Work Text:
He sits on the bed, hugging his knees with one arm; the other hasn’t healed yet, and you doubt it will ever heal completely. But Artorias doesn’t need both of his arms to be a great opponent.
Who knows it better than you?
There is not a single dark corner in his room — everything is bathed in the sun rays, or at least an illusion of it. And if it’s not, you left enough light sources for the entire Anor Londo: candles, spells, even the sunlight maggot.
“How are you feeling today?”
You learned to speak gently but keep your voice clear and loud so that the sound wouldn’t be mistaken for something else, like evil whispers in the darkness.
You’re on the edge of his bed, slowly putting your hand on his shoulder. You always make sure not to look hollowed before your visits. You aren’t sure if it’s truly helping, but you think Artorias is less tense when he can see your human face.
“Artorias?”
Only then does he react.
“...I’m alright… thanks.”
He is a real sweetheart, an embodiment of shyness. You, of course, never met him before the Abyss, but people who knew him usually described him as an honorable, dutiful, and kind knight.
A hero.
“Please… don’t call me that. We should tell the truth… That it was you…”
You immediately dropped the topic — the broken sob escaped his throat.
Because in his mind, your tale about Knight Artorias, the Abysswalker, sounds more like a cruel mockery. He is not a legend like the Dragonslayer; he is not a masterful archer or a deadly assassin.
He is just a knight without any title.
At least, he was in his time.
“I did nothing to deserve the praise…” You bite your lip. Insisting he is wrong won't change anything. In the end, the Abyss corrupted him, and the ending is all that matters. “I… wasn’t brave,” he confessed. “A scared coward.”
“You can be both, Artorias. Brave and scared.” He accepted the impossible mission. Being brave doesn’t mean to be fearless. It means being afraid and still doing what needs to be done. “Everyone is afraid of something.”
“Even you?”
You smile instead of an answer. Perhaps countless deaths have erased what it means to feel fear. Rabid dogs? Spider ladies? Skeletons? You've been through it all.
“Going hollow,” you finally reply. And not because you don’t want to lose the sense of self — because those who believe in you would lose their hope. “And poisonous swamps.”
He still wears the same armor, but it has been cleaned and repaired. Sometimes Artorias drops a line about the strange smell, the stench of the Abyss.
“Hm?” you bury your nose in the blue fabric with beautiful embroidery, inhaling deeply. “I can only smell the soap. We can change the aroma. Or order another suit of armor.”
“I.. prefer this one. I feel naked otherwise.”
Unprotected.
Vulnerable.
You nodded. The armor made him recognizable, which was also undesirable in his current state. But if he finds comfort in his armor, you will let him be.
“Do you want to take a short walk around with me? I am bored to death.”
Better to pretend it’s your need, rather than implying you just don't want Artorias sitting locked in his room alone all day. You worry he may refuse if the only reason to accompany you is your concern about his well-being.
But he agrees. He is a knight who has sworn allegiance, and if his lord is no more, he shall serve his lord’s successor — you.
He’ll follow your every wish.
“How about trying to sneak unnoticed behind Ciaran?” you propose a challenge, your eyes shining with mischief.
“Ciaran… doesn't take pranks lightly.”
His voice is strained and nervous. An indication that he doesn’t want to be in the presence of his old colleague. Any of them. Maybe because of the all-consuming guilt. Or because they are looking at him with pity, like he is a shell of someone they loved.
That’s why he prefers your company. You cannot compare him to his previous self.
“Hmm, maybe we'll find Gwyndolin to bully, then.”
Artorias is a step behind you. You constantly turn your head to look at him, but no matter how you try to match his pace, he keeps the same distance.
You walk slowly, giving him plenty of time to enjoy the view.
“You dislike them,” Artorias states. You aren't hiding it.
“Gwyndolin knows why they deserve my ire,” you frown. “Even if their intention was good, they lied.”
You skipped the details on purpose. If Artorias is aware of the prophecy, he'll understand why you hate Gwyndolin’s choice. But if he is unaware… better not to tell him, not yet.
Isn't it why you still work together with the Dark Sun? Despite your anger, despite the injustice towards you… It's the last crumbs of mercy you agreed to spare.
Someone needs this lie to continue living. Someone needs the illusory sunlight.
You can break the illusion. Show them the ugly truth, without caring about their feelings. Then Anor Londo will be as dark as other places.
But Artorias is afraid of darkness.
Any kind of darkness.
It's hard to readjust, you understand.
He froze on the spot. You heard another clicking of armor behind the corner. A second, and he finally appears before your eyes, all golden and shiny — Ornstein the Dragonslayer, on his usual route patrolling.
Ornstein walks past both of you without a word.
Artorias cannot breathe.
