Chapter Text
The rise of the new Elden Lord was an age fraught with conflict… though not to an extent that mirrored that of The Shattering. It was an age of surprise, for The Lands Between was so used to war that it expected war. But no war came. There was no seat that opposed the coming of the new Lord; no military that marched to assert their power; no warlords that raised arms in an attempt to bring that new age a premature end.
Indeed, my mentor, the Tarnished had made many dangerous enemies on his conquest for the Elden Throne… but he also made many loyal friends. These friends went on to forge unbreakable alliances with him, uniting The Lands Between—the ruin-strewn Limgrave, the rot-ridden Caelid, the boggy Liurnia, the fiery Mt. Gelmir, the golden Altus Plateau, the freezing peaks of the Mountaintops of the Giants, even the darkness of the twin eternal cities—bringing forth an age of unity in this shattered world. Nobody would have thought that the Battle for the Burning Erdtree would be the last of the great battles. It was an era many thought only existed in dreams—even our primordial ancestors, preceding the Greater Will, who sought the same unity with their blades and staves.
But not even an age of where demigods and men lived in unity could turn blades and staves obsolete.
I, Finlay, Queen of the Haligtree, and consort to Malenia, the happily dethroned Goddess of Rot, may be a warlord no longer, but now I am a peacekeeper.
Although the great monarchs and rulers of The Lands Between pledged their loyalty to the new Elden Lord, there remains those that still lived within the banished age—insurgents from the golden city whose swords remained firmly on the side of the defeated Radagon; small, scattered groups of sycophants blinded still by the false light of the toppled Golden Order; and the undying plague of Bloody Fingers, headless but relentless still, feeding the Formless Mother the blood of their very ilk. And who could forget the ravenous fauna of The Lands Between whose hunger yearns for the flesh of unsuspecting prey? They were the enemies of our newfound age—the reason why my Malenia and I can never truly retire our hands from our bloody art.
The bands of slippery rebel groups were far beneath our status—more suited for the Haligtree’s armies to clean up. Our blades were instead reserved, by order of the Elden Lord, for the neutering of their leaders—champions of sorceries, incantations, and the blade, the last of the great warriors of old. They were champions no mere soldier could fell, and thus it was up to my consort and I to terminate them. We were ordered to act with mercy (for the story of the Lord Tarnished’s conquest for the Elden Throne was told by countless tales and ballads, speaking of his mercy, earning him the title of the Merciful), but unlike our new Lord, mercy was a luxury we could not grant. It was how the Haligtree operated ever since it was a little sapling.
Our moons were filled with marching and bloodshed. It was a tiring life, drawing our blades so that others may stay sheathed. It was the most honest form of work... at least Malenia certainly thought so.
I missed the Haligtree. We rarely saw our great home anymore, and the homesickness gripped my every waking moment. Malenia, on the other hand… if she did miss home, she was doing an extraordinary job hiding it. Not once had she complained about the long marches, nor missing the home that awaited her return.
This was Malenia as a soldier—a master at work, enchanted by a sort of trance. Miquella had warned me about this side of her. She was an overworker, and she would find a way to slay the very air if she was ordered to. It made sense, for one must be married to their art if one is to receive thunderous infamy such as she who has never known defeat, a title that rang true for thousands of moons… Of course, I knew my consort to be a beast that could take a thousand blows, but I worry for her, nonetheless.
We were taken by the leg of our blades to the Consecrated Snowfields—very close to home—to exterminate a misbegotten champion of the Golden Order, wielding a sword fashioned by Radagon himself. It wasn’t a difficult fight, but my mind had been distracted during the battle.
We were so close to the Haligtree, and my homesickness roared a mighty cry. Longing for rest and in a constant worry for Malenia’s health, I decided to speak with the Elden Lord by way of St. Trina, requesting that we lay down our blades for but a moment. Much to my delight, we received the Elden Lord’s blessing, and were granted a few generous moons back in the Haligtree—our home.
Much work had been done while Malenia and I were away from the Haligtree. Miquella was an avid renovator, it would seem.
Miquella, too, had been extremely busy ever since the dawn of the new age. Ever the cunning, silver-tongued child he was, the Empyrean requested to “borrow” the Rune of Purity from the completed Elden Ring. It was given to him by Lord Tarnished on a bargain: he would use it to cleanse The Lands Between of the remaining Scarlet Rot. Although Malenia believed this exchange to stem from the goodness of her brother’s heart, my personal theory appeals to the utter shamelessness of the child. He had been the bearer of the Rune of Purity for thousands of moons, and he would be bearer again. Miquella was unafraid of anything after all—not Mohg, not the Formless Mother, not his parents, Radagon and Marika, not the Greater Will, and most definitely not the Lord Tarnished, whom he swore loyalty to. He dared ignite the wrath of the Tarnished the moment he emerged from his cocoon by denying him the Rune of Purity; he dared ignite it again by asking the Tarnished to shatter the newly mended Elden Ring on the day of his coronation.
But despite his boldness outweighing his own Empyrean body, Miquella was a child of his word. When Malenia and I left, the Haligtree was wrought with scarlet rot. Now its leaves, branches, bark, and roots, along with all its inhabitants, were free from the terrible affliction, making it the homeliest it has ever been.
I certainly found it refreshing to not be breathing the spores of scarlet rot every second I spend there. Every breath I took refreshed my soul, and I caught my Malenia taking long, deep inhalations, followed by an exhale of comfort as she gazed at the daunting cliffs of the south from our high window.
“’Tis wonderful to be home, is it not, dearest Malenia?” I asked as I decoupled my armor, removing it piece by piece from my body.
“I would be lying if I said I didn’t.” Malenia said after shedding her steel down to a tunic, carelessly scattering it across the floor for me to clean later. I sighed. I ought to hire a cleaner to follow her around. She was always so slovenly. “It’s been an age since my body was bled dry as it is. These past few moons have shown me battles fit for many lifetimes… but returning home does alleviate a bit of weight from my chest. I can feel my battle wounds healing already.”
“Did you miss the battlefield, dearest?” I mounted my armor on a stand, my stand, next to Malenia’s empty one. I took a seat, feeling the sinking depths of our bed after many moonlit nights of absence.
