#Eygon x Irina

[post-nuclear-sweetheart]

Touch (placeholder name)

A fic involving our favourite knight and nun duo.

Preview!

“Swiftly,” he said. “Grab your things. We must go.”

“Before we leave-!” Irina quickly spoke over Eygon, “Might I ask that you entertain a rather silly request of mine?”

“Go on.”

Irina was silent for a moment, no doubt finding the courage to speak. In this time, Eygon couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at the sight of her ever reddening face.

“I… I’ve memorized every crevice and every ridge of your gauntlets, but your flesh is one I cannot remember. If you would be willing, might you remove your gauntlets and touch me, skin to skin?”

Now it was Eygon’s turn to fall silent. They had only touched once before when he was first assigned to her. It was during those frivolous ceremonies held in Carim, to honour and celebrate the eternal union of knight and maiden. That was so long ago, and he struggled to remember what she felt like.

At the prospect of feeling her warmth, a small flame that refused to die bolstered inside of Eygon.

Wordlessly, Eygon pulled his hand from Irina’s and set to work unbuckling his gauntlets. He placed them down on the dry stone next to the nun and, just as an added measure, removed his helmet and hood beneath. He held out his hand for Irina to take.

The moment they made contact, Irina let out a quiet yelp and jerked her arm away.

“Irina-“

“It’s alright.” She cradled her hand to her chest, and quietly said, “It was so sudden. I hadn’t expected you to feel so warm. Your touch is positively electrifying.”

Eygon reached for his helmet and gauntlets, certain that that had been enough, but was stopped by Irina. “May we try again?”

#eygon x irina #dark souls 3 #ds3 #fanfiction #eygon of carim #irina of carim #ao3 #Cyntax_Error

[mara-xx217]

The Stained Lamb and the Blackened Ash

Something completely self-indulgent and in a similar vein to what I normally write but for a different fandom lol

Fandom: Dark Souls 3

Pairing: Irina of Carim x Yandere!Ashen One

Warnings: Obsessive/Possessive Behavior, Extremely Abusive/Toxic Relationship, Betrayal, Violence, Death, Begging for Death, Disturbing Themes

She was the Ashen One's beloved little lamb, a light in the crushing, swarming darkness. Until he took her away...

Staggering blindly through the Shrine, the Ashen One retraced the steps that she had taken dozens- no, hundreds of times. The incessant nipping and biting and burrowing of the insects of the Deep was driving her to madness, and only the touch of her beloved saint, Irina, could soothe the pain deep in her soul. The Ashen One was so tired. So tired and scared. She didn't want to link the Fire. She didn't want to bring about the Age of Darkness. She only wanted a quiet existence -alone- with her Irina.

Sweet, sweet Irina... The Ashen One nearly trips on her own feet, staggering to a halt as she leans against a crumbling wall for support. S-Shit... She needs her little saint. Needs to hear her soft, meek voice reading those tales of hers. Needs to hold her hand in her own, feel her body heat heating up her own cold, dead bones...

Forcing her body to move, the Ashen One rounds a corner, to the little alcove that Irina has made her home in the Firelink Shrine. Only… it’s empty. Irina is gone? She… Irina is gone..?! Something inside the Ashen One shifts, not unlike that miasmic Dark that hasn’t stop it’s nonstop pricking and stinging somewhere underneath her skin. Fingers twitching towards her blade, the Ashen One staggered backwards in shock. She’s gone… She’s GONE-! Where did she go? How could she have left?! It isn’t possible..!

Unless HE took her…

Hot rage boiled inside of her. After everything I had done for them- for the World- he dares take her away from me?! She grinds her teeth to dust. No, he doesn’t get to decide her fate anymore! Eygon has only ever seen Irina as a burden. A crippled waste of space that he is loathed to serve and care for. It was the Ashen One that gave Irina purpose, a life worth living for and a cause to serve. That bastard Eygon thinks that he can take that away from her..?!

The Ashen One stormed from the Shrine, the Firekeeper casting her face downwards as she passed. Even if it her duty to serve, she cannot bare to witness the monster that her champion has become. The Ashen One stops just outside of the Shrine, chest heaving and hands trembling from anger. They couldn't have gotten far..! Where are they?!

Down the path leading towards the old, Untended Graves, something gleamed in the dull light of the forever overcast sky. Black armour was crouched low, using a great hammer as a support as they spoke in a hushed tone to something bundled up in scratchy white and grey fabric. The Ashen One's heart skipped a beat. I-It's her..!

