Chapter Text
She was a quiet one, this Tarnished. She almost never spoke, only using words when it seemed there was no other option, and when she did, it was quiet. Trama? Religious reasons? Sir Gideon could not say.
But as quiet as she was, she was proving to be of more use then any of the others, not even his Daughter. She could see the grace, and she soon had a greater rune in hand. As such, he was willing to share information with her, as long as she was useful. And useful she was.
Sure, Fyra, as was her name, did things that went against his goals but inexplicably she always ended up doing what he wanted. Killing his men at the Albinaurics’ village was a loss of resources, but in the end, she got her hands on the medallion half that he had been searching for.
It even weeded out the weakness of his adopted daughter. The two were similar, in age and temperament, though Fyra was more girlish in lieu of seeing the grace, and of course her gathering of the greater runes.
A few setbacks were trivial to the gains.
Fyra came to him shortly after she had returned from the village, his daughter wallowing in the basement of the hold. She set a potion upon his table, fingers delicately touching the stopper. “A man named Selivus gave this to me.”
Gideon looked up from his papers, fingers digging into the wood. “Selivus? I have not heard that name in some time.” His gaze moved to the bottle. The same potion that had robbed him of Dolores. “Who, pray tell, did he wish this potion to go to?”
“Your daughter.”
There was no horror. No shock. His ‘daughter’ was a failure and of no use to him. But he knew that no one deserved the fate that Dolores met. To be a toy to some deviant. “You may give it to her if you wish… But her uses as she is are far more numerous then if she was some dolly botherer’s toy.”
He held out his hand. “Give it to me, and we can get one up on the bastard.”
There was not even hesitation. She took the bottle up in her hand again, and set it in his hand. He promptly smashed it upon the floor, venomous rage burning in him for an instant. “Thank you for this… I have been wanting to get back at him for some time.”
She only nodded. No more words today it seemed. “Now, return to him and let him think he’s got his new little toy. Knowing how far his head is up his own arse, he will believe you.”
Fyra winked at him, before she readjusted her armor and left the Hold.
Only days later, there was a sudden commotion outside his chambers, coming from the roundtable’s grace room. Gideon got up, rushing to the door. He opened it, and heard Nepheli yelling.
Another loud clatter, steel clashing steel. Fighting. Gideon took up his scepter, and hurried down the hall, bursting into the room, to find Ensha attacking Fyra, with Nepheli doing her hardest to try and get him off her without killing him.
It seemed he had taken Fyra by surprise, and was doing his damned hardest to try and run her through with his blade.
“What are you doing you idiot?!” Gideon lunged, swinging his scepter and bashed the man over the head. Ensha crumpled, and Fyra tossed him off her, her katana digging into his gut and finishing him off.
“Father, He just went for her. She came in, and he tried to kill her.” Nepheli said.
“And you did not try to kill him? You continue to disappoint me even after I cast you from my side, girl.”
Nepheli tended to Fyra, babbling at him. “He is your enforcer I… I didn’t want to anger you more. I thought I could stop him with non-violent force. He wanted the medallion and I thought-.”
“I have no use for men who get ahead of themselves and try to enact my will without questioning what I want.” Gideon said coldly.
Nepheli seemed to almost relax, like his words were of comfort to her despite how cold they were. Did she think he would ask Ensha to kill Fyra? The woman who was the Tarnished's best chance at becoming Elden Lord?
Preposterous.
Frya seemed a little shaken. This place was supposed to be a safe haven, code or not. “I will take her to Fia, I think she could use a bit of soft company.”
Fia may have been disgusting, but she was good at comfort at the very least. He turned as a few of the others arrived from the commotion.
“D, give this corpse to Dung Eater. I am sure he might have fun with it. It’s what he deserves.” Gideon hissed., giving the dead man’s head a kick.
He set a stiff arm around Fyra’s shoulders, taking her to Fia. Gideon found the woman in Rogier’s room, the man still very much asleep. “Is he still sleeping?” he asked, taken aback at the man’s laziness.
“Sadly yes.” Fia said, trying to make the sleeping man drink from a cup, “How may I help you, Sir Gideon?”
“I am sure you heard the commotion. Do see to Fyra, Ensha tried to kill her, and I think she could do with some friendly company.”
“Of course.” Fia said softly, she opened her arms to Fyra, and the other woman sank to her knees and allowed herself to be held. She pet her head softly. “How noble of you to worry for her mental health, Sir Gideon.”
He couldn't help but think that she said that with sarcasm.