“Of course. It’s been a thousand moons since I could properly taste the glory of victory.” Malenia turned around, leaning on the windowsill to face me. “But the call of the battlefield cannot replicate the pleasures of home… even if it’s momentary.”
I giggled, freeing my wine-red hair from my sweat-washed coif. I laid down on my arms, and the mattress’ warmth swallowed my very being. “Matrimonial life has made you weak, Malenia. You've lost the pins that affixed your blade to your hands, like rusty tang to a rotten grip.”
“I’ve simply divided my attention, dear.” Malenia approached the bed, resting her hands on the deep mattress, her sultry golden eyes piercing deep into mine, attacking my heart with that stifling smile. Her fiery crimson hair fell like a curtain, marring the sunbeams that entered from the window, tainting them with a shade of red. “Or would you rather I took off on my own, fulfill the wishes of our Lord Tarnished instead of wasting away in my matrimonial life that you so claimed to make me weak?”
“Come here, and I dare you to tell me that again!” I grabbed her nape and shoulders, wrestling her onto the bed, making her roll on her back. We laugh together before staring into each other's eyes in peaceful silence. After a century of quiet breathing, I pulled her close, claiming her lips, and we shared a kiss that was ever so gentle. Not even a thousand moons of ownership could satiate my appetite for Malenia’s softness, a quality not even the grandest of beds could best.
“I can hardly wait to sleep tonight away.” Malenia said as she tossed, facing the ceiling, while I remained draped on her chest. “Nothing in The Lands Between refreshes me more than stretching my legs on the dawn of a new morn’, confined in the comforts of our bedchamber.”
“My Malenia, you don’t have legs.”
“It’s an expression, dear.” Malenia giggled, rising high. “Come, Finlay. Miquella and our people await us in Elphael.”
She pulled me up, but I resisted, wrapping my hands around Malenia’s neck, hanging the full weight of my concupiscent body. “If they’ve waited this long, surely they can wait a while longer?” I smiled amorously.
“That hook has lost its worm, Finlay.” Said Malenia, rolling her eyes. It was clear from the way she was fighting down the stretching of her lips that she was tempted. All I must do was press her further—more… assertively. “Now stop fooling around, Miquella’s—”
And press her, I did. The Lands Between knew Malenia as an Empyrean swordstress of unrivalled skill, and unparalleled strength, a warrior without a weakness. But indeed, she had a weakness, one very few knew of, one that made her astoundingly easy to quell and dominate.
That weakness was I.
I pushed her down, silencing her complaints as I mercilessly took her neck, letting her suffer every crippling blow my lips could deliver. Malenia offered little resistance to my advance, and she surrendered without a fight. My fingers took the liberty of exploring the skin under her cloth. And every single day, like a scouting party treading where there be dragons, they would learn something knew about her—a new spot to play with, for example, maybe a particularly sensitive stretch of skin. Her umbilical wound, I found, was excessively erogenous—knowledge I took advantage of most avariciously. Malenia’s body was simply full of surprises—territory so vast, I’ve never truly explored it to completion, even after a thousand moons of losing myself in her!
“F-Finlay…” Her voice was restrained. I could tell she just wanted to howl out. “In our long march home, I’ve failed to cleanse myself. I—I fear I might not be to your liking.”
“My Malenia, you’re always to my liking. A bit of grime doesn’t ruin your scent or taste, dear.”
***
Needless to say, our short engagement of fun had us arriving late at our welcoming festival, and Miquella was quite unhappy about it. Nevertheless, we were welcomed home with great praise and esteem, and our names were sung with stories of heroism and valor. It was invigorating to see the Haligtree’s people so lively in song and applause. There was food and cheers aplenty! It was an occasion that put even the festivals held for the Golden Order to shame—an occasion, I should add, that we didn’t ask for. It was organized by the inhabitants of the Haligtree in worship of us, their Lords.
Malenia was certainly happy, evident from her glowing expression throughout that eventful day. It showed her how much she meant to the people of the Haligtree, how highly they thought of her, and how thankful they were to her as their goddess and protector.
It was a reminder to her that she was really, truly home.
The festivities went on deep into the night, and I could see hundreds of tiny, colored lights dotting the streets along the body of the Haligtree, and Elphael, where my soldiers enjoy drinks and harlotry after many moons of ceaseless battles and marching.
As for Malenia and I, we decided to retire for the night. It has been a long time since my Malenia had slept on a bed, and she was elated to wallow in their comforts again, so much so that she fell asleep as soon as her pillow cradled her weary head.
I, on the other hand, had energy still left to cast. Thus, I spent the hours wandering the peaceful outskirts of our hanging manor, accompanied by marble statues, flowers of gold and silver, and the ever-present buzz of the festivities far below the Haligtree. It was a chilly night, as the Consecrated Snowfields blew its cold winds north to greet us in our return home, and I was beginning to regret wearing nothing over my thin nightgown.
“It’s rare to see you up so late, Finlay.” From the top of a silver arch came the voice of a nosy child. I rolled my eyes with a smile, quickening my pace, but the boy simply teleported in front of me after smiting my path with a flash of gold. “By this hour, usually, you would be making sure dear Malenia is well accompanied in her sleep.”
I ignored him and continued walking.
“She dreams about you, you know.” Another flash of gold ascended from the skies, like lightning bolts striking for the sole purpose of pestering me. The flash landed on marble balustrade, and from it appeared St. Trina, sitting on the smited marble, hanging her bare feet over the abyss. Brilliant, there’s two of them. “Big, open meadow of flowers, silver and gold, no other soul in sight but two enamored lambkins.” She spoke each word with vexing eyes and a smile of mockery. “No words, just silence. No action, just lips of hunger devouring each o—”
I’ve had enough. I walked up to St. Trina and shoved her spine without warning, dropping her off the Haligtree. Miquella, who watched me push her twin goddess off, wore the exact same expression as she did a moment ago. It was alarming how nonexistent his concern was for his twin half, given that she was currently plummeting hundreds of feet each second.
“I love what you’ve done with the place.” I tried changing the conversation’s subject as I continued on with my nightly stroll, acting as though I hadn’t just attempted deicide. “I half-expected the cunning but conniving Miquella to utterly disregard his end of the bargain in the accord for the Rune of Purity.”