Wasting no time, she sprints down the hill, drawing the attention of the knight of Carim that was tending to his lady's needs. Fury was about to meet fury as he rose to his feet, muttering a prayer underneath his breath while he prepared to brave the onslaught that was about to befall him.

"You-..! I made myself very clear! My allegiance would remain only as long as you assured the girl's safety! This knight of Carim does not forgive betrayal! Even a broken woman deserves her dignity..!" Eygon roars as he rushed towards the Ashen One, Morne’s great hammer raised high in the air.

It was no contest. Though Eygon had the weight of the Goddess of Carim behind him, he was no match for the next heir of the Flame. He was swiftly and soundly defeated, laying broken in a darkening puddle of his own blood and bitter resentment. The Ashen One crushed his quivering wrist beneath her heel as she sneered at the dying knight underneath her. Through blood and bile, Eygon cursed her to any and every god or goddess that would hear his cries.

“…y-you delusional hollow wench… I-Irina…”

CRUNCH!

Ash scattered in the wind, leaving behind an empty shell of armour. A giddy feeling bloomed somewhere deep in the Ashen One’s chest, where her heart once was. So much has been taken from her. Her memories, her body, her soul, her destiny… The only thing that she still has claim to is her… Irina…

She staggers over to the blind woman, falling to her knees as she gently cups her dear friend’s pale cheek. Only… she doesn’t respond. She whimpers of the little beasts of the Dark, that bite and nip and burrow their way into her flesh. She doesn’t respond to the Ashen One’s touch, no matter how firm or bruising it becomes.

It was happening all over again. Just like when she first reawakened. Nothing. There’s nothing. Not anymore… A sour wave of nausea washes over her. Irina doesn’t recognize her touch, anymore. Why..?! Did… did he do something?! He must have, s-surely..! B-But… w-what if…

She staggers to her feet, nearly tripping over herself as she makes her way over to the abandoned armour lying in the middle of the path. Taking up Morne’s gauntlets, the Ashen One clumsily shoved her much smaller hand into its glove as she wandered back over to her dear friend. Kneeling in front of her, the Ashen One raises her covered hand, unable to keep her hand from trembling as she pressed the cool metal to Irina’s cheek.

Her face immediately lights up in realization. Through tears, she smiles sweetly, something she used to give to the Ashen One freely. Leaning into the touch she sighs heavily.

“A-Ah… you a-again… touch me, one last time…

And kill me, as you promised you would…”

…kill..? Kill? ‘Kill me as you promised..?’ The Ashen One’s ears began to ring. She… he- She…

Something aches inside of her. Irina would rather die than be with her. She would rather die and leave the Ashen One to suffer all alone, forever and ever. Die… she would rather die..? Irina would rather die than be with me..? She would rather die… Would rather…. She would…. She- She-!

She didn’t realize that her hands were around her throat until she felt the SNAP! All she could do was stare at her friend’s face, now peaceful instead of tortured. A soft wisp of warm breath tickled the Ashen One’s face before it was replaced by the bitter chill of the wind.

Blood and ash. Everything is replaced by blood and ash, sooner or later, whether it be by her hand or the gods. Blood and ash… Blood and ash… Oh, why, gods, have you forsaken us all..?

@prettycutebunny

@randomyklol

@kennbb

@furanshinufuransu

#dark souls 3 #ashen one #irina of carim #eygon of carim #firekeeper #ashen one x irina of carim #angst

[sapphicwhump]

After Irithyll 3 - Hunger

[ Previous | First | Read on AO3 ]

Fandoms: Dark Souls, Dark Souls III Tropes: sharing food, whumpee x caretaker fluff TWs: canon-typical violence, eating disorder, self-hatred

        Over the next few days, Karla adjusts poorly to the communal living of Firelink Shrine.

        For someone who’s spent the last who-knows-how-long in a tiny dungeon cell, it’s surprising how much she chooses to hide away in her cramped sleeping alcove. Even when you find her venturing out into the larger Shrine, she’s typically stealthing around in a side hallway or clinging to a wall in the main atrium. You’ve practically never seen her exit the Shrine to explore the cemetery surrounding it; the one time you had, she had been returning from the outhouse immediately outside the rear entrance, and had hurried to get back inside as quickly as her weakened legs would allow. At least she’s regained enough strength to make it there without your assistance.

