Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been raining for days; heavy, steady drops falling from the sky, dripping off the leaves of the trees that offered only marginal protection against the onslaught of water. The ground was soaked, mud clinging to every foot and paw, slowing down all movement. The woods were quiet now, most life seeking shelter until the sun came out again. Only the very hungry ventured out of their hiding places in search of food.

It had gotten colder since the rain started. The season was changing, the leaves turning, but the drop in temperature had been severe in a way Artorias had not experienced since accepting the role that kept him in Anor Londo's vicinity. It reminded him rather of the land of his childhood up north, where the summers were short and dedicated to tending the fields, and sometimes he thought for a moment that the wind carried the smell of upturned earth and plants that did not grow in these woods.

It had been a long time since he had gone there, and he knew deep in his heart that he would never see that land again. There was little binding him to the northern lands but a sense of nostalgia now, and a desire to protect the people who lived there from any harm that may befall them. Knights in silver armor now patrolled the villages between the farms, keeping an eye on things in his absence and lending their swords were needed. There were not many of them, but they were skilled and heavily armed and it was more protection than the area had seen while Artorias grew up in it. It was close enough to the border to invite raids, yet too marginal in its importance to warrant their lord's protection. For a long time after Artorias had learned to fight, he had been his people's best defense. Now the silver knights had taken over for him to accommodate for his position at Lord Gwyn's behest, and they offered more protection than he, a single man, ever could have. Their mere presence kept raiders away and ensured peace.

Artorias still felt like he had abandoned those people who had been relying on him, even though there was hardly anyone left he knew by name.

The knights in the low lands changed often, no one wanting to be stationed there, where nothing of import ever happened, for long. They reported to him upon return. So far, not much had happened since the disaster that took most of his village and his family not long before his appointment as a Knight of Gwyn.

Night was falling quickly. The days had gotten notably shorter in the past month, but Artorias felt that this was different from the years before. Through located in the north of the continent, Lordran was not a cold land, and the seasons were not very pronounced this close to Anor Londo, not even in the surrounding woods. Artorias had never seen the leaves fall this early. He wondered if this year, there would be snow.

No, he thought. Probably not, surely it would not get that cold, not here. But perhaps next year.

The wildlife, used to a warm climate that rarely saw frost or cold winds, would have to adjust.

He stopped to listen for a second, thinking he may have heard something in the distance, but heard only the raindrops falling onto dried leaves. Beside him, Sif stopped as well and looked at him in question, confirming that the sound had been his imagination. It happened from time to time, and more often the more time he spend fighting the Abyss and its agents. His minds playing tricks on him. He was not alone in that; hardly anyone lived in New Londo now who did not jump at shadows. And the city was full of those.

While the animals of the forest were hiding along with Alivna's large, feline kin and the mushroom people, the servants of the Dark had shown to be undeterred by the weather. None had been seen in New Londo, where the water in the canals was slowly rising from the torrents of rain falling outside, but the surrounding farms had been attacked but a day ago, and Artorias and Sif had spend that day hunting the two darkwraiths that had been seen by the survivors, the wolf's fine senses making sure that their trail was not lost even in this rain.

They found them in the end, but while one had fallen to Sif's blade, the other had managed to escape through a crack in the cliff that led to the Dark, where Artorias could not follow.

He did all he could to seal the crack, then reported back to New Londo where two of the kings heard his report with concern and dispatched soldier and mages to watch the area where the darkwraith had disappeared and seal the access point to the Abyss for good.

Another one would open, if it had not already. Even now, people might be disappearing from New Londo, from the surrounding towns and farms. Artorias and Sif had spend the night looking for more fiends in the valley and the woods, but they had found no trace of them, only the distant whisper of voices and footsteps that Artorias thought he heard and Sif did not.

The area was large. There were knights of New Londo stationed all over, but they were spread thin and bound to their posts, easy to avoid for anyone having a mind to. The villagers were on the lookout as well, within the borders of their settlements, but they were merely farmers with pitchforks, and if any of them ran into a darkwraith, the only warning they gave was through their disappearance, or the way their bodies were found.

In the end, it were only Artorias and Sif who had a hope of doing anything at all, and what they could do was not much. The trust placed in them with this assignment was not so much humbling as it was frustrating, and disheartening. They were so hopelessly outnumbered and inadequate that it oftentimes felt as if their efforts were only for show. A message send to the people of New Londo and the city's rulers that they had the support of Anor Londo, when in truth Anor Londo did not care to do anything that would actually save them.

Then again, Artorias was not certain anything could be done at all. The Abyss was a terrible threat, and he was facing it alone with only Sif at his side, but what if it simply could not be defeated, and their role here was to keep the people from falling into despair by giving them false hope? What if Lord Gwyn did not send anyone else to fight the forces of Dark because he knew that the battle was already lost and all efforts would be wasted?

