#unalloyed epilogue

[catcas22]

I'm still on board with the theory that St. Trina was an alias Miquella used in his youth. But I also think that splitting off pieces of one's psyche to create a new being is an Empyrean ability, possibly a defense mechanism activated in moments of extreme trauma (sort of the way certain plants and fungi release spores when damaged). We know Malenia did it, but Marika also seems to have done it at least once. Could Miquella have subconsciously done the same when Mohg cut him out of his original cocoon in the Haligtree?

Back in the Unalloyed-verse, Mothman Miquella is making his rounds in the infirmary when he encounters a young perfumer who looks strangely familiar.

#elden ring #fanart #unalloyed fic #unalloyed epilogue #miquella the unalloyed #mothman miquella #st trina #malenia blade of miquella

[alma-amentet]

I’ve been tagged by @katastronoot and @sheirukitriesfandom

Feel free to take if you haven’t been tagged already.

1) Describe one creative WIP project you’re planning to work on over the summer.

Just a few days ago I decided to pull myself together and finish my drafts, debts and references queue. There’s a number of tabs with refs hanging in my browser... Need to get rid of them! Then I’ll also finish some tutorials from my previous lessons as well as rewatch the ones I already did, just to get back in shape. And will probably dive into some other courses - I have some good videos.

Was thinking about making some doll, clothes after a long break. My drunk shepherdess needs this, as I changed my mind to sell her away! (she’s another story). And a bag for my favorite tarot deck, now I use the the bag I made for another one, while that another one rests in a bag that once was part of friend’s Christmas present.

The rest is optional for now, but I hope to start drawing more portraits again. Maybe, by the end of the year I’ll be taking requests and trades for your OCs and favorite characters... That would be super cool.

I wanted to start attending my IRL art class again, but looks like I won’t be able to afford it 😢 Sadly I’m not making much money these days, and there are some unexpected expences.

2) Rec a book!

Tanith Lee, The Night’s Master. I think Elden Ring fans will appreciate 😉 Made a post about it a while ago.

I also liked The Winter Players - finally, a good and strong female protagonist! Not evil, unlike Zorayas - the one from the Night’s Master 😉

3) Rec a fic!

False Azure in the Windowpane by Tulak_Hord

If you don’t mind het Malenia ship. I don’t because it has a lot of fluff and an interesting Tarnished. I loved the first 55k words, excluding the chapter where they sparred (for me, that felt too long and boring). But I keep reading it.

Also Flamed Aeonia by BadMonsterFr  

This one has fem shipping, also a lot of hurt/comfort and fluff - just the way I like it! 

I love Malenia fluff. So more Malenia fluff pls! If you can rec me anything else like this, you're welcome! (yes I know and love Unalloyed, esp. the epilogue. It’s somewhat different, more on Millicent and Miquella, but just my vibes as well).

(also I’m really sorry for not reading some of fandom’s buddies works, I do - I’d like to support you more ... started some of them, but couldn’t keep up. I’m a bad and slow reader, and prefer smaller sizes to long ongoings. There are just two long ongoings I'm reading, False Azure and Rebecca's, because they are updated not really often).

4) Rec Music!

I’m on my Breton and Francophone folk kick again, so I recommend 

- La Boutine Souriante, folk-rock from Quebec (so far I’m listyening to their earliest albums, but they’ve been around since 70s and have many albums)

- Tri Yann. Modern Breton classics, I’d say! Love those old men who are still fit and well.

5)Share one piece of advice!

I agree with @vidvana Take care of yourself! Also don’t skip meals, get enough sleep. And if you feel you’d use some support, seek it any ways. If you can’t afford therapy or anything, there’s plenty of books and resources. Sometimes it’s even easier to help yourself than to find help. I’m quite experienced in self-help, I know what I’m talking about. 

For me, Julia Cameron’s “The Artists’s Way” has become that single straw I grasped in my darkest times, and it actually helped greatly! I also used her list of further reading and quotes, thus finding Shakti Gauvain, whose books are inspiring and supportive as well. Later I was a moderator for several groups for the Asrtists’Way. Not an easy experience, but it taught me something as well.

But if there’s a chance of any therapy, groups, any other support, don’t give it up as well.

#ask game #tag game #alma.txt

[johnjankovic]

BLITZKRIEG

Then there will issue from the stock which had remained barren for so long, proceeding from the 50th degree, one who will renew the whole Christian Church. A great place will be established, with union and concord between some of the children of opposite ideas, who have been separated by diverse realms. And such will be the peace that the instigator and promoter of military factions, born of the diversity of religions, will remain chained to the deepest pit. And the kingdom of the Furious One, who counterfeits the sage, will be united.

Nostradamus, Epistle to King Henry II

A luminary’s life as in narratology presupposes an ending worthy of himself or of a protagonist, amnesia issues from an anemic ending, memorability from the opposite, an otherwise good story fails should its coda be infelicitous to the mythos’ style, or be it that its banality dulls the senses enough to swiftly forget what was written in spite of what perhaps may have been authored with assiduous thought. In the main, an epilogue in real life or not must jar the witness or reader lest she neither think on nor talk of, if unworthy of remembrance, the ending itself. For example, a really fine book converts an ending into some climacteric which edifies the reader as in Victor Hugo’s Hunchback of Notre-Dame where he writes, evoking love’s transcendence beyond mortality, ‘Quand on voulut le détacher du squelette qu’il embrassait il tomba en poussière’. Playwright William Shakespeare discovers tragedy alone to be the single panacea for a vendetta between two houses fraught with bloodshed, ‘For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo’. Robert Sherwood’s character Myra in the film noir screenplay of Waterloo Bridge steps into an oncoming truck, years later a bereaved gentleman reads wistfully in a voice-over sequence a missive from his late inamorata, ‘I loved you, I’ve never loved anyone else, that’s the truth Roy, I never shall’.

Seeming ethereal, and something that recalls fatalism whose leitmotif typically expresses an abrupt departure of some kind by a beloved character, endings ought to eclipse their beginnings if only to teach a lesson based upon dramatic loss. Gleaned from another one of the author’s dearest films, Father O’Malley in 1944’s Going My Way shuffles off screen onto his next parish in the dark of Christmas Eve to disappear from the merrymaking and mellifluous sounds of Saint Dominic’s Church after forever changing the lives of its churchgoers for the better. Such it is that in fiction as in life no matter how treasured a person their value typically cannot be ascertained until deprivation reveals it, this is the queerness of the human condition and yet an important one to understand that without loss no lesson worth knowing can ever be learned which is oddly true with many of life’s vicissitudes. Loss epitomizes the genesis of empathy, it is the quintessential impetus to the solicitude for the welfare of others, and the meaning of life generally issues from it, from an acute and sudden emptiness in time and space, from the enigmatic loss of control to disrupt nature’s determinism, and from where the dialectic between love and loss is finally known.