He watched as Fyra then moved from Fia to move to Rogier, taking his hand and looking at Fia solemnly. So quickly she moved on to think of others suffering.
Fyra did not leave the hold for some time. She sought companionship from Fia and Nepheli both, as well as the sleeping Rogier. In the brief moments his path crossed with her’s, she would smile sweetly at him. A thankful smile it seemed.
She did leave eventually, but she would be back soon. Sooner than he expected.
Fyra was set upon his desk as he came to his study, wearing a thin gray dress that he recognized as a deathbed gown, the same kind that Fia wore under her cloak, showing her back, and the scars upon it. He set his book back onto the tower he got it from. “I expected more manners from you, Fyra. Sitting on my papers like a cat.”
As usual she chose her silence, saying nothing to him, her back to his form, facing where his chair was. She did, however, look over her shoulder at him, through her long brown hair. Her lips curled slightly, before she went back to seemingly stare at his chair like it was more interesting than him.
That made him curious.
He moved to the table, hand dragging over the surface. He realized she had stacked his papers and moved his books neatly in the far corners of it, out of the way. More manners than he expected. He moved until he stood before her. “Why are you wearing that?” He did not hold back the mild disgust in his tone.
She spoke finally, quiet as ever. “I like dresses.”
“Do you even know what it is?”
“Yes. Fia told me. She said I look pretty in it.” She lifted a hand, and rather roughly pushed him back, making him fall back into his chair, the wood creaking and threatening to snap from the sudden action.
“What are you-” Gideon snapped, moving to sit up, but she moved. Her legs, which had been curled to her chest, lowered, setting her bare feet on the wooden seat between his thighs. The fabric was so thin it seemed to cling to every curve of her torso, leaving nothing to his imagination to the shape of her.
As such, Gideon was unable to finish his thoughts, frozen in his motion to stand, leaning forward. His eyes darted over her body. The soft swells of her breasts, and the slightly raised flesh of her nipples. The fabric showed the curves of her stomach, dipping down and laying, nay, clinging to her hips and thighs.
The only saving grace was that the dark color of the sheer fabric masked the pink of her flesh.
When the dumb struck awe passed, he leaned away sharply, throwing his back into the chair, making it rock on its legs, threatening to fall back, but she used her feet to tilt him back forward. She laughed at him, a soft little girlish giggle. He could feel his face and body warming up in embarrassment.
The look on her face screamed a question of if he had ever seen a woman so intimately before.
He replied to her gaze, comfortably sure that he knew her body language well enough. “Don’t be stupid, girl. Of course I have. I have lived two lives. I am just… Surprised.”
Her foot moved to rest on his groin, while she leaned back on her hand, the other lifting the dress up, sliding the hem slowly up her legs. The coy flirty grin she made seemed to say. ‘Two lives you say? You must be skilled.’
Even if she was not speaking, she was being forward, more forward than he would expect from such a quiet woman. But perhaps she had grown bold in her time here, fighting demigods and clawing her way up the proverbial ladder.
Or perhaps she was always like this.
She finished pulling her dress up, exposing herself to him, dark curls of hair between her legs and the faint sight of glistening pink flesh. He felt himself stiffen under her foot. He took her ankle in his hand and tossed it off, hands fumbling with his trousers and armor, just enough to get himself free.
Gideon stood, taking her hips in his hands, pulling her closer to the edge of the desk. She was smiling at him, looking incredibly happy. She reached down, taking his length in hand, stroking it. His own hand slid between her thighs, gloved fingers rubbing her clitoris in soft circles, then hard, slow, then fast. Gideon searched her face for what she liked best, and when he found it, he abused it.
He’d be a fool to deny her. A woman as pretty as her didn't often fall into his lap. He slid his fingers inside her, rapid motions making her hips and breasts bounce. When he felt the foreplay was adequate enough, he moved her legs to wrap around his waist, and she eagerly complied, lips parted alluringly as he pressed against her, breached her, then slid inside.
Gideon braced a hand on the table as he pulled up the dress, the disgusting and yet extremely alluring dress. He exposed her breasts, her scars, all of it to him. He rocked his hips roughly, making his table creak.
Even her sounds of pleasure were quiet. Soft sighs, whispers of bliss. She clutched at his shoulders, grabbing at his fur cape, and pulling him closer. He put his weight on her, and her hands grasped at his helm, pressing her forehead to his.
“Gideon…” she whispered with such reverence.