“Finlay, you wound me!” Miquella pretended to be hurt in a dramatic fashion. “I may possess a tongue of silver, but my heart is smithed with the purest of gold!”
A crashing sound exploded behind me, like shattering glintstone crystals, illuminating my path a bright yellow for a fractured second. “And it would be unbecoming of me, as a Lord of the Haligtree, to be so inhospitable as to not clean up on the day her queens returned.” St. Trina had teleported behind me, unscathed from my attempted assassination.
Before I could walk under a low-hanging branch, the twins had teleported to it with another flash of gold, shaking off a few leaves: Miquella hanging inverted from his legs, holding his twin half by her wrists as she swung back and forth.
“Scarlet rot is terribly unromantic, after all.” Miquella said.
St. Trina spoke right after, “And what atrocious in-laws would we be if we fail to deliver an idyllic furlough for the Haligtree’s royal lovebirds?”
“So, away with the scarlet rot, we say!” Miquella shouted as he and his twin half flipped into the air, landing in front of me, posing like acrobats that stuck their landing, bowing low.
“And love is soon to follow.” St. Trina smirked made a smirk. There were moments I wondered if her birth occurred only to aggravate me.
I pushed past the twin halves. “I presume you’re not here exclusively to mock me?”
“Is it so wrong for a sibling to seek time with each other, free from ulterior motives?” Miquella asked as he spun around with St. Trina in his hands, locked in an amateur’s pirouette.
Their playful dance concluded with the two merging into each other, and Miquella was consumed, disappearing into St. Trina’s body. She frowned and pouted, speaking, “Why must you be so wary of me, dear sister?”
Miquella and St. Trina were well-nigh mirror images of one another, and it was exceptionally difficult to tell them apart (had they not worn the flowers of their namesake on their golden hair, that is). They even wore the same white lace peplos—something I theorize was purposeful to further confuse their beholders. They found it amusing to watch their worshippers struggle to tell them apart.
Much to Miquella and St. Trina’s annoyance, however, I have lived with them long enough that I’ve honed my perception to perfection, allowing me to distinguish them from each other using the little details that were unique to each of them. Miquella’s voice, for example, being the more masculine half of the same being, had an ever-so-slightly deeper pitch than St. Trina; St. Trina’s eyelashes were more pronounced and arched; Miquella’s pale skin was less silky than his twin half; St. Trina’s golden hair was slightly dirtier than Miquella’s; and so on.
“Because you carry with you the redolence of business wherever you go, disguising it under the cloak of unyielding mischief that you so love to inflict upon dear Malenia and I.” I crossed my arms.
“Are you saying my aroma offends you, dear sister?” Said St. Trina, donning a displeased expression.
“What? I didn’t—"
“Quite rude a rude thing to say to a goddess, is it not?” A smite of gold from the sky struck the marble path behind me. It was a shame Miquella knew exactly how to embarrass me. “Does your boorishness also remark on Malenia’s scent whenever you’re intertwined in bed?”
Yes. “NO!” I lied, sighing, and massaging my forehead with a hand. “That’s not what I meant.”
Miquella giggled. “I jest, Finlay, I jest. You know me well.”
“We do face a serious problem. Your intuition spoke true, Finlay.” Confirmed St. Trina. “I believe it is of grave concern to you and me, and we are the only parties that can give remedy to this problem.”
“Go on.” I spoke.
“It’s Malenia.” Miquella continued. “She told me in confidence that she wishes to return to the battlefield as soon as she can, despite her furlough. You must not let her.”
“W-what?” I scrunched my forehead, shaking it a little at this silly proposition. “I fail to see what serious problem we’re supposed to be gravely concerned with.”
“Oh, come now, Finlay!” St. Trina sounded chafed, as though my response was worthy of the Haligtree’s death sentence. “You of all people should be most outraged by this!”
“Don’t you want to spend more time with her?” Miquella held his waists, giving me a look that put my love for Malenia into question. The two children could star in comedies and tragedies.
“If she wants to return to the battlefield, then let her.” I leaned against balustrade, my bare feet crunching the fallen vermilion leaves as I crossed my arms. “I shall follow her to every corner of The Lands Between anyway; I’ll be with her regardless.”
“In battle!” The twin gods said in unison.
“What use is your time together if you spend every hour locked in mortal combat?”
“Here in the Haligtree, you two have each other all to yourselves!”
“Of course, I’ll be there as well.”
“But what matters is you two are at home, thinking not of battle, but of rejuvenation.”
At this point they were starting to sound like flies buzzing in my ears. “Alright! Alright, you made your point. It’d be a shame to let our few short moons to ourselves go to waste.”
Miquella smirked. “I knew you’d understand, dear Finlay.”
“But what am I to do? If her mind is set to return at once to the battlefield, how am I to sway her?”
“Her mind may be set, but her heart isn’t.” St. Trina said.
Followed by Miquella, “Spend time with our dearest Malenia. Take her around the Haligtree. Allow her to experience things, see what she may enjoy. Remove the battlefield from her mind, and she will stay.”
The twin gods were right. Malenia is a warrior of old, still living in a past fraught with conflict and bloodshed, while the blades of the present were no longer a primary necessity. She was bronze in a world of iron, and if she were to continue walking that path for hundreds of moons more, no doubt she too would fade to obsolescence. I have no doubt this is what Miquella was trying to tell me. Like I, he puts Malenia’s welfare above all. And although he cleverly disguised his words with romance and mischief (it’s a negotiation tactic the shrewd Empyrean employs, where he carefully puts his bargaining partner on a pedestal next to everything she wished to gain), I believe it to be his way of communicating his concern to me:
In a world where blades gathered dust on shelves, even the sharpest of edges were destined to rust.
But what exactly would a swordstress of infamy enjoy? Take the sword away from us, and we become a husk, devoid of practicality. Champions like us, despite our reputation, are shallow creatures, and we sought few hobbies outside of the blade. It was a monumental challenge in my way, one Knight Finlay, Queen of the Haligtree, was determined to scale!