The concept of love must be entertained to fully appreciate this intimation of loss wherein fondness greatly increases only after the fact. To begin, ‘Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love’ (1 John 4:8). The idea is not a panegyric to divinity but a cosmological truth, alas society in its infinite wisdom vulgarizes its usage to indifferently describe eros when its impression upon man or woman beggars description and makes meretricious any sort of explanation behind it. Here the author speaks of courtship, not the love of a parent nor sibling nor even the false kind of an evening’s diversion, for the latter is nothing other than a knee-jerk conquest at variance with the snug feeling from the arousal of ecstasy for another and not at all for oneself whose act binds two persons together ‘so that the two will become one flesh’ (1 Corinthians 6:16). The said emotion can be so remarkably intense, so mysterious, so heady, so otherworldly, that in absentia its toll may provoke suicide as in the literary, thespian, or cinematographic instances of star-crossed lovers above, a fact no less of how humans experience the world much differently than the animal kingdom animated by self-preservation.

In the chronicle of time has loss been wed to love in legends, tales, and folklore from which the epitome in some form or another entails sacrifice. ‘Greater love has no one than this’, Jesus imparted to the Apostles the night of his seizure, ‘that he lay down his life for his friends’ (John 15:13). The modest imitation of such selflessness in the vineyard of life includes austerity of a husband foregoing his wants and needs to pleasure and please his wife or vice versa, the asceticism of a mother to nurture her child’s growth, the stoicism from a suitor apostatizing love if it means his soulmate shall be better for it, or the repudiation of material things to serve the needy. The eudaemonism of sacrifice, to do for others more than for thyself, carries with it great weight in Christian theology, an attribute so contrary to the ethics of atheists and agnostics who confound humans with primates in their defence of sin and vice. The loss of self becomes the loftiest reaches of enlightenment as Jesus sermonizes, ‘For whoever would save his life would lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it’ (Matthew 16:24-25). Saint Augustine who enlarges upon this sacrifice of incurvatus in se observes how it outwardly manifests through the appearance of unalloyed love for a wife, husband, offspring, sibling, parent, friend, or neighbour.

For the Apostles their discipleship ended with the literal imitation of Jesus’ sacrifice whose act colours the identity of a true Christian for it is anticipated our pain shall heal rather than victimize another. The irrationality of it, far different than paganism’s cultic or ritual offerings to appease a deity as ransom, testifies to the superiority of a principled man versus the hedonism of the uncouth, to the reason why humans are not merely animals, or to the fact his self originates in the image of Father. What escapes Christian dilettantes is how, on the subject of the Crucifixion and persecution of the apostles thereafter, the crux of the doctrine pivots on sufferance. ‘If any man would come after me’, Jesus said, ‘let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me’ (Mark 8:34; Matthew 10:38; Luke 14:27; Matthew 16:24). A fellowship of twelve brothers, however agonizing it would later be, bespoke this omnipotent truth that the Church woefully communicates to its patrons today.

The word ‘sacrifice’, antagonistic to if not obsolete verbiage in a liberal culture of instant sexual gratification and material consumption which paints Jesus as a puritanical killjoy, occurs 271 times in the bible as a thanksgiving to Father, an atonement, or disavowal of selfish pleasure. The term has fallen into disuse or worse has become anathema, stigmatized by the egocentrism of the stupid, by the profligacy of spendthrifts, or by the superficiality of glamorous lifestyles hawked by tabloids, even war sacrifice from patriotism grates on the vox populi. Society derides the virtues of self-denial and abstinence, these are not only absurd by normative groupthink but commonly accepted as wrong, a true microcosm of how estranged people are from goodness. Jesus died for our sins (1 Corinthians 15:3), as much as he laid down a messianic template (John 13:14-15), however a great many Christians sensationalize the former believing themselves inoculated against comeuppance from sin if they partake in churchgoing, and belittle the latter in virtue of their arrogance and cupidity.

Widespread aversion to pain abreast of freewheeling promiscuity and gluttony have transformed sacrifice to embody the meekness of a hapless fool, a characteristic more craven than intrepid. This same narrative idolizes the Resurrection with passing regard for the Passion and Crucifixion as the theological ascendency of patripassianism suggests Jesus was not crucified at all but instead it was God. No man could be brutally scourged, disfigured, crucified, and skewered nor should any semblance of it be expected from armchair Christians, hitherto their cowardice remains unbecoming of our family. Were it not for the bloodletting and bloodsport by the Pharisees, for a memorable ending, for such ghastly torture, for an unforeseen departure, the world would believe Jesus an agitator and charlatan insofar as nothing would be reaped if it were unsown and such that the Son spoke to his disciples, ‘[U]nless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a seed; but if it dies, it bears much fruit’ (John 12:24). It is said 53 minutes from where there rings 53 bells such a seed shall be planted once more.

#Son #Father

[catcas22]

Millicent, Haligtree squire. Based off of Malenia’s set and the page set.

#elden ring #fanart #millicent #unalloyed fic #unalloyed epilogue

[catcas22]

Unalloyed Epilogue part 3

Fair warning, this is going to be a bit darker than previous chapters. Content warning for Mohg. Still angst with a happy ending.

Consider this my rant against the "Miquella actually wanted to be kidnapped" crowd.

            Blood. Only blood.

            Blood, thick and hot and choking. Blood coating his tongue, blood rising over his head, blood blotting out the light, turning it first red, then black.

            Miquella clawed for the surface. Blood filled his lungs, blood dragged him down.

            With a final burst of terror-fueled strength, he reached out and his hand breached the surface. A presence loomed over him, black against a red-black haze. He stretched out his hand even as he sank, begging for help.

            A claw closed around his wrist.

***

            Miquella thrashed awake, heart hammering against his ribs like a desperate fist against iron bars. He dug his fingers into the sheets, attempting to ground himself.

            You’re in your own bed. Breath came in frantic gulps, too short to fill his lungs. I can feel the material of the sheets. No, he was lying on cold marble. I can smell candlewax, parchment, wood polish... Blood, burnt feathers, silk robes.

            He sobbed for air as his chest tightened. Start over. I can feel the sheets. I can see the stars through the window. False stars. I can hear...

            Golden soles clacked across the floorboards. Even with all rational thought lost to panic, that sound meant safety. A scarred hand rested on his arm.

            “Miquella?” Her voice, sharp with worry and urgency and confusion, grounded him just a bit more. “Miquella, I’m here.”

            Still unable to find his words, he squeezed her hand in acknowledgement. His eyes were adjusting to the light now. With his newly sensitive vision, he could make out Malenia hovering over him, hair disheveled and sans one arm.