He pressed his forehead more firmly against Fyra’s, his hips rocking harder, making the table scrape across the stone floor and the stack of books she had so thoughtfully moved out fo the way ahead of time falling over onto the ground. She moaned a little louder, hands grasping at his back now, holding him as her head fell back. Humorously, she had a red mark on her forehead from how hard they had been pressing their foreheads together.
She came. He came, finishing inside her. Oh it had been a bit too long since he had done this. He would be dead before he lay with Fia, who gave her warmth to corses. But Fyra… Well she was certainly more respectable, prettier too, he found. She suited his interests more.
He pulled out, hands grasping her breasts a moment to make up for the fact he had not given them any attention the entire time, before he pulled her dress back down over her body. “Don’t wear that dress again. I’d prefer you to be naked than wear such a dismal gown.”
Fyra only grinned at him tiredly, her hair sticking to her face. Her hand ran over her stomach, fisting the fabric, and he somehow knew she was saying that he had liked it more then he was letting on.
“Get out of here before you ooze all over the table, Fyra.” Gideon said in mock anger, putting himself back together and getting up, his own hand running over her stomach before he went to pick up his books. She slipped away as he did so, her giggles fading down the halls.
They continued to see one another, on and off. It was a welcome bit of distraction. He did love his books, but sometimes one needed a bit of… Spice to liven up the day. He was a bit annoyed however at her ever more frequent returns, rarely staying away for more than a few days.
She was coming to see Rogier, who continued to sleep, and thought tended to carefully by Fia, he began to wither away, growing thinner and thinner despite her efforts to spoon feed him broth. And the thinner he grew, the more his legs festered.
Still Fyra had more to tell him. More great runes gathered. She returned with information on Radahn, who was finally put out of his misery by her and what remained of his men. But more than that, she whispered to him.
Selivus was dead. And in his hand she placed a spirit ashes. A puppet to be exact.
Dolores’s puppet.
He clutched it in his hand tightly, hand shaking with how tightly he gripped it. Fyra looked concerned, like she thought she did something wrong, but he assured her she had not.
“You brought her home.” Gideon explained, “I can only hope it helps her rest in peace, if that is even possible for her now.”
He stashed what remained of Dolores away, safe and sound and at rest. No longer would what remain of her be tormented by that wretched deviant. And no more would he prey on others.
He made his rounds around the hold, making sure everyone had what they needed. Hewg was well, which was good, due to him being one of the most important there, himself the other. Brother Corhyn was gone, his room bare of his few meager belongings, off to follow the great Goldmask. Daillos and D were also gone, and while Gideon didn't know where, it was not important to him or his goals.
And the Dung Eater… Well he was where he always was, not that Gideon bothered to really check.
Everything else seemed in order, though he could not find Roderika, who was also turning out to be quite useful. He circled back to Hewg and inquired.
“She went to see that sorcerer lad.” Hewg said, hammering away. “Nasty business there. I can smell his legs from here.”
Ah yes… Rogier. He had not thought about the man in a while. He didn't expect his condition to be better, but still he checked out of polite courtesy.
As was usual now, Fia sat on Rogier’s bed, holding his head in her lap. However this time she was joined by Nepheli and Roderika, in addition to Fyra. The women stood and kneeled around him. Fyra was clutching his withered hand, holding it to her forehead, shoulders shaking.
“What is going on here?” Gideon asked, looking at the people who had gathered in the room.
“I am afraid, and very saddened to say, that Rogier has passed.” Fia said quietly, her hand resting gently over the man’s eyes, “His sleep was too deep.”
Gideon had seen it coming, truthfully, with how rotten his legs had become. The man had been suffering, and now he was free of it. He picked his words carefully. “I see. I do hope it was painless for him, and that his final dreams were good ones.”
“I made him comfortable, Sir Gideon.” Fia assured him.
Rogier had been a good man. Skilled and noble in birth and mind. Though his usefulness had long past, it was still a melancholy time. Many felt his loss, most of all Fia and Fyra. They sought solace together of course. Fyra, however, ended up going to him to hold her. Not to Fia.
She came in the night as he poured over a book. She took his hands, and led him to his bed. She shed her armor, and lay upon it under the cotton sheets and down filled blankets. He joined her, sitting back against the headboard, his hand awkwardly petting her hair as she curled into his side.
That was… He had not given comfort to another in a very long time. Not since his life before the shattering. She did the same the next night, and the next. Sometimes she cried softly, and he held her. After four nights of it, she requested he read something to her to sooth her.