***
The following day, I sought to introduce Malenia to the life of the middle-class. Although I am a queen today, I spent my childhood and adolescence as any citizen of The Lands Between would have—those relinquished of power and riches. My father was a knight, and so was his father before him, and his father before him. Naturally, as his only daughter, I too would become a knight. But in between sparring matches, bruises, and dreadful training, I helped my mother with housework such as cleaning, cooking, and errands. They feel like lifetimes ago…
After a swift bout of morning entertainment, Malenia and I got dressed. She wrapped herself with a white smock under a golden kirtle, one that took advantage of her statuesque figure. I couldn’t help but stare at her voluptuous shape, and she would give me a deathly stare every time she caught me. I wore something similar, weaved with linen of washed crimson. It complemented the bloody waves of my hair.
“Finlay, dearest, you’ve failed to tell me where we are destined.”
“We are to go shopping, dear.” I told her. She looked at me bizarrely, as though the word shopping was a word unfamiliar to our language. “In case you’ve forgotten, even a goddess is cursed by hunger.”
“Can’t we get a servant to do it?” Malenia whined.
“No, Malenia. I’m teaching you to live for yourself.”
Malenia grumbled. “And here I thought the perils of a battlefield were stressful…”
Just below the Haligtree’s canopy was a spiraling town braced by the great trunk: the Haligtree Town. It was a busy morning, and many creatures of varying shapes, sizes, and races were sweating under the cool winds blown from the Consecrated Snowfields, hauling carts of prey and produce. I saw misbegotten smiths working with unalloyed gold, crafting plates that would soon be molded into armor; there were Tarnished too, and I watched one herding sheep back into their pen; It wasn’t surprising to see a giant troll without a master walking up the sloped streets, shaking the stonework, slinging a net of fish over his shoulder—a rare sight for the rest of The Lands Between, maybe, for trolls had been a slave race for many ages, but not the Haligtree.
Our presence among the middle-class was an uncommon sight. For an entire age, Malenia rarely left the roots of the Haligtree, while I spent most of the time with my soldiers in Elphael, so their stares were understandable. It was as though they were seeing a pair of ghosts among them. Some would even cease what they were doing just to call their families to stare alongside them.
“Finlay?” Malenia scuttled closer to me, darting her eyes around cautiously. “Why are they… staring at us?”
I chuckled low. “We’re two royals walking down a street of commoners. Of course they’d stare.”
“U-um… Lord Malenia?”
Malenia’s body stiffened, and she twirled around with deadly eyes, the same colorless eyes that watched body after body fall, instinctively reaching just above her left waist where her sword would have been resting had she worn her armor. Standing behind her, she found a small albinauric child riding a wolf cub. She was holding a bouquet of assorted lilies. Malenia let her guard down, letting her muscles relax, confusion dominating her expression.
“I had grown these in the moons of your absence. My father is a foot soldier in the Albinauric Cavalry, and he rides proud to this day because of your guidance.” The albinauric child presented the bouquet of flowers. “Please, accept this humble offering as a token of my family’s eternal gratitude!”
“Uh…” Was everything Malenia could respond with. She was visibly in a panic. It was clear she wasn’t used to the face of worship and kindness.
She eventually turned to me, her eyes screaming for help. I smiled and nodded, “Go on, take it.”
Malenia gulped, hesitantly accepting the gift. “Thank you… child.”
Of course, many of the Haligtree’s inhabitants had soldiers in their families—Cleanrot Knights, the Haligtree Soldiers, the Albinauric Cavalry, Demi-human Brigade, and the Misbegotten Warriors. Although Lord Miquella forced no one to fight, he placed great honor among the protectors of the Haligtree, and those that fought for his name. And what better horizons could any creature of The Lands Between strive for than honor—honor for the Haligtree, honor for Lord Miquella, and honor for their proud race! Miquella was a warrior at heart, after all, and he knew how to make warriors.
“Lord Malenia, please accept our gifts as well!” An old Tarnished shambled over, carrying a basket of fruits and vegetables. “My daughter is a Cleanrot Knight, and she spoke highly of you! How you saved her many times!”
“Ours too, Lord Malenia!”
“We are forever in debt to you!”
Malenia had gathered a crowd of gift-givers, and they overwhelmed my poor consort with kindness. She could hide it no longer. Her face was red, she was distressed, and she could not figure out what to do. She could fight and conquer the vassal of an Outer God (she had fought and conquered TWO at this point), but she would collapse every single time under the weight of compassion. She looked at me, hoping for assistance, but I remained far, smiling at her misery.
Eventually, the crowd dispersed, and we continued along our way. The sheer volume of gifts we received left us no choice but to rent a cart for inventory. What an unexpected morning it was, to be greeted with such tenderness from the people, considering we were merely walking to a bakery.
The bakery we entered was run by an old demi-human. We had heard talk of it during our march back home from the Consecrated Snowfields. Two Albinauric sisters discussing a bakery near the branches of the Haligtree, whose bread rivalled even the bakers of gods! Naturally, I had to take my Malenia for a visit. We left our voluminous cart of gifts—heaved by a friendly troll who offered to tow it for us—just outside to alleviate us of the baggage as we browsed the freshly baked goods within.
Malenia and I had to duck upon entry as the bakery door hadn’t been designed for the likes of towering creatures like us. The oversight could be easily forgiven, however, for the smell of freshly baked pies immediately bombarded my nose. I could not recall the last time I’ve ever been in a bakery, and that toasty aroma of newly risen bread reminded me of my childhood. Oh, how exquisite!
There was bread of every kind! Shelved just in front of me were round breads, flat breads thin breads, white breads, brown breads, and black breads. On a basket near the counter held long, girthy breads. On a table deeper into the bakery was a ceramic bowl of dough, a sack of flour, a few eggs, a vase presumably filled with mixing water, and all the tools the demi-human needed to bake a masterpiece.
“Ohh!” An old demi-human purred. She had just withdrawn a pan from a flaming oven, nearly dropping it at the sight of us. Her voice was gentle and soft with age. “M’Lords! Do my old eyes deceive me?”
“Your eyes do not lie, demi-human. ‘Tis indeed us, your Lords.” I gave the aging demi-human a warm smile. “We heard great things about your bakery, and we hope the rumors do not betray our tongues.”