        Socialization is another struggle for her. Since you first arrived with her, she hasn’t spoken to Irina again, nor any other member of the Shrine aside from yourself. You seem to be the only person she’s the slightest bit comfortable around, while the rest she almost compulsively avoids. Despite her fears of rejection over being a hexer, most of the residents seem to simply not care enough to make a stink about it. Thanks to you and Cornyx, they’re already familiar enough with practitioners of distasteful magic. Mercifully, even Eygon manages to hold his tongue, although the lack of hostility doesn’t seem to ease her fear.

        It makes sense, you suppose. Given the circumstances, you can’t really blame Karla for being asocial. You have no idea how long she’d been imprisoned for, and during that time, her only human interaction would have been with Irithyll dungeon’s jailers. Speculating on what those interactions might have been like only succeeds in making you sick.

        Karla’s physical recovery is another of your frequent worries. Although she no longer needs your support to traverse the Shrine, she’s still far from mobile, moving at a frail pace and using a hexing staff as a walking stick to alleviate the gnawing pain in her ankle. If there’s been any reduction in her emaciation, it hasn’t been significant enough for you to notice, despite the availability of food.

        A thought occurs to you: when was the last time you’ve seen Karla eat? It’s common to walk by the other residents of Firelink Shrine during meals; Cornyx has a habit of catching crows and picking at the raw meat with his bare hands, Greirat wolfs down whatever he can steal, Eygon often hunts for both himself and Irina… you can’t remember ever seeing Karla during a meal since that first day you brought her here.

        Yeah, that’s pretty worrying.  

        By the next day, you’ve formulated a plan. Instead of leaving on your adventures shortly after dawn as you usually do, you remain in the Shrine until the early afternoon. For the entire morning, you keep a careful eye on Karla, finding excuses to eat, read, and train within line of sight of her. If she does go for a meal, you’re sure to know about it.

        As the morning drags on, and she does not once attempt to visit Greirat, your worry only grows heavier in your stomach. Even by the time you’re preparing a sandwich for your own lunch, she still hasn’t eaten yet today. With your food in hand, you decide that now is the time to confront her about it.

        “So, I noticed you skipped breakfast this morning.”

        “Oh, I’m fine.” Karla responds hastily. “I simply wasn’t hungry.”

        You respond by taking another bite out of your sandwich. Her eyes follow the motion of your hand up to your mouth, observantly watching you eat. “Want some?” you offer through a mouthful of bread and pork, holding out half of it to her.

        She raises a hand as if to take it from you, but then it falls, along with her expression. “No, thank you. I’m still not particularly hungry.”

        You frown, unconvinced, and Karla picks up on it immediately. “I’ve gone without food for far longer periods of time, Ashen One. I’ll be fine.”

        Your frown persists as you take another bite. “You don’t have to settle for just being ‘fine,’ y’know.” She responds only with a slight grumble, not bothering to articulate a protest.

        Now for the next step of your plan, and the most nerve-wracking one. You continue chewing in silence, but promptly lose your appetite as your stomach does a flip.

        “If you’re not hungry now, how about joining me for breakfast tomorrow?” You applaud your ability to not trip over your own words.

        “Oh! Um… I suppose it would be impolite to turn down the offer.”

        You raise an eyebrow at her. “Do you want to join me for breakfast tomorrow?”

        She pauses, thinking it over for a moment. “...Yes. I do.”

        You contain your internal fist-pump, even if it feels like your excitement could burst out of your chest. “Alright. I’ll cook something for us and bring it to you tomorrow morning.”

        For the rest of the day, you find yourself barely able to concentrate. Distraction is never a good thing on the battlefield, and you return home early that day after getting caught off-guard one too many times. Your thoughts had been of Karla when a hollow thrall dropped on your head and promptly impaled you with its pickaxe, earning you a one-way trip back to the bonfire. Internally cursing your lapse in attention, you resolve to call it quits until tomorrow morning.

        As an undead, starvation can’t set you back any further than a thrall’s pickaxe can, although keeling over from hunger is still an experience you’d prefer to avoid. While you could have simply agreed to procure food for Karla, you’ve elected to cook something for the both of you. The thought of sharing a meal with her produces a pleasant feeling in your stomach that you can’t quite name.