“Are you alright?”
A silly question: he obviously isn't. You don't know what to do except hold his hand and wait.
“It's not the real Ornstein,” you explain. “He ran after the Firstborn a long time ago. I never met him in person.”
He is just a trick of Gwyndolin. Just an animated armor for the sake of keeping an image.
“That's enough leg-stretching for today,” you guide Artorias back to his room.
_ _ _
His survival is a pure miracle. You are, in fact, no better than the rest of the people, staring at him with your mouth open.
But it's difficult not to admire him.
You are doing it too — sometimes see him as a character. Not a person.
Then he cries in your arms: he had another nightmare, about darkness, the Abyss, and the name he dares not to speak aloud nor in his thoughts — Manus.
“He won’t return,” you repeat, soothing him.
Artorias doesn’t believe you.
“Manus won’t hurt you,” you promise.
But he hears him in every shadow, sees him in every lightless spot.
“The Abyss beacons me back... He wants me back.”
“Only in his wet dreams!” you huff. But the creeping feeling still haunts you. Can he truly be defeated once and for all?
“Can I see Sif?”
That was his only request.
“I'm sorry,” you hate to say it. The disappointment in his eyes physically wrecks you. “But Sif is too big to bring her here.”
Artorias probably thinks you are deceiving him. The last time he saw his companion, she was no bigger than a regular wolf.
“And even if her size wouldn't be a problem, she’ll cut my head off before I have time to explain what I want from her. Seriously, why did you teach the wolf to wield a sword?”
A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. You stared at his face, mesmerized, suddenly remembering how young Artorias actually is. Despite the horrors of the Abyss he has endured, he is still handsome and young.
“My apologies, forget about it,” his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “I will not burden you with my whims.”
“We can visit her!” you rush to reassure him. “Right now, if you want! She's in the Darkroot Garden!”
But the main problem is not the road there. The Darkroot Garden is… dark.
And no amount of lanterns or light spells can chase away every shadow.
Shadow of the past.
Of what that place used to be.
How it was changed.
“Artorias?”
He just stops in the middle of the forest, no longer hearing your call. No longer reacting to your touch. He isn’t here, but somewhere far away — in the Abyss of his own mind. It is all too familiar, and yet different. Once, he walked the same road. It led him to disaster.
“Wh.. what happened?” he asks later, in Anor Londo, back in his room. Your face is pale. You blubbered something about him losing consciousness, but he noticed you were far too shaken. Artorias isn’t sure he really wants you to tell him what he did.
“When you feel better, we can try again,” you spoke.
“...when I feel better,” he agreed, but tears were gathering in his eyes. For some reason, from his lips, the promise sounds like “never”.
_ _ _
“We must do something,” you are pacing back and forth. “Do something! You are a god!”
What does Gwyndolin want? A prayer? You are ready to beg on your knees if it will bring results.
“He cannot be afraid forever! Once upon a time, Manus was just a man who threw a temper tantrum over a broken pendant!”
Are you too harsh? Are you too quick to judge?
“I can attempt to alternate his memories, make him forget about his time with Manus. But I cannot guarantee his personality will remain intact.”
“I didn’t mean brainwashing him!”
But gods are useless.
“He needs more time to overcome his struggles. To heal in both body and mind, naturally. Artorias is strong, Chosen One,” the Dark Sun spoke calmly.
“Time isn't an answer!” you barked back. Gwyndolin's snakes hissed at you. “Time only makes things worse!”
The world is rotting. Fire turns into ashes. You cannot wait without action; you cannot hesitate.
Hesitation costs lives.
You miss Solaire, you realise in heavy moments like this. Five minutes in his presence would cure Artorias. Solaire had a rare talent to brighten everyone's mood.
“Brighten his mood…” An idea formed in your mind. “Thanks for nothing, Gwyndolin,” you hurried to bring to life your new plan. The illusion vanished.
“You are welcome, Chosen One.”
_ _ _
“Knock-knock!”
“You may enter,” he permits you.
“No, it’s a knock-knock!” you feel like an idiot standing behind his door.
You hear his steps coming closer. Then he opens the door for you personally, looking confused.
“... a knock-knock like in a joke?” you want to jump from the roof, but if you have already started embarrassing yourself, it’s too late to stop. “You’re supposed to ask who…”
“Ah… Who?”
But you did it again: looked at his face for too long, completely forgetting what you wanted to say.
“M-me! Ha-ha! Just me, with your brand new greatsword!”
Because everybody loves presents, right? The Giant Blacksmith and Andre won’t talk to you for a while after all the pestering and the fuss you created to forge a perfect sword.
You aren't a knight, but would be happy with one more shiny sword, even if you can barely wield it.