            On his first night back at the Haligtree, he’d had his bed moved up to Malenia’s room. With the unnatural strength of rot-madness stripped away, she’d fallen into a coma that lasted nearly three days, and he’d been unwilling to leave her unattended for even a moment.

            After Malenia awoke, the arrangement had persisted. Although neither had admitted it aloud, they both slept easier knowing that the other was within easy reach.

            Malenia’s arm curled around his shoulders, shifting him to the side. He remained curled inward, but he allowed himself to be moved. The breathing techniques finally gained traction, and he forced himself to draw in slow, measured breaths.

            This was not his first nightmare since returning home, but it was the first one violent enough to wake Malenia. In the cocoon his dreams had been abstract, a constant ebbing and flowing of blood, of watching eyes, of formless anxiety.

            Now he dreamt of Mohg.

            Malenia wrapped her good arm around his middle, drawing him against her side. He rested his head on her shoulder, taking care to turn so that he wouldn’t jab her with his horns. Miquella rubbed at his wrists, tracing the path of bruises long since healed.

            He had watched Mohg die.

            Had that not been the case, Miquella was quite certain he would have never slept again. He had slumbered unaware, sequestered in his cocoon, while Mohg crept into the heart of his kingdom and stole him away.

            The idea of waking up in Mohgwyn Palace and finding that the past weeks were nothing but a hopeful dream set his hands shaking. He forced himself to think of the omen’s lifeless body, Millicent’s blade embedded between dulled eyes, but the image only turned his stomach.

            Malenia drew him closer, rubbing soothing circles against his back. “What did he want with you?”

            Her question hung in the silence, heavy with implication.

            For the majority of his life, Miquella had been physically defenseless. While the limitations of his childish form had galled in some ways, his relative helplessness had never been a source of anxiety. He’d always had Malenia, his shadow, his sword and shield.

            When he emerged from his cocoon and learned what Mohg had done, his thoughts had been consumed with worry for the Haligtree. The fear of what had happened in his absence far outweighed the fear of being trapped with Mohg, alone and far from aid.

            Now the terror he’d pushed aside in the moment returned to torment him nightly. Claws at his throat, blood thorns at his wrists, teeth bared inches from his face, the primal fear of being trapped in the clutches of someone far larger and stronger.

            “I have forgiven you, my love.”

            Mohg had spent decades stewing in his own madness, building delusion upon delusion until the olive branch Miquella had offered two hundred years ago morphed into a declaration of love, until Miquella’s refusal to back a campaign of indiscriminate vengeance warped into the cruelest of betrayals.

            “He needed me to serve as a host for his god. He wished to use me to bring in the new age.” He watched realization slowly creep across her face. “He wished to become my Elden Lord.”

            A storm of rage and disgust flickered across Malenia’s countenance, rankling at the lack of a target for her vengeance. Her protective hold tightened even as her features twisted into a snarl. “Sick bastard.”

            “He’s gone, Malenia.” He wished that he could heed his own admonition. “There’s nothing to be gained by cursing a dead man.”

            Her brow furrowed sympathetically. “And yet you can’t sleep.”

            Miquella nodded, tears welling up. Malenia’s hand squeezed rhythmically, applying gentle pressure to his shoulder.

            “Shall I bring one of your sleeping draughts?”

            “No, I’d... I’d rather not.”

            So far as he knew, he was the only healer for miles around proficient in the use of soporifics. He’d practically invented that particular branch of medicine. Without an impartial physician to oversee his dosage, he feared that he might become addicted to his own sleep aids. The promise of total unconsciousness was nearly irresistible as it was.

            Malenia nodded, her sightless gaze fixed on the floor. “How can I help?”

            His voice wavered. “Stay.”

            He needed to know that he was home, not back in the cocoon. He needed to know that Malenia was there, that he would not be spirited away again. He needed to know that he was safe.

            Malenia swung her legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard, still sheltering him against the curve of her side. Miquella shifted carefully, settling into a position that his wings and horns would allow for. Once he stilled, his sister moved her hand to cradle his head.

            Eyelids heavy, he allowed his dreams to draw him back in. Perhaps the nightmares would come again, perhaps even tonight. He would endure until they faded. Malenia was herself again, rescued from the depths of madness. His people were safe. Millicent was recovering from her ordeal even as he tried to do the same.

            Any nightmare remained bearable so long as his family waited in the waking world.

#elden ring #fanfic #unalloyed epilogue #miquella the unalloyed #malenia blade of miquella #mohg the omen #mothman miquella #hurt/comfort #angst #nightmares

[catcas22]

Unalloyed Epilogue, part 6

The final chapter. For real this time, I swear.

            Millicent nearly scared the life out of him when she burst into his workshop, urging him to bring a needle and his healer’s bag and with Malenia nowhere in sight. It wasn’t Malenia in need of treatment, she’d quickly clarified -- it was one of her sisters.

            Miquella sprinted down the streets of Ordina, hot on Millicent’s heels. He’d grown into his new body somewhat -- at least he no longer felt like a child placed on a rack and stretched to adult proportions -- and he managed to keep pace with his niece.

            He found the infirmary nearly deserted apart from two anxious albinauric guards. Ducking under the stone archway, he fumbled through his bag and came up with the needle. “Malenia?”

            The infirmary was clean but spartan, a single room with a water basin and a half-dozen cots lined up in two rows. Malenia sat on the edge of the nearest cot, her unalloyed arm wrapped around a small, bedraggled figure.

            The girl startled at his entrance, gaze darting first to him, then to Millicent.

            When he first established the Haligtree, the new settlement had been flooded by the unfortunate castoffs of the Golden Order. Misbegotten, albinaurics, even a few omens, all risked the journey through the Consecrated Snowfield or the treacherous northern sea rather than remain in the Lands Between.

            He’d treated many of them personally, for ailments of both the body and the mind. Millicent’s sister bore a look he’d become all too familiar with in those early years, the skittish, hollow-eyed look of one who could not accept that she was safe. Her single golden eye darted from him to Malenia to Millicent, seeking the source of an attack that she knew was surely imminent.

            Millicent fidgeted, lingering just inside the doorway. “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered. “We don’t have to fight here, they aren’t like the kindred.”

            Miquella easily slipped back into his old bedside manner. Replacing Malenia at the girl’s side, he gestured toward the bloody bandages wrapping the right side of her face. “May I?”

            She nodded, a sharp, jittery movement. The moment he began to unwrap the bandages, he knew that he would not be able to salvage her eye. Very carefully, he dabbed the tattered flesh around the socket clean. She sat stock-still through all of it, fists clenched tightly in her lap.