“O-of course, Queen Finlay! I run a humble establishment, but I sincerely hope you find our product to your liking.” Chuckled the excited demi-human. “P-please! Have a look around. I shall show you around.”
I navigated the little bakery, admiring the beautiful shapes and textures of bread. On the sill of an open window, six pies were left to cool, each emitting a different scent, indicating varying stuffings. I had eaten many pies as a young child, but I was unsure whether the pies of my youth were even comparable to these. I could not even recall a scent!
Hmm... which to buy?
I thought I’d ask Malenia for her opinion. Maybe she could sway my indecisive stomach.
But apparently, she had gone past swaying her stomach, and had already jumped to satisfying it.
“By the Gods... I don’t believe I’ve ever consumed bread so rich before.” She said in a warped voice, speaking in between chewing. Malenia had found the pastry shelf, snatched a custard fruit tart, and took a large bite out of it. “It’s sweet... but the fruits add acidity!” Malenia put the tart back where she found it, bite and all, and picked up a powdered cake embedded with strawberries, consuming half of it in one bite. “And the strawberries... heavenly! I can’t decide which is more flavorful.”
“Malenia!” I scolded.
“What?” Malenia looked at me with a puzzled look. “Are we not here to satiate hunger, dearest?”
The demi-human, who was understandably disturbed by Malenia’s appetite, walked up behind her. “Pardon me, M’lord, but will you be paying for th—”
Malenia had done it again—her battlefield reflexes were triggered. She dropped the powdered cake and unconsciously reached for her sword. But instead, she found a lengthy loaf of bread, tall as the demi-human, as she had been standing next to a basket filled with them. She swung the loaf by instinct, knocking over the basket, flinging bread across the bakery, and slashing the old demi-human's neck. She gargled and choked, falling to the floor, grasping her poor throat. Malenia’s swing was so powerful, it broke the bread in two. Had it been a real sword, the demi-human's head would have certainly rolled.
“MALENIA!” I shouted, rushing to the side of the fallen demi-human, cradling her head. “Are you alright?”
“Gods, I’m sorry!” Malenia, yet again, was panicking. She dropped the bread and helped the demi-human up. “I apologize! Sincerely! I’ve only been home a day; the battlefield still flows fresh in my blood.”
The demi-human was coughing. But not a moment too soon, we could identify laughter from the wheezing. “My... my... it’s certainly been... a while since... I received such... a crippling... blow...”
Malenia and I lifted the aging demi-human and rested her on a chair near a window, allowing the morning breeze to cool her down.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Do not worry about me, M’lords.” The demi-human shook her head. “I may be frail and ancient, but I was a proud soldier of the Demi-human Brigade in my youth.” She pointed behind us. Above the door, where her thin finger directed our eyes, was a falchion—the preferred weapon of demi-humans across The Lands Between. It was rusted, and its edge was deformed, a telltale sign that it had felled many foes in its day. “I’ve suffered many blows in my life. Though it would have been an honor, not even bread wielded by Lord Malenia will break these old bones!”
“We’re happy to see you well, master baker.” I bowed. “I hope we’re still welcomed in your humble bakery.”
“Of course you are, my Queen!” The old demi-human laughed. “It would be terribly destructive for business to disallow M’lords past through these doors. And please, it’s Margaux. Knight Margaux, it used to be. But I’m afraid it’s just Margaux now. These decaying arms can’t even lift my falchion anymore—all’s good for is mixing batter.”
“I’m sorry, master Margaux. Truly, I am.” Malenia sighed, utterly devastated. “I should have remained in the manor.”
“Don’t you apologize now, M’lord. I know what the itch of the battlefield is like.” Margaux was a very chipper old demi-human. She chuckled a lot, and it was quite a difficult image to picture such a hearty creature slaying foes on the battlefield in her youth... then again, neither was Malenia a textbook example of a knight in shining armor. Strip her of her unalloyed gold plating and her sword, and all that would be left is a woman that could barely walk without tripping over air. “Tell me, M’lord Malenia: Have you travelled ‘round the Haligtree as of late?”
“I’m afraid not.” Malenia said, still shamefully staring at the floor. “Whenever I am not fighting on the battle, I stay within mine abode. And if I were to be honest, I’d prefer to stay within mine abode. I’d rather sheathe myself than hazardously allow my sharp edge loose.”
“Oh, don’t let this little incident dissuade you, come now!” The demi-human took the repentant goddess’ golden hands. “Would you allow this old demi-human to take you, M’lord? You and Her Majesty, Finlay. I heard Lord Miquella is speaking at the Town Plaza this morning.”
“But...” Malenia tried to come up with an excuse, but failed.
“Come on, dearest. It’s the least you can do.” I grazed her true arm. I looked at Margaux, stating, “As for the bread, we’ll let Miquella pay for it.”
Master Margaux agreed, and she allowed us to leave with a few loaves of bread. Additionally, I was able to take a pie for later, and Malenia got to keep the pastries she had already bitten, as well as the long bread she split in two on master Margaux’s throat.
We departed from the bakery and took off. Master Margaux’s aging legs soon proved to be quite the problem, so she decided to ride on the back of Njal, our voluntary troll of burden. Much to my delight, Malenia had cheered up, and she was occupied by the many stories of our companions, the demi-human and the troll.
Master Margaux told tales of the sword and the kitchen—her two battlefields. We learned that she was born very far south, deep in the dark forests of the Weeping Peninsula, ruled by a nameless sovereign queen. The forest was relentless, filled with dull brutes with little to no remnants of intelligence. And so, she left on the long and dangerous journey to the Haligtree where she found her Knighthood, and eventually, upon retirement, started her bakery.
The troll, Njal, on the other hand, was born a slave on the Mountaintops, doomed to spend his life as a troll of burden for the cruel taskmasters that stole the mountains from his ancestors. He had escaped his chains as a young giant and spent a very long time on the run. Thanks to his white fur coat, he was able to disguise himself in snowstorms. He spent a lot of time in caves, either to hide or to take shelter. There he picked up the art of sculpting to pass the time—a talent he was able to sell to the peoples of the Haligtree. There was a statue of Malenia, Miquella, and Marika in the Haligtree Town Plaza. It was Njal’s handiwork.