He tried not to dwell on it, for it would mean that they could not make any difference, that all of these people were lost, and it was hard not despair in the face of that. Further, it made no difference. Artorias had not chosen this fight, had stumbled into this role by being the one who happened to be there when the first agents of the Abyss had made their entry, but he would not abandon his task, even if it was hopeless. Not as long as there were people relying on him.

He only hoped, so desperately, that there was something he could do to help them. What good was his determination if they were lost either way?

Sif wined softly, but whether it was in response to his mood or to the weather, Artorias could not say. It was very dark around them, the shadows capable of hiding all manner of things, though not to Sif's senses. It was wet and it was cold, and though there was no wind, the chill still crept under Artorias' clothes and made him shiver.

They reached the hut when the first gray light of dawn was beginning to seep through the leaves, like them struggling to make any difference at all. The abandoned house that would be their shelter for the next few hours, while they regained some of their strength, was not welcoming. No fire was burning in its hearth, warming it, no candles giving light. It had been weeks since they had last come here, and the place felt empty beyond that time, like it knew that no one would ever truly live in it again.

But the roof still held, and for all that the damp air permeated the walls, the rain did not. It was cold, but dry, and there was wood waiting for them beside the fireplace, giving them the chance to start a fire of their own.

It took time for the damp to go from the air, and more time for the cold to be driven from Artorias' bones, and the scars on his back that seemed to draw it in and turn it into something sharp. Sif was less vulnerable to the weather, but she, too, preferred not being cold and wet. Her fur was as soaked as Artorias' cloak and he spend some time rubbing it dry with one of the old blankets he had stored in this place just for this purpose. She let it happen for a while, before letting him know that it was time for him to take care of himself now.

Artorias had thrown off his dripping cloak and coat, but the rain had seeped through those with ease, and his armor offered little protection from the rain, merely directing the path the cold water took to his body. He was relieved to take it off, even as he shivered beside the fire, waiting for its warmth to drive the cold and the pain from his limps.

It was some time still before he also shed his undershirt to hang it to dry and slipped into the plain clothes he had left in this place, and others like it, for cases like this.

Although glad to be rid of the armor, Artorias felt the lack of protection acutely and in a way he suspected had little to do with any threat that truly existed for them right now. Sif, lying in front of the fire, looked at him without comment, and Artorias, already kneeling on the ground, sank forward with a quiet groan until his forehead was nearly touching the floor, clutching his left shoulder with his right hand as, for a moment, the lingering pain became nearly unbearable.

Sif whimpered softly, but stayed where she was and gave him space until the moment passed. Still aching, Artorias dragged the blankets from the bed and placed them in front of the fire, wrapping in one of them while lying on the other and against Sif's warm body.

The ground war hard, but Artorias was more aware of the comfort offered by the warmth of the fire and the friend by his side. He had spend the night in worse ways. Much, much worse.

The hut, the fire, they were luxuries. Even the clothes he was wearing, dry and clean and without holes. They were thin, though, protecting against little more than nakedness. And Artorias was very cold, and very tired.

Sif shifted, wrapped around him more, and he gratefully leaned into her, accepting the comfort she offered. Sif was exhausted, too, glad to be out of the rain and, like him, glad to be away from the city. They could have stayed the day in New Londo. In fact, it would have been sensible to do so. But neither of them had been able to bear the thought.

There was dried food in a basket under the floor, and Artorias hoped it had not gone bad in the damp weather. He was hungry, but too exhausted to care. Sif let him understand that her own hunger was not strong enough to warrant moving from the comfortable pile they now found themselves in. They would eat later, if there was anything to eat. If there wasn't, they would not.

They would sleep a few hours, while his clothes dried and outside the sun slowly climbed as high as it would go. They would eat, here or elsewhere, if they had to. Then they would go to New Londo, and Artorias would search the archives for anything, anything at all that could tell him how to defeat the Abyss rather than simply barely keep it in check until he no longer could. No matter how many darkwraiths he and Sif took out, there always were more, emerging from that dark chasm. Whatever turned them into what they were was lurking in there, firmly beyond their reach. They couldn't stop it if they could not touch it. They could not react to what was inside when they could not see it. And yet there seemed nothing they could do about that. Trying to touch the Abyss, to truly enter it would mean more than just death. Artorias shivered just thinking about it.

Perhaps Elizabeth could give him a hint how to access it in any form anyway, despite his dread. He would seek her out if the archives yielded nothing.

Perhaps he should go to her either way, and ask if she could do something for the ache in his body that had not yet recovered from the aftereffects of his most recent imprisonment and his punishment at the hands of executioner Smough as well as he had hoped. Days on his feet had shown him his limits; in combat, every blow he had blocked with his shield had jolted him to the bone, and his body had felt too slow to dodge more than the most obvious of attacks. He had done well enough this time, against only two opponents and with Sif fighting alongside him, but any odds worse than that could easily bring him down.