            “I’ll have to do some work on your eye.” Miquella sorted through the materials he’d brought with him, coming up with a collection of herbs and a mortar and pestle. He summoned a spark of holy fire and set the concoction to smoldering. “I need you to breath in as much of this as you can. It will put you into a deep sleep while I work. I can give you something more for the pain when you wake up.”

            The girl eyed the mixture fearfully, but she gritted her teeth and breathed it in all the same. Miquella caught her shoulders as she swayed, gently lowering her down onto the cot. A quick check of her reflexed confirmed that she was indeed dead to the world.

            As he laid out his surgical tools, he considered how best to proceed. The eye was a difficult area to treat, as compared to Millicent’s relatively straightforward shoulder wound. He couldn’t shake the notion, disturbing as it was, that the injury had deliberately been inflicted in such a way as to make treatment difficult.

***

            Malenia tapped Millicent on the shoulder and nodded towards the door. “May I have a word?”             While she knew that the girl had seen battle, many who could hold their nerve in a fight still lacked the stomach to watch a surgery. As Millicent followed her outside, she searched for some pretext to explain their sudden exit.

            Millicent unknowingly provided said pretext. Her voice sounded half hopeful, half disbelieving. “You’re really going to let her stay?”

            “She is welcome, as you are.”

            Upon learning of the existence of Millicent’s sisters, Malenia’s feelings had been rather mixed. On the one hand, they were her children. On the other, they had tried to murder her daughter. They worshiped the malevolent god that she had spent her whole life struggling against.

            Pollyanna’s arrival had tipped the scales rather firmly toward protectiveness. Her condition confirmed much of what Malenia initially suspected. Millicent only ever spoke of her childhood in vague terms, insisting that she could hardly remember most of it. However, it was painfully obvious that prior to her arrival at the Haligtree, she was utterly unaccustomed to being treated decently.

            “We don’t have to fight here, they aren’t like the kindred.”

            Malenia set her rage aside -- Later -- and turned back to Millicent.

            “And... And the others? If they were willing to come back?”

            “I would not turn them away.” This time she caught the half-formed question hidden behind the spoken one. She reached out, softly holding Millicent’s face in her hands. “I will always be grateful for what you did for Miquella. But that did not secure you your place here. That was never something you had to earn. Both you and your sisters will always be welcome here.”

            A solid weight crashed into her chest, arms constricting her middle. Brushing aside her surprise, Malenia returned the embrace -- it was the first time Millicent had ever hugged her back.

***

            Millicent leaned against the wall of the infirmary, alone apart from the silent figure in the cot. Miquella had returned to the Haligtree to make arrangements for their return, while Malena had left to speak with the wolf riders regarding taking up the search for the remaining three sisters once more.

            Pollyanna hadn’t moved since the surgery. Millicent drummed her fingers against her metal forearm, overcome by nervous energy. She wished that she possessed the slightest fraction of Miquella’s optimism.

            Surely Pollyanna seemed better than when she’d first dragged herself out of the Consecrated Snowfield. Her skin remained as white and bloodless as paper, but the scars peeking out from under fresh bandages had lost their feverish flush. She wasn’t moving, but her breathing seemed steady, no longer quick and ragged.

            A faint whimper startled her into action. As her sister stirred awake, Millicent caught her hand before she could tear the bandages away from her face.

            “Gods, you shouldn’t be awake yet! Wait here, I’ll bring Miquella...”

            “Wait.” The feeble grip on her hand tightened. Pollyanna remained curled inward, head down and shoulders pulled up to her ears. “Millicent I... I’m sorry.”

            “I don’t blame you.”

            The words spilled out unthinkingly, but she meant them. Seeing her sister in such a pitiful state, she couldn’t find it in her heart to hold a grudge.

            Pollyanna gripped her in a tight hug, face buried in the shoulder of her surcoat. Her voice wavered. “I missed you.”

            The admission hit her like a physical blow to the chest. Millicent held her sister for a long moment before she gently disentangled herself. “I’m going to find Miquella. Just wait here.” She hesitated, hands lingering on the younger girl’s shoulders. “I missed you too.”

***

            With Miquella’s attention fixed firmly on mixing another batch of medicine, it was a simple matter to slip out of the infirmary. Millicent set off into the snowfield, the hood of her cloak raised against the light snowfall. The sun had long since set, but she wouldn’t need her eyes to find what she sought.

            Pollyanna couldn’t have travelled far in her condition, and the others wouldn’t be much better off. They were certainly still nearby.

            As she pushed through calf-deep snow, Millicent focused on the ethereal tug at the back of her mind. Malenia and Miquella had been born inextricably linked, two bodies sharing the same soul. Then the Aeonia Bloom ripped Malenia’s being into pieces, spawning Millicent and her sisters in the process.

            Now that they were close, she could feel the same tug on her soul she’d felt when she first met Miquella. This time it felt harsh, grating like the ends of a broken bone. Millicent drew her sword.

            She spotted the shadow just as she crested another snowdrift, standing stiff and straight against the wind. A spear stood planted in the ground beside her.

            Maureen.

            Easily the most dangerous of her sisters. During Millicent’s journey to the Haligtree, they had fought outside of Ordina, but the memory of an earlier duel struggled to emerge. The red haze of the Lake of Rot. Her sister’s blood on her sword. Gowry’s approving smile. Had the fortunes of battle fallen differently, Maureen could have easily been the one sent aboveground to initiate the second Bloom.

            Millicent advanced, sword at the ready. Maureen had still possessed one eye at their last meeting. Now both were bandaged.

            “Millicent, is that you?” She bared her teeth in a grim smile. “... Knew you’d come...” Her words slurred, hampered by the blood washing down her chin. With obvious effort, she tugged her spear free of the ground and leveled it at Millicent. “Come on and finish it. Better your blade than the Rot.”

            Millicent marched forward, paying no heed to the obvious crunch of her boots through the snow. She sheathed her sword and took hold of the spear, easily tearing it out of her sister’s hands.

            Maureen staggered, then threw a feeble punch. Millicent caught her arm and pulled it across her shoulders, supporting the other girl as she turned them both back towards Ordina.

            “We’re going back to the Haligtree.” Millicent dragged her along, ignoring Maureen’s ineffectual struggling. “If you still want to fight after Miquella’s cured you, then I’ll fight, but I won’t let you die like this.”

            Her sister stumbled along in teeth-gritted silence. Millicent practically had to carry her, one arm around her waist and Maureen’s arm hooked over her shoulders.

            “What about the others?” she ventured. “Are they still alive?”

            “Barely,” Maureen spat. She remained silent for a handful of breaths, jaw clenched. “We all had to take on the Rot,” she whispered, her harsh tone suddenly turned brittle, “after you strayed. Father said that at least one of us might be strong enough to Bloom.”