        You’re restricted by your lack of cooking ability, but you still manage to prepare a dish more intricate than your usual meals. Long before anyone else is up, you hunt down and slay a Crystal Lizard roaming outside Firelink Shrine. After gutting and cleaning the kill, you dice the meat into bite-sized chunks, along with some still-good potatoes that Greirat had recently managed to scavenge. Once chopped, you skewer the pieces on metal rods before roasting them over your Pyromancy Flame. No seasonings are available to you other than basic salt, but you get the feeling that Karla won’t complain.

        Walking to Karla’s alcove with a shish kebab in each hand, you see that she’s hung a curtain of black fabric from the walkway above it. It’s understandable; with Firelink Shrine’s open design, and Karla’s habitual seclusion from the other residents, you can see why she would want a bit more privacy. You transfer a shish kebab to your other hand and pull the curtain aside.

        Karla is engrossed in a scroll of hexes you had given her yesterday, but looks up from it as you appear from behind her curtain. Immediately, you see a sudden jolt of terror pass through her, before she sucks in a heavy gasp and scurries backwards on her hands and knees to the right-side corner of the alcove. She pulls her knees up to her chest and curls herself into a tiny ball, before looking back up at the intruder. The wide-eyed terror in her grimace almost burns you.

        “Ohh… it’s just you.” The tension drains from her face, and she releases the gasp she’s been holding in. “You gave me quite the start. Please knock next time.”

        “Oh. Okay. Sorry.” The guilt in your tone is palpable. “Um… I made us breakfast, like we agreed yesterday. We should eat somewhere else; getting crumbs in your bed will attract vermin.”

        She nods, grabbing her hexing staff and starting to haul herself to her feet. Seeing her struggle, you offer her a hand, and this time she accepts it without protest.

        “My apologies for snapping at you, Ashen One. I startle far too easily; it's my bad.”

        “Hey, I should be the one apologizing.”

        You lead her to a wooden folding table you’ve set up just inside the Shrine’s rear entrance, and she seats herself on the bench across from you. Through the archways, an amazing view of the mountain range to the south of Lothric Castle is visible, and Karla can’t seem to tear her eyes away from it.

        “Sorry if the meat is a little charred; I killed the lizard by throwing lava at it.” You extend one of the shish kebabs to her, and she takes it with a hint of hesitance.

        Karla cautiously takes a meager bite of the topmost chunk of lizard meat, and something warm grows within you as her expression rapidly shifts from apprehension to surprised delight. Before she’s finished chewing, she sinks her teeth into the rest of the piece and smoothly slides it off the skewer, before pulling the entire chunk into her mouth. You can’t help but stare, momentarily mesmerized by the movement of her jaw.

        “Beats prison food.” she replies with her mouth full of meat and her expression full of satisfaction.

        A few minutes of quiet eating pass before you try to strike up a conversation. “So where did you learn hexing? It’s not exactly part of any arcane school’s curriculum.”

        She raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Why do you ask?

        “Because I’d like to get to know you better.”

        “Mm.” She doesn’t seem to appreciate your answer, but accepts it regardless. “From my mother. Hexes are passed down matrilineally.”

        You nod in acknowledgement. “What was your home life like?”

        She almost scowls at you for a moment, and you briefly worry the question may have been a step too far, before her expression softens. “Um… fairly good. My mother is a witch, and my father is a retired knight. As far as I know, they’re still happily married.” She looks away from you, and her tone falls. “It’s been a long time, though.”

        “That’s good to hear, at least.” you say between bites. “I learned most of my pyromancies from Cornyx. I’ve had my Flame since I was raised as an undead, although I have no idea who I originally got it from. I probably had a family at some point, but I can’t remember anything from when I was alive. Side effect of being raised from a pile of ash, I guess.”

        “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

        “Eh, don’t be. Can’t miss what I can’t remember. The Shrine isn’t always the most functional family, but it’s the one I’ve got now.”

        “You seem to have a good master-student relationship with the other pyromancer, at least.”

        “Cornyx? Yeah. He’s very cordial, and has really been a rock for me through some of my rough patches. Although he is a more traditional brand of pyromancer, and he can be pretty set in his ways. It’s frustrating when he arbitrarily deems a spell ‘heretical’ and won’t go over it with me.”

        “Well, heresies are somewhat of a specialty for me…” She pauses to finish swallowing a bit of potato.

        “Oh? Is that an invitation?” You raise your eyebrows and give her a tentative smile.

        She doesn’t return the expression. “What I was going to say was, I can’t exactly blame him.”

        Your voice falls. “Oh.”

