Chapter Text
1.
The golden glow of the Erdtree mixed with the soft hues of late afternoon, a would-be fanciful scene, were it not for the terrible ache in Rogier’s back. The smooth air about Limgrave allowed him some relief, fleeting as it were, but it was certainly no miracle cure. He cursed his own stubborn nature, bitterly reminding himself that “No, Rogier, fine leather boots are not well suited for days on end travelling, you utter fool.”
“Would you stop your pouting?” A muffled voice calls out in front of him.
“I didn’t say anything,” Rogier had in fact been pouting, but that was no business of his travelling companion, “how do you know I am?”
“You get a walk about you, like a dog with his tail between his legs.” He looks up at the back of a rather unsympathetic gold helmet.
Though, Rogier had to agree with him on that. He feels quite like a sad puppy that's been thrown into a lake and left to swim back to shore. The him in question was D, a dear friend, and the man who had so cruelly subjected him to walking all the way from the Mistwood to Stormhill. Though, it would be a lie to say he had no stake in this journey.
It was rather peculiar, the circumstances under which they travelled together. Two Tarnished, differing so starkly, yet united by their interest in Death. They’d known each other two, nearly three years now, although it felt like much longer. In truth, Rogier suspects he knows D better than anyone else in the Lands Between. Knows his quirks, how he walks and how he talks, how he fights and—what can surely be considered the most secret of the secrets Rogier was privy to—how he smiles.
But, if he's to be completely honest, reminiscing over good company isn't really at the forefront of his mind. Instead, it is his sore, stiff legs, the relentless bloody ache in the centre of his back and the pangs of hunger eating at his stomach.
"It's getting awfully dark,” Rogier hopes the polite tone of his voice is at least somewhat persuasive, “wouldn't it be best to light a fire for the night?"
D stops walking to turn around and face him. Rogier is almost surprised the front of his helmet hasn’t melted off, with the scowl that he certainly must be receiving.
“Just a suggestion, my friend.”
“A poor one, there’s little to no cover and we’re by the main road. Are you asking to be ambushed?”
“I don't see any danger about! Unless you consider a few birds some great threat." He makes a point of throwing his arms out and looking around. "Besides, I'm starving. You wouldn't hold a man's food from him, would you?"
"When I'm the one making the food, yes, I would." D turns to start walking again.
"Fair point." He huffs and follows suit, if only a little more deflated.
Suddenly, D's arm shoots out to the side, Rogier nearly walking smack into him at the motion. He holds his head above D’s arm, looking at the road ahead from under his floppy hat.
“Wait." D's voice was a whisper
"Is that… a carriage? It looks abandoned."
Rogier tries to sidestep him to take a closer look.
"Don't. Things that are abandoned are left as such for a reason."
Rogier promptly proceeds to ignore his advice, making his way over to the carriage with little caution. It isn't that he doesn't believe D—after all, he was generally right about these sorts of things—it was more so that he’s been craving anything exciting for the last few days, his mind feeling dreadfully understimulated. As a result, he finds himself quite fascinated with what could possibly be in the back of a broken-down carriage. One takes what he can get, he supposes.
By the looks of it, the carriage is of Stormveil make. Or, had at least been bound for the castle, stopped by someone or something on its way. Rogier thinks he catches a familiar smell when inspecting the carriage’s cargo, being careful not to make too much of a mess.
“Sorcerer Rogier, reduced to that of a petty thief.” He jumps, making a frankly embarrassing noise in his fright.
“I am not.” He hisses at the other, receiving a small laugh in return, much to his chagrin.
D settles beside him, leaning his back on the carriage wall. He'd never admit it, but Rogier has good reason to think D is just as exhausted as he is from all their walking.
He rummages through the cargo for a while longer before he finds the source of the smell. It was just as he'd thought. Several ornate bottles filled with red drink sit neatly in a wooden box. He feels a grin turn at the corners of his mouth.
Rogier rarely drank, being quite the lightweight in reality. But something seems to have switched in his brain, shifting out of ‘sensible, aspiring scholar’ into ‘impulsive lark with no regard for consequences’. And, as of right now, there seemed no thing more appealing to him than the gold-lined bottle in his hand. He's no thief, of course. No, it seems entirely moral to take from a carriage with its wheels broken by some monstrous creature and left on the side of the road. Yes, definitely moral, and not at all stealing.