            The long-suspected revelation speared her through the heart. “I’m sorry.”

            Maureen looked away, silent apart from her labored breathing. Millicent did not press her further. What could she possibly say?

            Lantern light broke the monotony of white and gray. The buildings of the gate town slowly took shape against the gathering darkness.

            “Come on,” Millicent encouraged, “we’re almost there.”

            She almost missed Maureen’s response, the fragile whisper barely breaking through the rushing of the wind. “Are you going back for the others?”

            “Just as soon as I get you out of the weather.” Millicent hesitated. “Do you think they’ll come?”

            “Amy will be over like a shot once she hears you have medicine. Mary...” She gnawed her lip. “You might have to drag Mary, but she’ll come around.”

            She couldn’t help but smile at Maureen’s tacit admission that she believed in Millicent’s promise of treatment. “I’ll bring them both back. I swear it.” Millicent stopped them both at the door of the infirmary, fist poised to knock. “Would you like to meet our family?”

#elden ring #fanfic #unalloyed epilogue #unalloyed fic #millicent #millicent’s sisters #hurt/comfort

[catcas22]

Unalloyed Epilogue, Part 1

So I basically have no plans for where this is going. It's basically just all of the characters emotionally decompressing after the events of Unalloyed. If you want fluff/fluff+angst without plot, you're in the right place. I'll be adding to this as inspiration strikes.

            “I cannot compel you to live, if you are determined otherwise. But you will not sacrifice yourself for my sake.”

            Malenia released Millicent’s hand and waited, alert to the slightest of sounds. She waited for a shift in the air, a rustle of clothing, anything that might indicate a move toward the needle. She heard only the crackling of the Haligtree’s dry leaves and the slow, shuddering breaths of someone trying to hold back tears.

            A sob cut through the silence, stifled just as abruptly.

            She reached out, hand hovering just short of where she knew Millicent to be. The girl had been so wary of her, nearly recoiling at every touch. Malenia moved slowly, leaving space for Millicent to pull away if she so desired. Her fingertips brushed the sharp angle of an elbow. Millicent offered no resistance when Malenia nudged her forward.

            Very carefully, she drew the girl -- her daughter -- into her embrace. Another sob, sharp and ragged. Malenia had scarce experience comforting people, but the words came easily enough. Here, at least, she knew what to say. She knew what she had longed to hear when she was Millicent’s age.

            “You are not a plague. Not a curse. You are my daughter, Millicent, and you are home.”

            Millicent’s arm remained limp at her side, but she leaned into the embrace, and she wept, sounding as if her heart were being torn from her chest with each sob. Malenia held her, silently rubbing her back until the sobs turned to quiet tears, and then to soft, shaky breathing.

            “Come with me.” She carefully turned Millicent away from the edge and back toward the Haligtree, keeping an arm around her shoulders. “The Rot is not a death sentence, not here. We can help you.”

***

            The short journey ended in Miquella’s study. She had allowed Malenia to lead her, too exhausted to question.

            As she slumped into the offered chair, Millicent vaguely recalled that she’d left her arm at the top of the Haligtree. For the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

            The duty of certain death had evaporated, and with it the unbearable tension that had driven her onward since Ordina. Now she felt hollow, adrift in the void where she had once held an unshakeable purpose, however terrible it might have been.

            Miquella entered before she could think to gather herself. He took in her missing arm, the half-dried tears on her face. Golden eyes flooded with concern, asking questions she lacked the will to answer.

            “She is not a natural-born child.” Malenia’s words would have cut if not for the hand that still enveloped her shoulder, warm and heavy. “She tells me that she was formed from the Rot itself.”

            Miquella’s gaze darted from his sister back to Millicent. “You couldn’t be one of the kindred. If you were born entirely of Rot, my needle would have killed you.”

            “She carries a piece of our shared soul, cast off after the Battle of Aeonia.”

            Millicent forced her voice to rouse. “I didn’t lie to you,” she rasped, “at the Temple. I didn’t know what I was then.”

            He nodded slowly. She could already see his agile mind slotting the pieces together. “But you remembered after Ordina?”

            Malenia squeezed her shoulder. She could feel the pressure building in her chest once more, though she’d been sure she had no more tears to shed. “I’m sorry.”

            She couldn’t look at him. He wouldn’t be angry at her deception. He’d be hurt, and that would be worse.

            “Millicent, you could have told me.”

            “I wanted to, but...” The words choked off, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “I never meant to endanger the Haligtree, but I had to return what I had stolen from Malenia. I never thought I’d survive--”

            Talons clicked against the wooden floor. For the second time, she was enveloped in a warm embrace. Miquella’s arms wove around her, as if he could curl his lanky body into a protective cocoon.

            “Millicent...”

            Fresh tears poured down her cheeks. She felt sure that she’d wept more in the past hour than she had in her life, but now that she’d started she couldn’t seem to stop. How long they remained like that, Miquella’s heartbeat against her cheek and Malenia’s hand pressing reassuringly against her back, she neither knew nor cared. A spark of warmth ignited in the void, and for now that was enough.

            “Can she be helped?” Malenia’s soft query broke the silence. “The Rot is a parasite upon me, while she is at least partially formed of it. Would a cure for me be poison to her?”

            “The needle worked as intended,” he affirmed. “There is hope. She’s more herself than she is the Rot.”

            He leaned out of the embrace, just enough for Millicent to see his smile. “You didn’t entirely fool me, you know. I had my suspicions that we were all of a set.”

            Millicent smiled back, and for once it didn’t feel like a mask.

#elden ring #fanfic #malenia blade of miquella #miquella the unalloyed #elden ring millicent #mothman miquella #fluff #unalloyed epilogue #momlenia

[catcas22]

Unalloyed Epilogue Part 4

This is going to be a two-parter.

            Millicent trailed a hand across the surcoat, tracing the ensign of the Haligtree embossed into the leather. The garment was not dissimilar to Malenia’s usual attire, a simple covering meant to be worn over light armor.

            It was not strictly necessary to wear it here, safely within the borders of Elphael, but Millicent kept it on all the same. The surcoat marked her as Malenia’s squire. It served as a final reassurance, a promise that she was a true member of the Haligtree and not just a stray that the twins had taken in out of pity.

            She was glad of the extra layer of warmth as she made her way toward the city walls. The messenger had directed her to the stables near the east gate, where the outriders typically housed their mounts. Arriving at the low stone building, Millicent ducked through the open door and waited for her eyes to adjust to the lantern light.

            Malenia stood in the closest stall, tending to a wolf the size of a knight’s destrier. The animal’s fur glowed the color of embers, painting a warm reflection across Malenia’s golden arm. With careful hands, she traced the wolf’s harness, examining the various straps and buckles by touch.