It was refreshing to see Malenia conversating with people that aren’t Miquella nor I. There were very few creatures in The Lands Between that she would willingly talk to, and I was happy to see her expanding that list.
We made it at last to the Town Plaza. Our return festival was in full effect there too. Children were running around, stalls of food, trinkets, and entertainment drew crowds aplenty, and the festivalgoers were laughing and having a wonderful time. I even saw a ventriloquism stage depicting the Battle of Mohgwyn Palace. How playwrights even knew such a battle took place was beyond me, but it was quite amusing. It gathered many children, the demographic one could reasonably expect it could enchant.
At the far end of the plaza, we found him: our brother. Up on a marble pedestal lined with unalloyed gold, our brother Miquella shined like starlight, giving an infatuating speech with a golden smile. Miquella had garnered the largest audience of them all, and their cheering and applause howled a collective voice—the lively voice of the Haligtree. He was surrounded by so many that we could barely make it fifty yards from his pedestal!
“...And thus, we shall, as we always have, protect the sanctity of our Haligtree. Rest assured that no evil nor prejudice, no sickness nor affliction, no Empyrean nor Outer God, not even a sword or arrow, will invade your homes ever again. For as long as I remain before all of you, so long as the Cleanrot Knights, the Haligtree Soldiers, the Albinauric Cavalry, the Demi-human Brigade, and the Misbegotten Warriors march proudly, raising their swords high in the name of the Haligtree, we shall never again fall!”
“It appears we’ve missed most of his speech!” I shouted at Malenia, trying to penetrate the air of deafening holler.
“PARDON?” Malenia shouted back.
I was about to respond in a louder shout when Miquella and I briefly met eyes. A second later, a flash of golden light struck the pedestal, and he disappeared. He reappeared not even a second after behind us. The little Empyrean took our hands, Malenia and mine, and smiled. I saw light descend from the skies, smiting and engulfing us with a flash of gold. One moment, we stood at the very back of the crowd. The next, we were in the presence of many, standing on the pedestal where Miquella stood, at the converging point of hundreds of eyes. Another wave of cheering came. It was for Malenia and I. I saw Njal and Margaux at the back. Njal was roaring, but not even a troll’s earthshaking roar could break through the voices of hundreds.
Stage fright must’ve set in, for I felt Malenia’s unalloyed gold hand clutch my forearm tightly as she scooted behind Miquella who once more took the spotlight.
“And of course, who are we to thank more than the heroes of the Haligtree themselves, the meticulous and mighty Lords and commanders of our armies that has led the charge fearlessly and brought the fight to our foes? Malenia and Finlay, my sisters, deserve your gratitude a thousand times more than I do. For I am but a Lord. And they, my swords.” The audience roared once more. “Their sacrifices have rightfully earned them rest. And despite it being only a measly few moons, I hope that you may welcome back my dearest sisters to their home. Share with them the welcoming hospitality of the Haligtree’s open arms.”
Miquella’s speech eventually ended, and our torture had finally come to an end. Fate could place Malenia and I in front of the largest army in the world and still we could shout an authoritative force that could make that army kneel. But in front of commoners and civilians? They were a story written with a different ink.
Miquella teleported us to a quiet branch, away from the peering eyes of the Haligtree Town. There we sat together for a short moment of respite.
“I’m surprised to see dearest Malenia outdoors.” Miquella snickered, making Malenia scowl. “And did my eyes betray me, or did I spot her talking to a troll and a demi-human some time ago?”
“And what if I did?” Malenia crossed her arms.
“She nearly shattered the demi-human’s windpipe.” I confessed.
“FINLAYYY!” Malenia exclaimed.
“And we need help paying for some bread.” I further added. “Malenia took bites off unpaid pastries while they were still on the shelf… and she destroyed a fair few loaves in addition.”
Miquella sighed. “I thought this might happen. Worry not, I shall resolve it… again.”
“The rats that feed off omen dung under Leyndell are more trustworthy than you.” Malenia sulked. “Oftentimes I feel like a caged child in this family.”
“It’s for your own good, Malenia.” I told her. “I’m your ally on this.”
“Are you at least on good terms with the demi-human?” Asked Miquella.
“We are actually!” Malenia blurted before I could say another word. Perhaps she was trying to prevent more embarrassment from leaving my lips. I held my hips and smirked. “In fact, it was the Margaux the demi-human that showed us to the plaza. We bring with us another companion: Njal the troll. Perhaps you could meet them, dear brother?”
“I’d be happy to. Friends of my sisters are friends of mine.”
Contrary to how outwardly Miquella seemed, he had no intention of making new friends. Instead, he was determined to humiliate Malenia as much as possible. It was Margaux and Njal’s turn to listen, and Malenia’s heart sank in horror as she desperately tried to soften the blows of each story, battling Miquella with accounts of her own. Margaux and Njal learned of Malenia’s ineptitude in swimming, her severe inability to cook, and her difficulty making new companions. I could only laugh along as she stuttered illegibly in a futile attempt to defend herself. When it came to a battle of words between the Empyrean siblings, Malenia would know defeat every single time.
After we waved our goodbyes to master Margaux, we walked the path back to our manor. But on our way home, we had passed by Njal’s abode—a marble workshop at the edge of the town. Malenia had expressed a curious fascination in the art, and so we decided to pay the place a visit. Our purpose was to provide Malenia an alternative craft, after all, and who knows? Maybe she could find solace in stonework. There were plenty of Cleanrot Knights that retired to be masons and sculptors.
Njal’s abode was larger than most. Size alone would have considered it a manor had its master been our size or smaller. But to Njal, it was but a humble shack. There were no walls dividing the house within, no rooms to privatize the different pursuits one would expect within a home. Everything Njal owned was stashed in one spacious room… then again, the simple giant didn’t own very many things. A great hearth blazed opposite the entering doors. He had a substantial pile of hay pushed to one corner—his bed, presumably. Picks, hammers, and chisels, all the size of a regular man, hung from rivets on a wall. Finally, he had chunks of marble the size of small boulders to large monoliths littered everywhere—the medium of his craft. He must have been working on a project prior to our arrival, as there was an unfinished figure of Miquella still half-buried in crude marble sitting next to his hay bed.