He nods to himself in an attempt at affirmation, and holds the bottle out behind him, giving it a shake for emphasis. The gesture is met with a disappointing silence, at which Rogier looks over his shoulder, expecting to see D. Instead, he's given an empty road, accompanied by an equally empty spot on the carriage wall.
“…D?”
“Move!” Rogier feels a sharp jab to his side before he finds himself tumbling to the ground.
The sound of glass shattering rings out near him, spilling the wine. He looks up, prepared to ask just what in the hell D might’ve done that for, only to see him brandishing his sword, a dead demi-human at the end of it. Rogier gasps as he's roughly pulled off the ground, slightly winded.
An ear-ringing chorus of screams scatters around them. Rogier struggles to grab his rapier and staff, fumbling about his belongings. The rhythmic sound of glintstone sorcery mixed with the clean slicing of D’s blade. He’d gotten off to a rough start, but fighting alongside the other was familiar, a pattern easily fallen into.
There were only a few demi-humans, and the two deal with them relatively quickly. Although, Rogier still finds himself short of breath by the time they're done.
“It nearly had your head off, Rogier. You damn fool.” D kicks away some sorry looking shards of glass.
“And it’s thanks to you that my lovely head remains firmly attached to my shoulders, my ever-valiant knight.” Rogier replies in a partly genuine tone, patting down the back of his legs in an attempt at ridding himself of dirt. To little avail, he finds.
“Must you be so—”
“Careless? Frustrating? A right pain in the arse?” He fixes his hat, walking back toward D and the carriage. “Oh, don’t let my words interrupt you, dear.”
He responds with no more than an annoyed huff. If his face were not hidden, Rogier is sure he would’ve scored an eyeroll as well.
Amidst everything else, they’d failed to notice the rapidly fading light of day. The glow of the Erdtree does not permit a true, dark night— but without the sun, a chill settles in the breeze. Rogier moves to collect whatever’s left in the box.
“Ah, it would seem not all is lost! Most of this is still in-tact.” He announces.
“We don’t have all night, Rogier.”
“First, you say it's too dangerous to make a camp, and then it's that you want me to hurry up so that you can light a fire." He turns, two bottles in hand. "Very indecisive, D."
"Unless you want to be left freezing and starved, I'd suggest you stop talking." D's words are harsh, but there's no real venom behind them. Rogier smiles and shakes his head.
"Alright, alright."
He hurries to catch up with D, who is already looking for a place to set up for the night.
The night was still, Rogier is sure, but it's difficult to focus on over the sound of his own laughter. He's drunk. Rather drunk. And apparently, that meant just about all that is said seems funnier than any joke he's ever heard.
D sits quietly by the fire, contrastingly sober. His choice not to drink couldn't bother Rogier less, but he decides it some incredible injustice on D's part not to join in on his fun.
"Dance with me." Rogier nearly topples over himself as he bends down, offering out a hand.
"Absolutely not."
"You mustn't be so uptight! Come now, D." He frowns, looking down at D with an expression caught between pleading and playful. "Have a little fun, won't you?"
The other looks up at him for a moment, clearly weighing his options. He's taken off most of his armour, changing into far less cumbersome attire. The firelight reflects almost hypnotically in D's sharp eyes, as they shine with a laugh.
"When did you become so persuasive?" He stands up, taking Rogier's hand.
"Put it down to my natural charm." Rogier beams, linking his arm with D's.
He begins to hum, which turns into an odd song of laughs and half-mumbled words, as he spins the both of them around in circles about the fire. They must look utterly ridiculous, but he can't find it in himself to care. D seems content enough to let this small act of indulgence slide, anyway.
He attempts one final spin, losing his balance in the process and sending them both to the ground. Luckily, Rogier manages to shove his arms out in front of him and stops them from knocking heads. When he looks down at D, Rogier feels himself blink once or twice, stunned. If he was to lean but a hair closer, perhaps their noses would brush. He can feel D's breath ghost his face with every exhale. Though, he doesn't dare move.
Not to bring them closer. Not to press his lips to the other's, no matter how soft they seem. He just stares. Stares into D's eyes, into his heart. He's almost overwhelmed by it. And maybe—if it was no trick of the moon or Rogier's own drunken brain—he sees him smile. Genuine and soft.