            The examination finished with a collar of unalloyed gold, a thick band of metal cushioned by interwoven strips of leather. Apparently satisfied with the wolf’s trappings, Malenia straightened and dusted her hands of.

            Millicent cleared her throat, finally remembering the need to announce her presence. “You sent for me?”

            Her mother turned to face her, smiling in greeting. “Indeed I did.” She patted the animal’s side. “Have you ever ridden a wolf?”

            “I can’t say that I have.” Millicent approached cautiously, offering the wolf her hand the way that Latenna had showed her. The beast leaned down and pressed his cold muzzle into her palm. “Am I going to learn?”

            “Eventually. Today I had something else in mind.” Malenia raised a hand to her face, touching the scarring under her eyes. “I get around the Haligtree well enough, but I haven’t ventured out into the Consecrated Snowfield in decades. Would you be willing to serve as my eyes for an afternoon?”

            It was a rather obvious excuse to spend time together, one that Millicent was grateful for. “Of course!”

            “Excellent.” Malenia smiled. “Miquella is finally willing to let me out of his sight, and I feel the need to stretch my legs.”

***

            Millicent did as she’d been instructed, gripping with her knees and leaning forward to lower her center of gravity. The rocky terrain raced by, the miles eaten up by the wolf’s steady lope.

            “Call out when you see a good place to stop.” Malenia gestured toward the two blunt practice blades tied alongside the saddle. “Look for a flat open space.”

            The wolf tensed and then leapt, clearing an outcropping of small boulders in a single bound. Millicent instinctively leaned forward, moving with the wolf to avoid being jolted by the landing.

            Malenia glanced over her shoulder. “You say you’ve never ridden a wolf before?”

            While she’d never held the reins herself, Millicent had ridden behind Latenna a handful of times. As she debated whether to divulge this information, Malenia spoke up again.

            “Did your friend teach you? The wolf-rider you’ve been sneaking out with?”

            An instant of unadulterated panic cost both her concentration and her grip on the wolf. She would have gone tumbling off of the animal’s back had Malenia’s hand not snapped back and caught her by the front of her shirt.

            Drawing back on the reins with her free hand, Malenia guided the wolf to halt and helped her dismount. Her expression hovered between concern and amusement as she released her grip and carefully straightened Millicent’s rumpled tabard.

            “Calm yourself. I was only teasing.” Her smile widened at Millicent’s huff of feigned annoyance. “I have no objections. She seems like a good sort.”

            Millicent breathed an internal sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted was for Latenna to be subjected to a “what are your intentions with my daughter” talk from Malenia. She could imagine few things more terrifying.

            Malenia ruffled her hair, gentle despite her great strength. “Bring your sword. You handled yourself quite well at our first meeting, but I still have a few tricks to teach you.”

#elden ring #unalloyed fic #unalloyed epilogue #malenia blade of miquella #millicent #momlenia

[catcas22]

Unalloyed Epilogue Part 5

... Okay I lied, this is going to be a three-parter.

            Malenia approached the training session with an open mind. Her memories of her brief duel with Millicent were clouded by rot-madness, and she had yet to accurately take the measure of the girl’s abilities.

            After two warmup bouts, a pattern began to emerge. While Millicent demonstrated an impressive natural talent, she was very obviously self-taught. Inherited muscle memory surely played a role, but Malenia was reluctant to broach the subject even within her own thoughts. Regardless of the truth of where her memories ended and her daughter’s began, it seemed wrong to think of Millicent as a simple extension of herself.

            Malenia spent the bulk of the session reviewing the basics, simple tenants of footwork, grip, and leverage. Millicent was a quick study, and Malenia couldn’t help but smile at her daughter’s obvious excitement as the simple adjustments to her technique yielded results.

            A fresh chill in the air reminded her of encroaching nightfall.

            Malenia whistled for the wolf. As she listened to the beast’s paws crunch through the snow, she shrugged off her cape and passed it to Millicent. The girl had grown up in Caelid, after all. “Here. If I’m cold, you must be freezing.”

            The fact that Millicent accepted with hardly any protest confirmed her assumption.

            The ride back to Ordina passed without incident. But the moment her feet touched the snow she knew that something was wrong.

            Malenia had known for some time now that Millicent was not her only offspring. Her daughter had confessed the truth of the matter in Miquella’s study, shortly after he raised the possibility of a cure.

            “I... I have sisters. Four of them.” She stumbled over her words, half apologetic and half insistent. “They were raised to serve the God of Rot, but they’re not monsters, not any more than I am.”

            Malenia had reassured her at the time, agreeing that her kin would be helped if at all possible. Orders had been given to the Ordina garrison that the four should be taken alive in the event of an attack. Scouts had been sent out to scour the borders of Elphael, but for better or worse Millicent’s sisters appeared to have dropped off the face of the earth.

            Even before she heard Millicent shout out a warning, Malenia sensed the approach of one of the wayward fragments of her soul.

***

            Malenia’s hand fell to her shoulder. With terrifying speed, her mother pulled her back and interposed herself between Millicent and the figure emerging from the falling snow. Millicent hadn’t even seen her reach for her sword, yet the golden blade already gleamed in her hand.

            The figure stumbled, hands held up. “Wait!” She drew a curved sword from beneath her cloak, only to toss it at Malenia’s feet. “Please, I swear I’m not here to fight.”

            She was closer now, close enough for Millicent to make out her features. Delving into the fragmented memories of her childhood, she managed to dredge up a name. “Pollyanna?”

            She looked awful. Blood oozed from her bandaged eye, trickling slowly over chalk-white skin. Despite the frost clinging to her clothes and hair, sweat dampened her brow. Her remaining eye fixed on Millicent, bloodshot and dilated.

            “You’re still alive?” A coughing fit nearly sent her to her knees. Malenia remained as she was, face inscrutable. “Then... Then there’s a way to stop it? If you didn’t bloom, then...”

            Millicent watched as her sister succumbed to another round of coughing, her own throat locked shut as if by a vise.

            Malenia took a careful step forward, her sword lowered for now. “It was my understanding that you and your sisters wished her dead.”

            The younger girl took several shaky steps back, bloody lips trembling. “He said the pain would end if one of us Bloomed. But... but you found another way, didn’t you?” A shudder gripped her entire body. All her words came tumbling out at once, broken only by near-hyperventilating breaths. “I slipped away from the others, I just want it to stop. Please, I don’t want to die!”

            The sword snapped back into its place alongside Malenia’s arm with a metallic whine. “Millicent, fetch your uncle.” With two long strides, she crossed the distance and scooped Pollyanna into her arms as easily as most would carry a small child. “I can’t risk a Bloom within the Haligtree. Look for us at the Ordina infirmary.”