Malenia partook in Njal’s craft with great enthusiasm, excited to see what this new horizon could bring for her. She kept that enthusiasm throughout the day, and by the end of it, she had finished a bust, depicting the face of what I could faintly make out to be a woman. I admired her fervor, but it was clear her talent needed polishing.
“Whose lucky visage is rendered in my beloved’s first bust?” I asked, observing Malenia’s finished product.
“It’s you.” She made an excited smile. “I had been keenly observing your details all day, I’m confident I’ve carved your beauty well!”
Of course it is. “I… see.” My demeanor completely upturned. I couldn’t look disappointed; it would devastate her! But still, it was difficult not to be critical. “It looks… beautiful indeed. My left eye is somewhat lower than the right. And my nose is… crooked. Artistic liberty, perhaps?”
Miquella scoffed loudly. “Dearest Malenia, I’ve all the love in The Lands Between to offer you, but this is terri—” I kicked Miquella’s shin, making the child flinch. I glared at him, and he nodded silently. “Terri… uh… terrific! Yes! I don’t think I’ve beheld a more accurate depiction of dear Finlay in all the ages!”
Malenia beamed brightly. “Oh, thank you, dear brother. I’ve worked long and hard.”
Njal, who had been working on a sculpture of his own, walked over to us to admire Malenia’s handiwork. Unlike Miquella and I, the troll seemed genuinely impressed. “Oh, Lord Malenia, extraordinary work! Yours may exhibit an amateurish flare, but I know the carvings of love and dedication when I see it. An excellent attempt on one’s first.”
“Thank you, Master Njal.” Malenia bowed respectfully before her teacher. “It’s a bust of my beloved Finlay. It’s a little rough, I admit.”
“My Lord, all marble is rough at the start.” Njal said. “But just like all crafts, one must hone the skill to a fine edge. Might you be able to return, My Lord? I shall help your endeavor to hone your craft, if it so pleases you.”
“You would do that, Master Njal?” Malenia’s smile dropped to a hesitant frown. She picked up her bust and gave it a good long look. Finally, her gaze returned to the troll with firm affirmation. “Then I accept.”
The sun was setting far west when we left Njal’s domain, and we returned to our manor in the branches. Malenia decided to take her bust home, bubbling proudly, clutching it like a newborn child on the road back. She placed it on a pedestal just outside of our doors (replacing a professionally made bust of my image, much to my dismay). Miquella decided to accompany us for the night, and we bid Njal farewell as he left our cart of goods just outside of our walls.
Though our misadventures across the Haligtree Town had put that day to rest, the night had only just begun. And what a long night it would be.
Miquella and I were exchanging stories in the foyer of grand adventures, mishaps, demigods, and Malenia’s surprising interest in sculpting when we picked up a rather offensive odor. It penetrated our nose like a plunging blade, as though it was seeking to shear my ability to smell. My body recoiled, and I covered my nostrils with a sleeve. The smell was familiar, and I had not expected to find it in a place where I was most comfortable. It was reminiscent of incantations cast by the Fire Giant during the Battle for the Burning Erdtree.
Something was aflame.
Miquella had picked it up too, and like a bloodhound, sprang to his feet and ran towards the source of the flames. I followed close behind. Our noses led us to the kitchen where we found Malenia in a leather apron over her white frock that was burnt in several places. Covering her golden hands were baking mitts (which I found was pretty pointless), holding an iron tray of six misshaped loaves of burnt bread. Malenia saw us and gave us a warm smile—a smile that made me question if she was aware of the mess she had made in our kitchen, and the fact that fire was spilling out of the kiln, engulfing the nearby wooden table, and tickling the darkening ceiling.
“Malenia!” I pulled her towards us, away from the fire she was standing dangerously close to, then reaching my hand out to Miquella. “Miquella! My seal!”
Miquella pumped his palm out, conjuring a sigil of the Haligtree in front of it, and another one on mine. From the golden sigil incarnated a dark crimson seal constructed of drakesblood—a symbol of dragon communion. It was given to me by my mentor, the Lord Tarnished, in one of his lessons. It was crafted from the blood of a dragon we slew together.
I clutched the seal with my hands and felt the primordial power of dragons course through my veins. Calling upon the strength of dragons paid a price. There was madness in it, and tyranny of mind, wrestling my humanity for control over my bodily vessel. It allowed me a glimpse of their true power, calling my name, tempting me to go forth and embrace its terrifying potential—the same potential that deformed and destroyed the humanity of dragonkin soldiers and magma wyrms.
But I will not succumb to its temptation today, especially not when I was simply extinguishing our kitchen. Thus, I ignored their calls and stole the draconic powers in mockery of their attempts. My beautiful golden eyes turned to slits, and I saw true through the vision of the great winged beasts of the sky. I summoned his aspect from my shoulders, transforming my head and flaming red hair into the great dragon Borealis, fell dragon of the freezing fog! And from its icy maw came a breath so excruciatingly cold, it put the worst snowstorms of the Mountaintops of the Giants to shame. It generated a hurricane of frost, but instead of blowing our kitchen away, it froze it in place. And when the breath had concluded, half of the kitchen had turned to ice.
“What were you thinking?!” I shouted at Malenia who was still holding her tray of burnt bread. I felt my eyes blur and recolor as they glared at my beloved—the vision of dragons dissipating, returning my human eyes. “You could have set the whole tree could have gone in flames!”
“I—I thought you and Miquella might have gotten peckish with all the walking we did, so I baked us bread!” Malenia presented the tray to me, as though that was all it took for me to consider forgiveness. “Master Margaux had taught me all about baking, and I thought her wisdom would go to waste if I didn’t at least attempt an application. And so I did! ...granted, it wasn’t the cleanest of attempts.”
“Not the clea—you set the kitchen on fire.” I crossed my arms. “All for what, six loaves of burnt bread?”
“I baked more!” Malenia exclaimed, still failing to address the larger problem at hand. “Except... it’s under a thick layer of ice.”