        The conversation settles into an awkward silence after that, which neither of you are immediately willing to break. Karla continues digging into her shish kabob, and you’re pleasantly surprised to see the progress she's making; it’s more than you've ever seen her eat before.

        It takes you a bit to work up the nerve before you finally break the silence. “Um… so I know adjusting to life here has been kinda hard for you. If you have any lingering questions about the Shrine, feel free to ask.”

        “I suppose there is one thing…” A hint of anxiety slips into Karla’s tone. “Have you ever had to exile anyone?”

        “Only once. Her name was Yuria, of Londor.”

        “What did she do?”

        You sigh internally at the painful memory. “She tried to force an arranged marriage between me and a knight I had previously fought alongside, Anri of Astora. It was for political reasons, and would have allowed me to become a lord of Londor. I refused many times, but she kept trying to pressure me into it.”

        The early signs of her anxiety dissipate, easing into curiosity. “You gave up a lordship for it? I take it you really didn’t fancy this Anri fellow, then?”

        “He was a competent warrior and excellent friend, but… he was a man.”

        She pauses mid-bite, before the recognition sets in. You think you see her cheeks take on a bit of pinkness as she finishes chewing. “Ah. I see.”

        Although Karla’s health was your first priority in inviting her to this breakfast, it was also part of your plan to use this opportunity to ask her a question. Despite her disheartening comment about Cornyx, you won't be deterred so easily.

        “Um, about what we did to escape the dungeon… Flame really shouldn’t just be given away freely like that. Your Flame is just as much a part of yourself as your arm is, so sharing it with someone else sort of... links you together with them. It’s typically reserved for the formation of a bond between master and apprentice.”

        She nods in understanding. “I get your reasons for being uncomfortable with it. But, I deeply appreciate what you did for me. It’s filled a void that I’ve lived with for so long, and we likely wouldn’t have made it out otherwise.”

        “That’s not exactly what I meant.” You pause, your hand going to the back of your neck. “I guess what I’m asking is, would you be interested in taking me on as an apprentice?”

        Karla pauses mid-bite, her eyes going wide. “Wait, really? You’re truly interested in learning the ways of the Dark?”

        “Totally. I mean, you killed five people with one spell; I don’t think even Cornyx is that good. You make the Dark look pretty impressive.”

        She still seems surprised, but her initial shock fades into a condescending amusement. “The request is charming, but you don’t know what you ask of me. I can tell you aren’t a wicked one; not like I am.”

        “What’s wickedness got to do with it? I just want to get better at fighting. No point in restricting my horizons.”

        “Hm.” Her short chuckle comes off as slightly condescending. “Probably not a wise decision on your part. I should tell you the story of how Wolnir of Carthus fell to the Abyss.”

        Your face is in the middle of falling when she follows up her statement. “...But, I suppose we could work something out. Cornyx won’t mind sharing his student, will he?”

        Your spirits lift at her offer. “Eh, he might have some objections to me learning dark pyromancies, but I wouldn’t worry about it. I know he’s good-natured enough to let it go.”

        “Alright then. Plus… I think it will be nice to play master for once.” She gives a tiny giggle as she finishes the last bite of her shish kebab, and you can’t help but blush.

        You stand from the table, before an idea crosses your mind. “Irina also said you need exercise…”

        “Mmh.” Karla groans in displeasure.

        “Want to take a walk with me around the Shrine grounds?”

        Her expression reverses, the corner of her mouth pulling upwards. “That sounds bearable.”

[ Next ]

#dark souls #dark souls 3 #ds3 #karla #whump #lady whump #female whumpee #caretaker pov #after irithyll

[logo-comics]

Dark souls 3

Ship: Eygon x Irina

Title: Can I touch your face? I want to see it.

When the First Flame is finally allowed to die, the world is made anew in the dark, and with that, the undead and dying were restored to life. The Knight and the Maiden Who Would Be A Firekeeper are reunited once more and remain by one another's side as they make their way through this strange new world. Before they set out, however, Irina has but one request...

#fanfic summaries #dark souls #dark souls 3

[littlegoldfinchh]

Rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better

I was tagged by @proseeuhn , thank you!!:)

Top 3 ships: I don't really ship people nowadays, so this was a little hard lol

The Seeds x Deputy from Far Cry 5 (especially Jacob/Deputy)

Irina x Eygon from Dark Souls 3 (i'm soft for them okay)

Constantin x De Sardet (Greedfall)

Honorable mentions: Fenris x Hawke (Dragon Age 2), Dorian x Inquisitor (Dragon Age Inquisition), Markus x Simon (Detroit: Become Human)

Last song: Work song - Hozier

Last movie: The Jungle Book (2016)

Currently reading: Blood of my blood (honestly I stopped reading it like two months ago for some reason, so I really need to finish it lol)

What food are you craving right now: I know it's only 9:40 am but I could really eat a big plate of gyros with freshly baked pita right now sksk

Tagging: @shallow-gravy, @edensbuttercups , @imafrickinfox (it's completely optional guys!!) Have fun!

