! How do I know I am not the one being played this time?"
Petasius didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just watched Artorias with that same terrifying calm.
"You make a fair point," he admitted quietly. "I cannot guarantee your safety. So, I will offer you honesty instead."
He set his cup down with a loud clink.
"Yes, Artorias. I am planning to use you. I will use you as for my own goals. But in return, you will use me. I have the resources, the knowledge, and the power you lack. You have the rage and the will I require. This is not charity. It is a transaction."
Artorias stood frozen, the breath caught in his throat.
"Is that not fair?" Petasius continued, his voice dropping an octave. "I helped you escape. I hid you. And now, I offer to make you strong enough to slaughter the men who killed your parents. Is that not enough?"
"That is the problem!" Artorias cried out. "What is your plan? Who are you targeting? You know my motivation, I want them to suffer! But what do you want?"
The amusement vanished from Petasius's face, replaced by a coldness that lowered the temperature of the room.
"Similar things," he whispered. "I want revenge, too. Against those who ruined something precious to my family long ago."
He stood up, towering over Artorias.
"Artorias, in the end, we both want the same thing. But the problem is that you have to trust me. Otherwise, you have no way out. You have no one else to rely on, nowhere else to go. You have been abandoned by this world, and I am your only pillar. So... here is my offer. Accept my hand, or leave. But know this: if you leave, you die a beggar. If you stay... you will have what you desire."
Artorias opened his mouth to argue, to scream, to curse this arrogant noble. But the words died in his throat.
"So that's it," Artorias muttered, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "I am just a pawn to you."
Petasius said nothing. His silence was the only confirmation Artorias needed.
Artorias closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and hardened his heart. If he had to be a tool to get his revenge, then he would be the sharpest blade this man had ever held.
"Fine," Artorias said, opening his eyes. They were cold now. "Have it your way. But hear this, Lord Petasius. I am not your slave. I have walked through hell, and I will not bow to you just because you own the roof over my head. I will cooperate. I will be useful. And you will serve my purpose in return. A transaction, as you called it. Do we agree?"
Petasius studied him for a long moment before he nodded.
"A transaction," he agreed. "Then let us begin."
He extended a hand.
Artorias looked at the gloved hand, then up at the crimson eyes of his savior. He gripped it firmly.
"One last thing," Artorias said, not letting go.
"Name it."
"Your name. The full one. I won't call my accomplice 'Lord'."
Petasius smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Fair enough. My name is Valerius. Valerius Petasius."
"Valerius," Artorias whispered the name. He then nodded slowly. "At least I learned one true thing today. Valerius Petasius... my ally. And my accomplice."