Artorias accepted the gift without enthusiasm.
“Want to test it? We can be training partners! But be gentle, ha-ha!” you leaned against the doorframe, curling the strand of your hair around your finger. “I know how fearsome in battles you are!”
You winked at him, meaning to say it lightly, in a teasing way. He gripped the hilt of the sword.
“I… I didn't want to hurt you… If I could control myself, I would never… I…”
Maybe you really should have jumped off the roof.
_ _ _
“For gods sake, master Logan! Why are you naked again?!”
When you didn't succeed at something, it meant one thing: you needed to gain more knowledge. You stormed through the Duke’s Archives, leaving a trail of books on the ground.
“Glad to see you well,” the man in question greeted you. His big hat remained the only piece of cloth on him. “Come to learn a new spell?”
You went straight to the bookshelves, inspecting the titles. Surely, Seath must have something like “1001 anecdotes about dragons” or anything else to help you!
“Can magic teach me how to joke or flirt?”
The legendary wizard sighed.
“The lovesickness grasped you, I see. Can it be the fault of a certain Wolf Knight, who follows you around like a lost puppy?”
You opened your mouth, closed it, and opened it again. No words followed. But your face got so hot as if you fell directly into lava in Lost Izalith.
“I- I am not that obvious!” you squeaked.
“Not everyone has the talent to be an entertainer, my dear student. Why don’t you impress him with your knowledge instead?” he returned his attention to the scroll he read before. “Oh, and please, do tell Sir Artorias not to hide behind the section with cursed books. Side effects can be… unpleasant.”
“What do you mea-”
A loud crash echoed through the hall. Someone accidentally knocked a chair over.
“Eavesdropping wasn’t in my intentions,” the familiar voice said, full of guilt and shame. But how long has he been here? And how did you not notice someone of his size trailing behind you? Artorias really did look like a misbehaved puppy, waiting for a punishment but hoping to avoid it by looking at you with his big, wet blue eyes.
“I wanted to apologise, but…”
“You don’t have to apologise!” you interrupted him.
“Excuse me,” Big Hat Logan tried to say something, but you both ignored him.
“... but I couldn’t choose a perfect timing to start a conversation, and…”
“You did nothing wrong!”
“Excuse me,” your teacher coughed, squeezing between you, and you both took a step away from him, looking anywhere else but at the naked old man. “I don't say that it is not important to stay in touch with my student’s personal life, but mayhaps the halls of studying are not the best place to have a love quarrel?”
You suddenly remembered how annoying and foreign it must be to a genius like him, who prefers solitude over company.
“Forgive us, master Logan,” you grabbed Artorias’ hand, tagging him along with you. “We won't disturb you any further.”
You humiliated yourself enough for the rest of your undead life.
“I have to put the books back in their places,” you had the courage to speak when you reached the other side of the Archives. You didn’t glance at the knight again.
“... allow me to help. It’s the least I can do,” he said unexpectedly warmly, picking up the books you left lying around. “I accidentally heard you were looking for something specific…”
“It is my misfortune. Between being amusing and a fool is a big difference.”
Maybe you're one of those people who can't come up with a good joke to save your life.
“I think you are,” he moved with a grace and speed, returning books to their rightful places much quicker than you. Mostly because you, unlike him, just stared at his back instead.
“A fool?”
“Amusing. Funny. Clever. Empathetic,” сompliments rolled off his tongue with ease. Oh, had he always been this charming?!
“Buttering me up won’t give you a raise, Sir Artorias!” you chuckled.
“Was worth a shot.”
But it was you who wanted to cheer him up, not the other way around!
“What I wanted to say… You have done so much for me. I owe you my life,” he used that heart-melting sweet tone again. Did he even realise what he was doing?
“I saved you not because I wanted gratitude or recognition. If you want to repay, just live happily.”
Isn’t it the best thing to desire? Isn’t it what you wish for people by your side? But happiness has a price.
“Thank you,” and a simple phrase from his lips gives you the strength to continue.
“I cannot believe it.”
Artorias leaned over your shoulder to look at the book you found. The title said, “Everyone can be an entertainer: the magic of joking and flirting”.
“Let’s dive into a study.”
Artorias’ chest was almost touching your back, but for you, his sudden proximity was rather comforting than not. You opened the book randomly.
“This chapter is about puns and wordplays,” you read on top of the page.
And after finishing a few more short chapters, you decided to give it a try, saying the first thing that came to your mind.
“You cannot spell Manus without anus.”
The silence spoke for itself.
It was awful.
Then an incomprehensible sound came from Artorias’ mouth.
At first, you thought you made him cry again.
But the sound was getting louder and clearer.
Artorias was laughing.
Victory achieved.