Fyra lay on the bed, eyes half closed as she listened to him read aloud. He shifted, and his armor creaked. Her eyes opened fully, and she stretched, back arching as she sighed gruffly.
He closed the book, and she looked at him questioningly.
“I never got to thank you. You put a man’s mind at ease.” Gideon said quietly, “Selivus was a disgusting man. He deserved everything he got from you. And then some. What he did to Dolores… That he would go for Nepheli. That is twice he struck at those close to me. He probably would have tried going for you at some point, given the track record.”
She smiled sadly at him, and she lifted an arm, beckoning him to come to her. He did so, laying over her as he pulled the bedsheets away and laying her bare to him. She giggled as his hands grazed her sides, smiling in a content way.
He had missed her smile. preferring it to that melancholy. He also rather liked her giggles. They were… Lively. Genuinely delighted and a pleasant sound in such a fractured land. His hand tangled in her hair, thumb on her lips. “How are you so lively in such a terrible place?”
“I see what Melina sees. I see this place is beautiful, and the people in it too.” her hand brushed his helmet, fingers dipping inside the darkness of his faceplate, touching his lips only a moment. “You are beautiful.”
“Is the Dung Eater beautiful?” Gideon scoffed at her.
She only smiled. A smile that said he already knew the answer. She threw her leg over his, pressing her hips to his own. Her lips pressed to the rim of his helmet. Affection apparent and very clear, given her declaration she found him beautiful.
He scoffed again. The woman thought like a wide-eyed little girl, who believed in true love and happy endings. Those did not exist. They never truly did. Even before the shattering. His fingers moved between her legs, sliding in her, fingering her until her hips were arching off his bed, soaking his sheets with her release.
He freed his erection, setting her knees over his shoulders as he mounted her. He was a bit rougher than normal, thrusting deeper, harder, and faster. This in turn with his previous actions made her more vocal. Her hands rested on his biceps, nails scratching at the ivory leather. “Gideon~!”
Gideon was spurred to go harder, determined to draw more words, or at the very least screams from her. If the others heard them, so be it. He didn’t care in the slightest. As before, he pressed his helmet to her forehead, and she pressed up against his.
He got his scream when she came again, a loud cry as she clutched at him, baring through his frenzied thrusts, chasing his own finish. He came in her, and he sagged, gulping air as he nuzzled at her face. He held her face in his hands, pulling away, and he chuckled.
Another red mark on her forehead.
“Now then,” he said, groping her breast as he lay on his side, propped up on an elbow. “I want you to stop wallowing, and get back out there.” he grabbed her face next, squeezing her cheeks.
“You are so close. All that is left is Margott. You must go, and claim your title.”
She looked away from him, melancholy again. He gave her face another squeeze. “You can grieve Rogier on your feet, Fyra. Sword in hand.”
Fyra rolled over and pressed her face into his armored chest, grumbling.
“I am not asking you to go right now… After a rest first of course. I will rest with you.”
She made a far happier mumble, pressing up even closer to him. He settled, rather used to sleeping in his armor, holding Fyra close. So close they were to their goal. To think that quiet woman who had first stumbled into their hold would be the one to get this close.
She was gone when he woke up, and it would be a long time before she returned to Roundtable Hold. But when she did, she had succeeded.
“Finally, the final piece.” Gideon said, “You must go now, to the Erdtree. Become Elden Lord… What is wrong?”
She looked increasingly uncomfortable with every word he said. He straightened from his table, walking around it. “Fyra, what is it?”
“You should speak to Eina.” Fyra said, “But I will go, as you ask of me. I know what I must do to properly repair the Elden Ring.”
“Well, that is good.” He followed her out of his room, parting from her to make his own way to Eina.
“Fyra?”
He stopped walking, looking over his shoulder at Nepheli’s voice from around the corner. He stepped back, to sneak a look at the two women.
“I hear you have everything you need. You will be going to the Erdtree, yes?” Nepheli asked, “I am sure father was most pleased with you… I find he is quite pleased by you often these days, in fact.”
He could not read any expression or gesture Fyra made. But, Nepheli smiled at her, taking her hands.
“Father has not been so close to someone in a long time.” Nepheli said softly, “He is not the man I thought he was, but I think you can help him be that. Do take care of him for me? A consort of a consort… I wonder if that could be a thing?”
Gideon tilted his head back slightly as the two women embraced tightly for a long few moments before parting, still gripping each other assuringly. Nepheli was such a sentimental girl, thinking him as her father even though he no longer saw her as his daughter. He stepped away, and went to Enia.