#ask game #proseeuhn

[ornstein]

Some Eygon x Irina of Carim I just posted. Enjoy! (and I am so sorry)

#angst ahead #eygon of carim #irina of carim #dark souls 3 #cris writes

[post-nuclear-sweetheart]

Weight of the World (1 & 2)

Patches interacts with the NPCs of Firelink Shrine, while an abusive Ashen One is away.

Every now and again the familiar sound of armour clunking up the worn stone stairs of the shrine would stir Patches from thought. They would approach him with a silent glare and voicelessly inquire about his inventory and would either purchase something, much to Patches’ delight, or would abruptly walk away, followed by his belittling words.

There was a period of time the Ashen One didn’t return for an unusually long time, and in that time Patches watched the drifters from his perch, high above in the shrine. It was amusing to watch the blind bird with snowy white hair and long ash-stained robes stumble around the shrine and stub her toes on the steps and walls. She would let out a breathy squeak each time she gently collided with something, feel around with her arms and finally take her place somewhere. No one spoke with her directly, all except the Ashen One, but there was one time Patches did descend from his perch to interact with her.

The Fire Keeper sat along the steps of the inner circular shrine, fiddling with a loose strand of thread from her robes and quietly hummed to herself. Upon hearing the shuffling of greaves, she lifted her head and called out, “Welcome home, Ashen One.”

But her small smile faltered. “Ah, thine footfalls art lighter than mine Ashen One.”

Her observation took Patches by surprise, considering he was taller and no doubt heavier than the Ashen One. He looked down at his outfit and realized it was the iron greaves and boots he wore that gave him that clunky armour sound, but the fabric shirt he wore on his torso and nothing else helped his footsteps sound lighter.

Patches let out a chuckle. “Huh. Not very blind for a blind girl, are we?”

The Fire Keeper visibly recoiled. “Thoust a wicked one; begone.”

“Aw, now, now,” he crouched low before her, levelling his eyes to where hers used to be. “what has that horrid Ashen Tart been telling you?”

“They told’th me of thy trickster ways, and how thee would betray thy own compatriots.”

“Trickster?” Patches couldn’t help the manic grin growing on his face. “Oh, absolutely. Spot on, in fact. Now, what’s all this about betraying my friends?” He mimicked a hurt tone. “I would never do such a thing, bird.”

“I don’t believe thee. I am told’th thee did cast mine Ashen One’s true friend down a well, and that yond thee donn’d his armour and pretended to be him.”

Patches playfully shrugged, not that the Fire Keeper could see it. “Alright, I admit, I did that. And how remarkably easy it was to get him to strip that laughable armour off - but I digress. Old boy and I made up. We’re all friends now!”

She didn’t fully believe that he made amends with the poor, jolly knight, but his truthful admittance is what caused the Fire Keeper to ease her suspicions of him… for now.

She craned her head to look up at him. Patches whistled and gave a little wave, and her head followed the sound to look straight ahead. She jumped slightly in surprise.

“Thou art a solitary being. What mad’eth thee come down hither?”

“Oh,” Patches rubbed the back of his bald head. “I had enough of being a fly on the wall to the goings on here. Thought I’d come down,” the Fire Keeper could hear the grin on the face in his tone. “stir up some trouble.”

The Fire Keeper’s lips contorted to a grimace of disgust. “Is’t within thy nature to disturb the delicate balance of those who seek’th solace hither?”

“Hear me now, bird,” he said. “I ain’t the one to meddle where his nose don’t belong. You’re better off giving that question to your beloved Ashen Tart.”

“Just as thee has’t nay business stripping yond po’r knight of his armour, and disturbing our contenders.”

The toothy, almost malicious, grin fell from Patches’ face for a moment, before awkwardly chuckling, “Not one to pick up on sarcasm, are you? I didn’t actually mean I’d cause trouble-“

From her seat on the semi-eroded stone steps, the Fire Keeper stood to her full height. Not as tall as Patches, her figure and aura possessed a cursed air around her, and managed to send a fright through the tall pale man. “Thou shan’t spread any mischief whilst thou take’th shelter in the shrine, lest thou wishes to face wrath.”