He wondered what Gwyn would do, then. Would he send someone else in his stead? Artorias and Sif had been chosen for this task because they had faced the Abyss before and survived, giving them unique experience with it, and because their weapons struck hard against its servants. What chances could anyone else have? They would fall in days.

Was that not the reason why they had to take on this enemy alone?

Artorias was not one who worked well with others. Giving orders was not in his nature, so other than Ornstein, Gough, and Ciaran, he had no troops to command, fighting only with Sif at his side as his friend and compatriot, no matter what others thought about their hierarchy. The wolf usually followed his lead. She did not have to.

The idea of working closely with others made him uncomfortable, yet he had proposed training knights from New Londo in how to deal with the creatures of the Abyss more effectively and to find its leaks in the land so they could help him in his fight and better protect the city and the towns even when he was not around. The kings had denied his request, explaining that since their society had formed mostly in times of peace, they did not have enough men to spare any more than they did to go outside the cave that housed their city. Their most important task was to fight anything that made it into the walls surrounding New Londo, react to any immediate treat to the population. They trusted Artorias to take care of everything else, as they knew he was capable enough to take on any enemy better than any of their knights ever could.

Their praise had run hollow, the argument had been short sighted. Artorias had accepted it then, in the beginning, feeling that their minds were set, but he had since brought his request up again. The fight had been going on and off for many years. The enemy did not retreat and the threat only ever grew, and the struggle with the Dark was wearing Artorias down like nothing else ever had. For the sake of the city's safety, defending it only against enemies that had already gotten inside was not good enough.

The kings not only denied his request again and again, they eventually send message to Lord Gwyn about his knight's inability to accept their decision and simply follow his orders. It had been incredibly frustrating, and also confusing, because they had to see the danger their people where in, had they not? Perhaps the castle they rarely left was keeping them too sheltered and they failed to see the threat for what it was, even after it had been going on for decades. Maybe they thought that Artorias could keep up this fragile status quo forever because they had never seen an attack of the darkwraiths themselves, or felt the lack of life in everything the Dark had touched.

Lord Gwyn had reprimanded him for speaking up against their decision. He trusted their judgment, and so should Artorias. He also trusted Artorias' judgment, he then amended – that was why he had given him this task. But the kings were wise and would not do anything that would bring harm to their people. If they would not give him soldiers to aid in this fight he did on their behalf, then there were good reasons for it, even if Artorias did not understand.

Gwyn had not felt the touch of the Abyss either. Artorias did not think that any of them would dismiss his assessment of the situation this easily if they had ever faced the servants of the Dark themselves, or even seen the devastation left behind in their wake.

He would suggest to the kings, the next time he saw them, that they leave their palace and survey the threat in person. He would be respectful and polite, but already he felt they would be angry. And they would not listen to him. These days, they rarely did. Something had changed since the shadow of the Abyss on their city had become something normal. Artorias used to be able to rely on their insight and support. Nowadays, they reacted badly to being questioned, by dismissing all arguments and demanding obedience to their rank without acknowledging anyone's opinion but their own.

Artorias did not know if that was all of them feeling this way, or just one or two, influencing the behavior of the group. It mattered little.

His scars ached, a tearing pain whenever he moved. He had no hope of the kings following his suggestion, but he would make it anyway. It was all he could do, and therefore not something he could give up on without even trying.

And once he failed this battle as well, how would things go on? Would the soldiers he had been denied finally pick up his fight after it had killed him? Surely, the kings would not simply leave their city to the Dark. There had to be something they would do then, so why not do it now?

Sif shifted, made a growling noise deep in her throat, and Artorias reached out to put a placating hand to her forehead. “It is nothing, friend,” he assured her. “I am merely being a coward who wishes he could place his burden on someone else.”

Sif snapped a reply that would have been impossible to put into words and settled back down with an air of irritation. Artorias sighed, staring into the flames of the fire. Sif knew him better than anyone else, but even she did not seem to understand that his fear of being inadequate for his mission was not unfounded.

He was not alone in this. He had her to help him, and for that he was more grateful than he could express but in the end that was not enough, and it was no fault of hers.

Sif shifted again. She was right. There was no point to his morbid thoughts. They were giving this all they had, and it was all they could do. Despairing over it would not help anyone.

And he was very tired. After he had slept, he would feel better. Perhaps the rain would let up, and the pain would lessen, and he would no longer feel so weak. Perhaps Elizabeth could help. She would have told him already if there was anything he could do to access the Abyss, but he had to ask anyway. Perhaps the archive would give him answers.

Perhaps the kings would listen to him, for once.

It would have taken too much energy to snort at the thought. Artorias drifted off to sleep in the warmth of the flames, and the nightmares found him quickly.

There was no fire in them.