“Malenia...” I sighed. I was happy that she was embracing baking as a hobby, but I shuddered at the thought of her burning down our kitchen every single time she set our kiln aflame. “What am I to do with you?”
“We can start by eating bread.” Miquella suggested. It was quite concerning that neither of them were alarmed by the events that had transpired in front of their eyes. Truly, they were siblings. “She’s right, I’m starving.”
“Miquella, you can’t seriously gloss over this!” I angrily gestured at the frozen kitchen. “Your sister nearly set the manor ablaze!”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning, fret not!” Miquella ran out of the kitchen. Malenia followed him. There were times where I felt that I was the only person in that family that possessed a higher intelligence. “For now, let’s see the results of Malenia’s baking, shall we?!”
Malenia had been so excited to feed us what looked like blocks of excrement that she had been running back and forth from our kitchen to our dining hall, preparing our plates and silverware. Once the table was set, she served us the bread. Still mad about the kitchen, I had no intention of sparing her feelings this time, and I was preparing a brutally honest critique in my head. All the while, Malenia sat across from us, swaying her head left and right with a smile as her chin rested on her palms, waiting for us to eat.
I had completely forgotten about my critique once I actually took a bite. Granted, I had to use the back of my knife as a hammer to breach the surface of the loaf, which was akin to a thin layer of charcoal. But apart from the exterior, the interior was quite lovely. The bread was fluffy and warm, embedded with blueberries and strawberry slices. I cleaved the bread down the middle, and I beheld as custard came oozing onto the plate. I had no idea what form of pastry she had attempted, but it looked very appetizing.
After removing the burnt exterior, I took my knife and separated a rectangular piece where two blueberries and a large slice of strawberry were lodged. I had carefully placed it on top of my spoon, scooping a bit of custard that had formed a puddle on the plate, and ate it.
Malenia locked eyes with me expectantly, nervously waiting for my judgment on her first bake.
I let my saliva soak the bread, rolling it around my mouth. The custard was sweet and somewhat sour. The bread was noticeably bitter as it had been burnt, but the bitterness was quickly alleviated by the burst of flavor from the berries as I bit down, allowing their juices to escape their pulpy confines. The blueberries and strawberries mixed well with the custard, and it was enough to take my mind away from the knowledge that I was consuming something burnt to a crisp.
“So... how is it?” Malenia could no longer stay silent. The anxiety had gotten the best of her. “Is it to your liking dear?”
Of course, it wasn’t the best bread that had graced my taste buds... but it wasn’t the worst either. I knew I should be critical... but how could I be critical to those worried eyes? I sighed. “It’s sweet, sour, and soft. Although the baking process could definitely use some work, I’d say it passes as a pastry. I like it.”
Malenia exhaled, and all the tense pressure came out with it. She was happy. “I am relieved, Finlay. Oh, how wonderful!”
“You should be. This is delicious!” I had not been paying attention to Miquella beside me, as I had been occupied with my food. St. Trina had joined our dinner, and the twin halves had been feasting on the loaves (burnt exterior included), tearing them apart like wolves. They had already finished one each and were on their second loaves, leaving one more on the iron platter.
“Best pastry I’ve ever had.” St. Trina spoke with her mouth full.
“Admittedly, the only pastry I’ve ever had.” Miquella followed.
“But I’m glad it’s my first!” St. Trina concluded.
The night had slowed down significantly, and I had to stand back to take it all in. What a surreal yet curing sight it was to watch us together like this. I felt my soul rise from my body just to watch this unlikely family unfurl into further chaos. The last loaf of bread had become a catalyst for Miquella and St. Trina’s little wrestle. And as Malenia attempted to stop them, promising she would bake more, I began to wonder to myself: had I grown insane for liking this?
No sane woman would derive any form of joy from this tumultuous day. After nearly murdering an old demi-human, tiring myself out from babysitting my naïve consort across town, nearly burning the entire Haligtree down, and then freezing a kitchen solid, not a single soul would be smiling at the end of it, wishing that day to last forevermore.
But then there I was, eyes closed, rolling a piece of burnt bread coated in custard around my mouth, recapturing the events of that day in my head over and over, turning back the flow of time in fruitless effort to relive those little moments.
Had family life finally taken my sanity for good? Had my brain been infected by frenzy? Had my old age finally caught up to my mortality?
Only the Outer Gods would know.
But not that I cared. Oh, I could not have cared less!
So long as I had my mischievously sly Miquella, my playfully diabolical St. Trina, and my dearly beloved Malenia, I would have allowed the Frenzied Flame to take me. If it meant I could be part of this family until the last particle of sand in the hourglass of time falls, I didn’t care how insane I became. They were my purpose—my life—and I would slay the Outer Gods if they dared stand between me and them. That is my vow as a Cleanrot Knight.
“Finlay, dear? Are you alright?”
“Wake up, Finlay. Are you dead?”
“Was dearest Malenia’s baking really that bad?”
My consciousness reawakened to the sound of voices. As I opened my eyes, I saw their radiant faces close to me: Miquella and St. Trina’s gentle hands were clutching my arms, their mouths dotted with breadcrumbs. Behind them, cupping my face with a warm hand of flesh, and cold metal prosthetic, was the beautiful Malenia whose eyes were ill at ease.
I grinned widely as a sudden rush of excitement induced me to wrap my arms around the troubled twin halves, making them burst into gleeful laughter. I brought them close as I left a kiss on both of their domes.
Not wanting to let my sweet Malenia feel abandoned, I quickly stood, surprising her by giving her a sudden kiss. I felt her hands wrapped around my waists, so I ran my fingers through her fiery hair, massaging her scalp. Her mouth tasted like dough and flour, yet they were soft and delectable all the same. A bridge of saliva connected our mouths still upon separation, and Malenia gasped for air. Her eyes looked destitute, as though our fifteen seconds of pure, unadulterated bliss wasn’t enough to satisfy her. Of course it wasn’t. My Malenia was a needy woman whose exigency knew no bounds. How unfortunate it was that she would have to wait until we were in bed. Oh, how I loved to torture her that way! The disappointment that surfaced in the face of my scarcity was simply bewitching, and it exhilarated me to no end!
“I’m sorry.” I told the worried three. “I fell asleep. I had merely been... reminiscing.”