Patches held up his hands in defense. “Alright, alright! I read you - loud and clear!”

Satisfied with his answer, the Fire Keeper took her seat once more on the eroded steps. “Then thou art most welcomed.”

But Patches remained to stare down at the Fire Keeper. After several, silent moments passed, the Fire Keeper’s idle humming halted. “Oh, does’t the vagrant have more to say?”

“Yeah.” His light and spirited tone evaporated to a dour mood. “I see a lot that goes on here.”

“Oh?” The Fire Keeper entertained him.

“And I see how that Tart treats you.” He said with a vindictive tone. “The way they slap you around with every new shiny toy they find. You don’t have to take that.”

At his confrontational language, the Fire Keeper recoiled slightly. “I am surprised thee care enow to approach’th me, but it doest not matter, for I cannot die so easily.”

Patches huffed at her complacent attitude of remaining nothing more but a servant to the next Lord, and a training dummy. “Death doesn’t matter much, but you’ve still got feelings. How’d that last beheading feel? Not great, eh?”

The Fire Keeper pursed her lips, and remained silent for a moment, before speaking in a quieter voice, “I… Mine own feelings matter not. I understand’th mine place in the ordinary; what mine fate hast becometh.”

Patches went to speak, but the soft, shaky voice of the Fire Keeper kept his words at bay. She clutched at the worn fabric of her ash-stained sleeves. “Wicked One,” she sounded pained. “prithee, grant me solitude.”

He hesitated, staring as she drew herself inward, but he knew when it was time to leave well enough alone. Wordlessly he stepped away, interested in the dark figure in armour that resembled a gargoyle peeking from the archway to spy down below, further into the shrine.

But the Fire Keeper called quietly after Patches. “Thy concern is appreciated, O Wicked One.”

-

Eygon of Carim - a knight dressed in armour that resembled some sort of horrific creature - watched a pale maiden, wrapped up in creams and whites, from above. Irina, the one Eygon was so devoted to, sat upon what seemed to be the only dry patch of stone in the moist darkness of the shrine’s lowest floor.

Patches had seen him before. He entered the shrine to visit her from afar a few times, merely to silently observe and see if she was alright in the care of the Ashen One. Once satisfied, he would sulk around the outside of the shrine before taking off somewhere else.

This visit didn’t seem to be like his others, Patches noticed from where he spoke with the Fire Keeper. Eygon moved slow and carefully, as not to disturb the joints in his armour too much. He didn’t call out to her, didn’t engage or make himself known. He stood in the shadows, spying on the poor blonde girl. Patches had no issue playing along with Eygon’s silent act.

It was after a few more moments of peering down at the nun, who slowly swayed her head and hummed, that Eygon stepped away from the arch and crossed his arms.

“What business have you to bother me?” His deep, rumbling voice flowed from the open mouth of the gargoyle helmet he wore. “Go kiss someone else’s ass. I’m not in the mood for your foolery.”

Patches tilted his head and smirked at the Carim knight. He knew exactly what that tone meant; he was defensive. Like he was caught in the act of doing something he’s ashamed of. “Know of me,” Patches kept his voice quiet, much like the knight’s own voice. “wittol?”

A low growl resounded from within Eygon. “You’ve made a number of enemies. Seems like you’re in the market for another one.” Eygon reached behind him, never moving his head from gazing at Patches, for his atrociously large hammer that leaned into the corner he stood in.

But there was something about Carim knights that Patches was intimately familiar with. Rude, crass and as prickly as they were, not often did they enact wrath upon others who caused petty offense.

Patches crossed his arms and shrugged. “All you knights with your maidens you’re all so devoted to - how’s a bloke not to think you don’t slave over her feet? But not you, eh?”

Patches stepped quietly, closer to the archway to gaze down at the nun, Irina. He pulled himself back to face Eygon. “Not with an evil creature like that.”

“Obvious, isn’t it?” Eygon whispered. “A pitiful failure. Nothing but an attraction to perverse darkness, but even a woman cursed as her deserves her dignity. Begone.”

Unbothered, Patches complied. “Alright, then. No sense in talking to you. Your lady down there,” Patches had begun to make his way towards the stairs that descended lower into the shrine. “seems more apt for conversation. Maybe I’ll-“

Eygon slammed his impossibly large hammer down dangerously close to Patches, kicking up clouds of ash and debris. His hammer shook the ground, and sent an ear-shattering bang echoing throughout the shrine.

