It was a quiet night. The stars above hung still and silent. Their camp nestled near one of the sites that shimmered with a golden grace, and a crackling fire warded off the late autumn chill. Their two tents stood ready, thick blankets promising shelter from any ill weather.
It was... cozy. Marika permitted herself that fleeting comfort. Cozy. A feeling she had not known for what could be centuries, or worse, for an age so distant her memory had decayed worse than she had long feared. Swiftly, she banished those thoughts, lest they invite a darker madness than she was willing to harbor within her mind.
She shook her head softly, her heavy golden hair stirring lightly in the open air. It still bore the scent of earth and cave muck. She would need to redo her braids. A task made difficult by the annulment of much of her power, a grievance she acknowledged but knew would fade with practice. Surely, it was but a mental block, and with time, her divinity would reassert itself.
And... then what? A thought that threatened to derail her entirely, thankfully cut short by her rescuer. A savior she was rapidly growing to resent.
"We need to make way by dawn," the woman stated, her voice as smooth and deceptively soft as a fox's, each word carrying a hint of potential falsehood. "We're headin' for Stormveil."
"Mine own son shall grant us—" Marika began, only to be interrupted once more.
"The one you once called son is long gone. Godrick the Grafted will be dealt with, should we encounter him on our journey towards Liurnia." Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, stowing supplies into packs as she spoke. Her words held a stern finality that made Marika's blood run hot and her mind fume. How dare this lowborn instruct me, a Goddess, on her own conduct and their path?
"I must rebuke thee—" She was cut off yet again.
"I couldn't give a rat's backside if'n you rebuke me, My Queen," the title dripping with a venomous sarcasm, "but I'm here on a favor and a mission. I don't care what you think you're entitled to or why. I'm here to deliver you to the Shadow Lands, whole. There are plenty other parts to our quest, but seein' it done... that's my intent." Her eyes locked onto Marika, sharp as ice piercing molten gold, and a shiver traced its way down the goddess's spine. Something about this commoner made her acutely aware, more than she cared to admit, of her new and hopefully temporary mortality. It was a vulnerability she hadn't felt since He had been fused to her flesh by the cruel Two Fingers, and not soon would she allow such a slight to go unpunished in due time.
Yet, another feeling wormed its way through her thoughts. Those same terrifying stares also instilled a strange certainty that this journey would be safe. That this woman, as frightening as she was, clearly feared something even more chilling just by looking at Marika. It was a terribly curious sensation indeed, bringing forth further uncomfortable questions that she hastily buried within that wretched urn in the deepest recesses of her mind. The one place where her tears found solace, and an urn not easily opened by this darkest of millennia. The flood would be catastrophic.
....
A week of camping and scouting passed.
Marika quietly tended the fire as the stars above dusted the inky canvas.
She had once again buried those unsettling feelings. Her rescuer and she rarely exchanged more than curt remarks. Her voice was this strange and otherworldy accent that made the gilded queen unsure if she was either a mercenary, or a barbarian. Either way, the woman was insufferable.
Her gaze lingered on the dancing flames. She had feared fire in ages past. Now, it offered a strange solace, for all she had once cherished were now but idle grains of sand in the endless desert of time. Her Golden Order, from what little she could discern, still existed, but as a skeletal ghost of its former glory. These were not the marching steps of a thriving empire. This was the deathknell of a crumbling age long gone. Soon, a new age would dawn. She had accepted that long ago, during her cursed confinement within the Erdtree. She had entertained restarting it, for a little while when she first came back, but now her only wish was that this new age would be better than her own. For all the hatred that still thundered within her heart, regrets too tugged at its strings. With each hateful beat, a painful sting rang through her deepest self and left her briefly trembling. A solemn reminder that her hatred had extracted its full toll. A grim truth compounded by nearly every ruin and broken monument they had encountered, each a testament to her failures.
She wondered if her reluctant savior harbored resentment for these failings, and if that were the reason for her curtness, Marika found her anger beginning to wane. Perhaps I was too hasty...
We should catch them by surprise. The crimson thought seared through her mind, and discreetly, she touched her face. The thought itself briefly burned her brain. He had spoken, and His voice was as scalding and harmful as ever. Instantly, she fought to quell the voice and its burgeoning presence, desperately pushing them back behind the fragile bars she hopelessly constructed, just as a hand rested on her shoulder.
The wind whispered past, causing Marika to turn slightly as the whipping chill contrasted with the sudden heat rising towards the hand. Gold met blue, and they shared a quiet, pained moment as her eyes inadvertently locked with her savior's. She knew not why, but this knight seemed to recognize her suffering, to empathize. Had Marika been more clear-headed, she might have noticed the knight's gaze held more than just coldness. Yet, the gilded queen was neither composed nor in her right mind. So, instead, she quietly leaned into the warmth of the palm against her bare cheek for a fleeting moment, before yanking her head away, unable, unwilling, or both, to allow another to witness such vulnerability. Her voice hissed out, sharp as broken glass, as she jerked her shoulder away, "Do not goad me with those false, pitying eyes... I shall not be pawned by another... Long have I been puppetted upon another's strings... I shan't dance to a song not my own, again."