#elden ring #unalloyed epilogue #unalloyed fic #malenia blade of miquella #millicent #millicent’s sisters #momlenia

[catcas22]

Unalloyed Epilogue part 2

            The field just outside Elphael provided a peaceful escape, silent apart from the rustle of frosted grass and the crunch of snow beneath her boots. After a week, Millicent still found the level of activity around the Haligtree a bit intimidating. She felt welcome, certainly, but temporarily overwhelmed.

            Still, she did not wish to be entirely alone. Casting about the field, she picked up a set of familiar prints in the snow and followed the trail. She crossed a trio of rolling hills with ease, and found Latenna and Lobo just over the third.

            The archer guided her mount in a measured circuit, pacing briskly from one end of the valley to the other and back again. On the wolf’s every third step, Latenna notched an arrow. With unerring precision, she sent it to join its fellows in the birch stump serving her as a practice target.

            Millicent waited until she emptied her quiver before she started down the slope, waving to ensure that she was noticed.

            A smile brightened the albinauric’s pale features, and Millicent felt her breath catch. The idea of someone being truly, genuinely glad to see her was still a bit foreign. While Latenna retrieved her arrows, Millicent moved to sit opposite the target.

            “Do you mind if I join you for a bit?”

            “Not at all.” Latenna stowed her arrows and lowered herself down from Lobo’s back. “I was just about to take a rest.”

            Millicent leaned back against the embankment, not minding the light dusting of snow. With her threadbare traveling clothes exchanged for a warm cloak and tunic, the chill was not yet uncomfortable.

            She stiffened as Latenna settled in beside her. Millicent took a breath and consciously relaxed. Both her arm and the needle were safely in place, and it was doubtful that an albinauric could even catch the Rot. Still, she took a moment to check the unalloyed mesh that Miquella had pasted over her scarred cheek. No sense in being careless.

            An hour passed in companionable silence. Latenna meticulously re-fletched a damaged arrow while Millicent simply enjoyed the moment. After spending her formative years in blighted Caelid, she never tired of taking in the beauty of unspoiled nature.

            Latenna set the arrow aside. With a gentle nudge, she commanded Millicent’s attention. “May I ask what changed?”

            Millicent blinked. “I don’t follow.”

            “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve had a sense of terrible destiny about you.” Latenna pushed her mail hood back, shifting so that she could look Millicent in the eye. “Something changed after you faced Lady Malenia, but I can’t say that you seem happier.”

            She drummed her fingers against her knee, debating how much to tell. “I am happier.” True in some ways, false in others. With a rush of reckless abandon, she opted for the truth. Perhaps Latenna could understand. “I was born to be a weapon. If my father had his way, I would have been the death of the Haligtree and all who dwelt there. I was determined that I would die before I could be forced to fulfill my purpose.”

            Millicent dared to look up. Latenna stared back with wide eyes. She took a deep breath and continued. “I thought that I would be cast out when Malenia and Miquella learned the truth. But...” Her fingers tightened, squeezing her metal bicep. “They helped me. They found ways to contain my curse.”

            Latenna spoke up hesitantly. “And... You are not happy?”

            “I was. I am.” Millicent fumbled. She’d never had a way with words, and now she struggled to put a name to her feelings. “I don’t know what to do myself. First I was intended to bloom. When I learned the truth, I intended to die. Now...” She waved her hand vaguely, giving up on clarity.

            “Ah. I think I understand. Well, somewhat.” Latenna leaned back on her palms, face tilted toward the greying sky. “This is all a bit unfamiliar to me. The idea seems to trouble you a sight more than it does me.”

            “How do you mean?”

            Now it was Latenna’s turn to fumble for her words. “The idea of having to choose your own destiny, I suppose.” She gestured down at her withered legs. “My people were created to serve. Most would prefer that we faded away entirely. I suppose I’ve had more time to become accustomed to the idea that... Well, that if I want a destiny worth living, I’ll have to forge it myself.” She fell silent, seeming abashed at her own burst of eloquence.

            Millicent chuckled softly. “I must sound terribly ungrateful, whingeing about getting a second chance at life.”

            “Of course not. You were carrying a terrible burden.” The corner of her mouth twitched upward. “No one would begrudge you a bit of whingeing.”

            She couldn’t help but smile in return. “Thank you for indulging. This helped.”

            Latenna shifted, rolling her shoulders and working the stiffness out of her neck. With a twinge of disappointment, Millicent realized that she was preparing to get up. “Come find me if you wish to unburden yourself again. I’m out here most days.”

            Millicent hesitated. As appealing as the idea sounded, she knew that Latenna was a solitary sort. “I don’t want to intrude.”

            Latenna paused halfway into calling Lobo. “Why would your presence be an intrusion? After what you did for me, I would hardly spurn your company.”

            Disappointment hit her like a shower of ballista bolts. “Latenna, you don’t owe me, I would never want--”

            A cool hand encircled her wrist. “Forgive me. I phrased that poorly.” Latenna scooped up Millicent’s hand, holding it in both of hers. “I was not speaking of debts.” Earnest blue eyes stole her breath away. “I only meant that your kindness is still remembered, and appreciated.”

            The archer leaned against her shoulder, her plans to get up apparently forsaken. Their fingers remained intertwined. “I would like to see you again.”

            Millicent took a deep breath. She reminded herself that it was safe, that she didn’t have to pull away, that she was not being selfish by accepting Latenna’s affection. She summoned up her courage and shifted, changing position to allow Latenna to settle against her more comfortably.

            “Tomorrow, then?”

            Latenna’s head moved against her shoulder in an affirmative nod. “Hmm.”

For a long while they remained like that, Millicent holding perfectly still, unwilling to end the moment. A slight change in the other woman’s breathing alerted her -- Latenna had fallen asleep on her shoulder.

#elden ring #fanfic #unalloyed epilogue #latenna #millicent #hurt/comfort #latenna/millicent #do they have a ship name?

[catcas22]

Unalloyed Epilogue

Mary, Eldest Sister: We serve the God of Rot, we will not be won over by your promises of… what was it again?

Miquella: Hot food, positive reinforcement, and unalloyed needles for everyone.

Maureen: … Actually I could go for some of that.

#elden ring #fanart #miquella the unalloyed #unalloyed fic #epilogue #millicent’s sisters

[catcas22]

hope you're okay with questions about your fics, but i was wondering what you think the relationship between millicent's sisters and malenia is like post-unalloyed? how close are they, what do they think of each other, etc. no pressure to answer of course, feel free to ignore this!

Dude, I love questions about my fics! I had additional thoughts and headcanons on the sisters, but I didn't feel like I had enough for another epilogue chapter. This is a great excuse to share!