“You won’t touch her.” Eygon seethed, lifting his head to stare directly into Patches’ eyes. “Not without a fight.”

“Ashen One?”

A soft voice called out, just loud enough for both men to hear. “Ashen One,” she called again. “is that you?”

Eygon hoisted the hammer back up the rest against his shoulder. “No, my lady. It’s only me.” He spoke louder towards the archway.

“Oh, Eygon,” her voice lifted in tone and sounded much happier than the dreary inquiry she had before. “it’s been so long since you came to visit me. Won’t you come here, please?”

Patches noticed the subtle way Eygon’s form turned frigid. A grin formed across his face, turning upwards in a most evil way. “What’s wrong? Don’t all you Carim knights dream of ravishing your lady? Or, is it that you’re right scared of her?” Patches purposefully forced out a laugh that dripped with venom. “Oh mate, you should’ve stopped being scared of the dark when you were a kid.”

“Say what you wish,” Eygon threatened in a low tone. “but I will kill you. Not now, but upon our next meeting I’ll separate the flesh from your oversized head. You’ll have wished you’d eaten your words.”

Eygon pushed past Patches, making sure to collide his armoured shoulder with his, and descended the stairs to where Irina spent her days.

Patches watched, silently above, in the shadow of the stone archway. The dark knight firmly planted the top of his hammer onto the ground, before kneeling before the pale nun. “What is it you needed, Irina?”

“Touch me, please.” Irina held up her hand in the blank space in front of her. “I- I have tremendous news.”

Eygon stared at the warm, soft palm Irina offered to him. She appeared simply angelic; the lit candles beside her created a heavenly glow around her in the dark, but all Eygon saw was the amplified darkness that plagued her eternally. He didn’t move, and was silent for too long.

Patches noticed his hesitation had turned into an uncertain withdrawal. It was clear to Patches now: this knight wasn’t just scared, he was terrified of her.

“Eygon? Where have you gone?” Irina’s outstretched arm faltered, but at his name, Eygon answered.

“I am here.” He pressed the palm of his gauntlet against her’s, and Irina’s fingers closed around his hand, feeling the intricacies of the design.

“It is you.” Irina whispered. “I am… I am glad it’s you. This Ashen One, he gave me a tome that felt most terrible against my fingers.”

Eygon stiffened. “Tell me you did not read it.”

Irina shook her head, and gave her knight a demure smile. “I did not. A woman - a witch - stopped me before I could. She guided my hand to a tome that tickled me with its radiance.” She gave a quiet, gleeful chuckle. “It’s bountiful light seems to have staved off the darkness that nibbles upon me. Perhaps my path towards becoming a Fire Keeper is not lost.”

A Fire Keeper. This information surprised Patches. He had assumed she was nothing more but a broken nun - a dirty cleric, but she was nothing of the sort.

“Eygon,” she started. “I know my curse wards you away from me, but the darkness is not in my presence. May I touch your skin?”

“...Are you so certain you feel the absence of the dark? Remember my oath to you.”

“I remember clearly. No, it seems gone. I feel positively elated.”

It was true that her smile turned up more than usual, and a healthy flush was present in her cheeks. Eygon pulled his hand away from hers to unclip the clasps of his gauntlet, and pulled it off to reveal his bare flesh. Experimentally, he placed only the pads of his fingertips against hers, then slowly enveloped her hand in his.

Irina let out a breathy gasp. “Oh, oh Eygon, you are so warm. I never could have imagined you felt this way. I can only wonder what you may look like.”

Patches grimaced at the sickly sweet scene unfold before him, and stepped away before he became a witness to the lovelorn fools’ potential union. Lovers were items that already made his stomach twist in knots, but secret lovers? He nearly vomited at the thought. There was one thing that stuck with him through all of that snooping; the corruption the new Fire Keeper nearly fell to by way of the Ashen One.

Perhaps the world could have done well with the loss of one more holy person, but the loss of a fire attendee? No, Patches knew where his hatred began and ended, and this betrayal was another strike against the Ashen One for him.

#Dark Souls #Dark Souls 3 #Unbreakable Patches #Firekeeper #Eygon of Carim #Irina of Carim #Ashen One #Eygon x Irina #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #Liver Writes #Cyntax_Error