Her words echoed with ache, with centuries of betrayal and unspoken anguish. Her reluctant savior seemed utterly frustrated by the outburst.
"May the elements have mercy. You truly are all cut from the same cloth o' hubris." She muttered with snarky frustration.
She turned back towards the fire and set to work, ensuring the fish they had quickly procured was cooked through. Food was unnecessary for Marika's survival, but her ravaged body had much healing to do. Why must every movement ache so terribly... Sores marred her skin from the restraints, and more still as if she had been reborn with only half her flesh intact. Wrapped garments concealed her normally pale, now ghostly and grim, flesh, while the rest was covered by a coarse yet warm and dry dress, hastily sewn together when she had been cut down from those cursed shackles from the shredded remains and what scraps could be hastily procured. It would suffice for now. It chaffed against her exposed skin, but her knight had only asked she wear it when the sun was high. Why must she mar my detestation with these little caring notions... She clung to it still, even as the hour grew late, for it offered warmth and a faint scent of strawberries. How lovely...
Her eyes drifted slowly towards the distant horizon, just beyond the cliff bordering their campsite. It stretched out, and in the far reaches, she could have sworn her still milldly enhanced sight caught the marked and bleeding hues of what should have been Caelid. General Radahn — One of my greatest children — had ruled there, yet the glimpses she could gather revealed only poisoned earth and rotting corpses. Surely, I have not been gone that long, have I?
Still, as her gaze fell upon closer landmarks, she saw little but ruins and rubble. Broken monuments and scattered figures scavenging for sustenance or driven by habits her imposed living death had normalized. See what you did? The sight brought painful twists to her stomach, and she focused on the peppery, lemony scent of the cooking fish to quell the growing unease. It seemed her moonlit savior possessed some skill with food, however modest. She hoped the meal would soothe more than just the gnawing emptiness, thankfully overtaking the former knots of anxiety. You deserve no such relief.
The blue-clad lady sat down after a few minutes and offered a whole fish to Marika. The golden goddess nodded gently and accepted it with a soft murmur of gratitude. Hopefully, she cooks better than she speaks. One bite into the crisp skin sent her into a ravenous frenzy. Hunger became her sole focus until the growing chuckles of her would-be protector caught her attention. She looked up, only to somehow elicit even louder, snorting laughter, and a red glow crept up her neck rather speedily. "W-what in the Erdtree's name i-is," she paused to briefly wipe her mouth with a bandaged arm, "so hilarious, Lady Knight?"
"Hahahaha! You eat like one blessed by a pig god! You truly are a lover o' good grub!" Was her retort, and Marika felt an odd mix of reluctant amusement and indignant rage as she balled up one of the old bandages in her fist. Did she always sound so... crass?
Marika raised an arm, only for her protector to smirk, a gesture that made her whole body stiffen for a moment. That smirk was too charming, yet it revealed fanged teeth. Four elongated canines alongside otherwise normal teeth, with the top pair more prominent than the lower. Her pale skin reminded the gilded queen of moonlight itself, casting a soft blush upon her cheeks. "Now, I bet roses themselves would be green with envy at that shade o' red," she teased. Now she can be charming?
Marika felt her flush turn into a mix of flustered indignation and outright fury, and she hurled both the stick and the balled-up bandages with renewed strength. The makeshift projectile missed her strange ally, but the stick found its mark squarely on her forehead with a loud, resounding bonk. Her moonlit savior wobbled for a moment or two before shaking her head and rubbing her forehead as her hood fell back. The sight made Marika question near as much as even godhood had.
Thick, raven-haired curls, each strand tipped with a shimmering blue, framed her face perfectly and seemed to ripple in the wind like moonlit water or the crackle of blue flames against their own smokey black primers. Her face possessed a striking balance, strong yet beautifully sculpted, somewhere between masculine strength and feminine grace. It was an odder sight than Marika had anticipated, for Miquella had possessed a similar androgynous beauty. Yet, somehow, this felt entirely different, especially since this captivating visage belonged to one who shared none of her blood.
She is surely here to kill us. Whatever nascent thoughts had begun to form were instantly consumed by His raging intrusion, and Marika clutched her head in sudden, sharp pain.
The knight was quick to frown and approach. Marika, however, was not easily comforted and swatted away the hand that reached out to support her. "Do not interfere! Thou couldst not comprehend this agony!" She hissed out angrily, too blinded by the furnace of His encroachment to register the soft response of her knight before darkness claimed her once more. Why must you linger on in this life beyond our own?
Because you can never be free of me.