First, some info on the sisters as a whole. The five of them (counting Millicent) were raised by Gowry in the ruins in and around the Lake of Rot. They spent their lives being trained and tested, in an attempt to produce a Valkyrie strong enough to initiate a second Bloom. Millicent ended up being the one chosen, after which she was sent aboveground to fulfill her destiny.

After Millicent lost her memories and set off on her own quest, Gowry sent the sisters after her. Although they had lived all their lives under the influence of the Rot, before each went above ground Gowry insisted on performing a ritual to bind each of them to the God of Rot. Best case scenario, they get Millicent back on the straight and narrow, and if that fails they kill her and hope it initiates a Bloom, and if that fails then maybe one of them will live long enough to Bloom.

Since you're asking about the sisters I'm assuming you've read the epilogue to Unalloyed, so following the events detailed there:

Amy, Third Sister (20)

Out of the four of them, Amy was the most clearly aware of the fact that she had been born into a cult and that the Age of Rot was nothing to look forward to. She lost her eyes fairly young, and her bitterness over the situation shaped her into the most morose and withdrawn of the sisters.

After being treated by Miquella, she was determined to use her new freedom to experience as much of the world as possible. As soon as Miquella cleared her for travel, she returned to the Lands Between and spent a few years giving the wandering ronin thing a try.

During her brief stay at the Haligtree, Malenia discovered that Amy was not only a talented blind-fighter, she was also proficient in the flowing curved sword that her teacher had used -- out of all the weapons Amy had been offered during her training, that one felt like hers.

Words cannot fully express how proud this makes Malenia. Before Amy's departure, she gifted her the sword that had once belonged to her teacher, giving her a matching pair. On her occasional visits back to the Haligtree, Malenia always insists on catching up on what she's been learning, and thoroughly enjoys hearing about her travels. While neither of them are very talkative by nature, Malenia has a knack for getting Amy on a subject that will have her talking for hours.

Mary, Eldest Sister (23)

Mary was the first that Gowry raised up from the Rot. She grew up a true believer in the Age of Rot, partly due to indoctrination and partly due to a need for her and her sisters' suffering to mean something.

For this reason, Mary was appointed the leader, despite Millicent and Maureen being more martially accomplished. During the journey to the Haligtree, she deteriorated the fastest due to her refusal to fight against the Rot.

She was nearly dead by the time she was brought in for treatment. Waking up and not being in excruciating pain for the first time in her life definitely made her question some things.

Mary was kept under guard while she convalesced -- as both Millicent and Maureen attested, she was both loyal enough to attempt a Bloom despite Miquella's treatments, and smart enough to pull it off.

She had a lot of long talks with Malenia during this time. While she could not bring herself to denounce Gowry, seeing her sisters cured was enough to shake her faith in the Age of Rot. The talks with Malenia slowly shifted from cult deprogramming to talks about life in general.

Still overwhelmed and feeling the need to get her head on straight, Mary departed for the Consecrated Snowfield. She's made up her mind to join the Haligtree family, though she's not quite willing to humble her pride and admit it.

She has become friendly with the Ordina albinaurics. Sometimes Malenia manages to catch her on her visits to the gate town. Mary's slowly warming up, and they can often pass a pleasant afternoon together so long as they keep the discussion away from the Age of Rot.

Maureen, Second Sister (21)

Out of all the sisters, Maureen has the most in common with Millicent. Like Millicent, she knew that she was on borrowed time and wanted to do something worthwhile with her life. She was very nearly chosen to bear the Bloom instead of Millicent -- but while Maureen was physically stronger, Millicent was deemed the more capable overall.

After Millicent's "betrayal," their friendly rivalry turned decidedly unfriendly. In Maureen's mind, Millicent had abandoned them, and she was going to pay for it.

Although Maureen lacks many of the better traits that temper Millicent, she very much inherited Malenia's protective nature. When Gowry sent them aboveground, Maureen offered to be the only one to carry the Bloom, as she was the strongest that remained. Unfortunately the numbers weren't adding up for Gowry, and he insisted on all four taking on the Rot to increase the chance of a successful Bloom.

Since then, Maureen has more or less buried the hatchet with Millicent -- sure she abandoned them, but she also came back and made sure everybody got their Unalloyed shots.

Malenia initially kept a close eye on Maureen out of protectiveness toward Millicent. She came dangerously close to yeeting her into the ocean the first time she stumbled onto a sparring match between Maureen and Millicent -- fortunately, Pollyanna was there to explain that a friendly sparring match between those two just looks like mortal combat, that's just how they are.

They got on much better after Maureen showed a willingness to find constructive outlets for her anger. They've made something of a game out of Malenia setting up "indestructible" training courses and seeing how long it takes Maureen to wreck it. Maureen is considering joining the Cleanrot Knights, although she is currently splitting her time between Elphael and Ordina (so she can make sure Mary's doing okay).

Pollyanna, Youngest Sister (17)

By far the most friendly and easygoing of the sisters. She was also the closest to Millicent growing up. Pollyanna was the first to be sent aboveground after Millicent went AWOL, and her first instinct was to run. After a brief detour to help the tarnished with O'Neill, she shot off on her own and made it as far as Summonwater before the truth sank in -- one could not run from the Rot. Better to rot alongside family than rot alone. She circled back and rejoined her sisters shortly after.

After Millicent failed to Bloom, Pollyanna was the first to break away from the group and ask the Haligtree for help. She was as shocked as anyone when Malenia actually agreed to help.

Once Millicent admitted that she did not hold a grudge over Operation Sororicide, Pollyanna remained more or less glued to her side for a few weeks. She was a bit jumpy around Malenia initially -- according to Gowry, their mother was a psychopath who sought to thwart the Age of Rot, and she would have no sympathy for a set of Rot-spawned children harboring stolen pieces of her soul.

She spent her first weeks at the Haligtree bouncing between Millicent and Miquella. She unilaterally appointed herself his lab assistant, and actually learned quite a lot about medicine while helping him treat the other three sisters.

Malenia had a bit of trouble with the concept of not being intimidating (after so many years of wearing the mask, it had become automatic). But she managed. She could not abide the thought of one of her children being legitimately afraid of her.

Like Millicent, Pollyanna didn't really know how to ask for affection. Unlike Millicent, who just tends to hover in the general vicinity until she gets noticed, Pollyanna takes the more straightforward approach of glomming onto her target until she gets noticed. If Malenia still had her eyes, she would have teared up the first time Pollyanna casually walked up and latched onto her arm.

#elden ring #answered asks #millicent’s sisters #millicent #sage gowry #miquella the unalloyed #malenia blade of miquella #fluff #unalloyed fic #headcanons