“What did you tell her?”
The old woman turned her head slightly towards Two Fingers. “I told her that if the Erdtree won't let her in, that she should burn it.”
“If that is what it takes for her to do it…” Gideon said, though he faltered when all she said registered, “Wait, it will not not let her in? But she is the best choice. The only choice in fact.”
“It lets no one in, Sir Gideon. Least not one who is Tarnished. It has upset The Fingers… They are silent now, and will be for a long time.”
Those words shook him. He pondered them. His thoughts grew more frantic. What if Order was never meant to be repaired? What if the Queen wished them to squabble forever? That seemed unfair, it seemed so cruel. But it was what Marika wanted. Why would he try to defy the will of a god?
His thoughts cycled more and more. The tree was burning, and Roundtable Hold was too. Hewg would not leave, and Roderika left saddened but with purpose. Fia was gone. Nepheli was gone. Everyone gone. Were they dead? Safe? He did not know. It did not matter.
No… All that mattered was that he stopped Fyra. He intercepted her in the Capital. She approached him cautiously, dressed in Malenia’s golden armor. She liked feminine things, and indeed the armor suited that. She froze in place, recognizing it was him in her way.
“A sad state of affairs.” He said, “I commend you, but alas. None shall take the throne.”
Her hand gripped her katana tighter as she flexed her shield arm, head tilting, questioning. She was silent, and he knew her silence well.
“It is nothing personal. It is no grand scheme to take what you have earned for myself. I can not be Elden Lord either.” He lifted his scepter, “Queen Marika has high hopes for us… So we may struggle for eternity.”
Fyra moved first. He had never seen her fight to her full extent, but now he knew why so many fell to her. She was fast, skilled. Her blade swung fast, and oozed blood it seemed with every swing. They fought, blade against spell, and he knew many spells now, all thanks to her.
“It meant nothing to me you know.” he said coldly, growing frustrated in their fight, “Our time together was nothing. A distraction. A pleasant one to be sure… But it was meaningless.”
She faltered, and his sorcery struck her.
He noted the weakness. “You were only a means. It is thanks to you, that I have grown so strong. Learned so much.”
As she jumped by him as he dodged he saw her face only briefly, her lips were pursed like one would when holding back crying. He jabbed at her again. “You really are just a little girl, aren’t you? You knew what kind of man I was. Stop living in a fantasy world and see me and this place for what it is!”
She gripped her blade tighter, tossed her shield aside, and then took the handle in both of her hands. She lunged for him. Her flurry of strikes were rapid, and the wounds they left deep. Her teeth were bared, her shoulders tense. She had dropped the graceful movements for aggression.
He had angered her.
That was a mistake.
He was dying. He collapsed, laying in a growing pool of his blood, fingers grasping for his scepter.
“A Tarnished can not become Lord.” he said weakly, fingers brushing the handle. Set blindly on destroying her still, “Not even you.”
She would have been perfect. Better than he would have been.
She sank to her knees, taking Gideon under his arms and pulling him up onto her lap. She embraced him tightly, before turning him over, her flask pressed to his lips.
“What-?” the flask was tilted forward, and only a single drop of the crimson tears flowed onto his tongue. Just enough to save him but not enough to invigorate him. He was still too weak to move, laying haphazardly upon her lap.
Her hands ran over the edge of his helm, tracing the rims of sculpted ears, before sliding down, and taking his wrist, lifting his left hand, taking it gently in hers.
“You cannot be-” Movement drew his attention. Her other hand gently held a ring between her fingers. He watched, bewildered as she slid it upon his ring finger. He had just tried to kill her in cold blood, all while saying their time together meant nothing to him.
And yet she saved him. Held him tenderly.
“You are my chosen.” Fyra said quietly, lacing their fingers together, squeezing. Her other hand returned to his helmet, fingers sliding under the rim to graze his skin.
Gideon fumbled with his tongue, mouth too dry to find his voice for a moment. He struggled to move, to grab his scepter. She would not be the consort to Marika? Then what would she be? What kind of Elden Lord? Still reeling and broken from his discovery, he could only numbly repeat what he had said before. “You cannot be Elden Lord. You cannot-”
“Shhhh. Order will return.” she shushed him gently, offering him another tiny sip off her flask, “Trust me.”
She leaned down then, her lips pressed to the nose guard of his helm, squeezing his hand again.
Inexplicably, as he looked up upon her tender face, he found he did.