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[Millicent]
All she sees is endless, crimson red.
Her whole world is reduced to an ocean of it, of nothing but rot, the same disease that writhes like hellfire throughout her being. Every breath is a knife drawn from her rattling lungs, every step a torture of its own calibre. After what feels like an eternity of dragging her body through sheer willpower alone, it, too, finally gives out on her.
She stumbles. Her right shoulder knocks against the stone wall, but there is no arm there to brace her fall with. She slides miserably down, instead, leaving an abstract red imprint behind her. My arm… gods, my arm…
Did I lose it? Or did I cut it myself…? She wonders. She cannot, for the life of her, remember. Not that it matters anymore. The limb is gone and soon, so will the rest of her be.
In the agony that engulfs her, she can hardly recall her own name. Something with M. Malenia…? No, that’s not quite right…
Such a pitiful way to die, she knows. It eats away at her warrior’s pride like the scarlet rot eats at her body.
Her sanity too, surely, for the sound of animal steps –a horse’s?— reaches her ears. At first, she disregards it as a hallucination born from the suffering. But then, someone dismantles with audible thud. Even steps approach, until an armored shadow casts itself above her. She cannot crane her head far enough to make out a face, though her eyesight is blurry even if she could.
“If you are wise, y-you will leave immediately.” she croaks through the fire, voice weak. Far weaker than she’d like for the warning to really stick, but it already takes all her strength to force the words out as is. “My flesh writhes with scarlet rot. T-this is a curse, not to be meddled with by man.”
The shadow lowers itself to one knee. It is no longer faceless, though she can barely make out the rough shape of the person’s face. Still, it is a female voice that comes next;
“Take this. I am told you should stab yourself with it to stave off the rot.” Something gold and thin shines between her black-gloved fingers.
A… needle…?
Nothing can quell the rot, some deep part of her says. This is most likely nonsense; help does not come to those who need it the moment they desperately do, nor do guardian angels exist to arrive at one’s time of dying and present an alternative. I’ve lost it, haven’t I. Seeing saviors on white horses at death’s door. How unbecoming…
Then again. She can humor the illusion. What has she got to lose?
Her trembling fingers reach for the needle. “Never mind. I would rather trust you than continue to spoil from within.” she whispers, more to herself than her company. “…avert your eyes for a moment.” she says, in a way that tiptoes on the line between request and command.
The figure stands back up, then turns around.
She tears at the cloth covering what is left of her severed limb. In a swift thrust, the needle is pushed into her skin. To her utter surprise, it doesn’t really hurt. If anything…
The raging wildfire of pain slowly begins to fade. With it, she is overcome by extreme exhaustion. Her eyes grow heavy.
“Nnnh, why do I feel… so…” escapes her in a mumbled breath.
The last thing she sees is a pair of gentle blue orbs peering at her.
—
—
When she slowly comes back to her senses, the world isn’t quite so fractured, anymore.
Neither is her mind. She recalls her name –Millicent. Sadly, not much else returns in terms of memories.
Ample pain soon greets her, concentrated at her lost arm, though nothing of the hellfire brought by the rot. There is an odd warmth cocooning her body, too. A scent of smoke and wildflowers –hyacinth?— tickles her nose. Then she notices something else; a presence by her head. An animal sniffs around her, its breath moist yet strangely cool, until a familiar voice comes in a hushed whisper:
“Torrent! I told you not to do that.”
A snort comes. Millicent cracks an amber eye open to see a big steed walking away from her and back to its owner, who is seated atop a collapsed pillar with their back to her, on the opposite end of the ruins they are in.
“Do you want the woman to have a heart attack, waking up with your muzzle in her face?” she whispers again.
The horse sighs.
“Yeah, I’ve been through it. I know it’s pretty terrifying, alright?” her gloved hand comes to rest between the horse’s eyes. “Don’t you sulk, now.”
Millicent is fully awake, then. A fur cloak is draped over her body –oh… how thoughtful— that she softly brushes aside to stand. She runs her left hand through her messy hair to guide it away from her eyes, but it ends up falling across her forehead again. Irked, she decides to gather it into a ponytail –a task far easier said than done with one limb— before she goes to greet her unexpected savior.
The animal is the first to notice her. It turns in her direction and Millicent halts in her step. She has never seen horns on a horse before. Nor has she laid eyes on a mane this shade of glistening, silvery white.
It is as much a sight to behold as its owner. For, when the woman turns, she is nothing like Millicent may have expected. Skin fair, unblemished save for a faded scar at her left eye and jaw, she is young and far too pretty a flower for a place this deeply twisted. Her eyes hold the color of the ocean, her hair a rich chestnut brown.
“I… hoped to see you again.” Millicent is the first to speak up.
Manners, she reminds herself. Though she remembers nothing of her life, she is certain she can act like royalty, when it is required of her. She also hopes it is not required often. Her place is in a battlefield, where swords do most of the talking. Although, without her sword-arm, where does she belong, anymore…?
“My apologies. I fainted before I could properly thank you.” There. That wasn’t too hard. Well. Maybe a little bit.
“No thanks needed.” the woman easily says.
Millicent feels otherwise. “I didn’t believe you back then but… everything is as you said. Since inserting the needle, the scarlet rot has ceased to writhe. Even the nightmares have abated. Now, though I can hardly believe it myself… I can move freely.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” A faint smile comes, followed by a little sigh from the peculiar horse. “Do you have anywhere to go? This ruined church is hardly the place to stay long. There are several beasts prowling outside.”
She stayed… to protect me. Millicent realises. A long-jaded part of her frowns at the thought. No. No way. That sort of kindness simply does not exist in this shattered world…
“I will leave on a journey to find myself.” she answers. With the needle buried in her flesh she can dimly recall a greater destiny… “My name is Millicent, but that is all I know for now. I pray fate permits us meet again.”
“I hope so, too. I’m Serys and this is my spirit companion, Torrent.” A thumb points to the proud creature, which only stands straighter at the sound of its name. Millicent cannot help but marvel at the steed.
Perhaps it is rude to stare, but she does not avert her eyes as Serys gracefully mounts Torrent, with the efficiency of someone who has repeated the same movement countless times.
“Is there anywhere you’d like us to take you before we part ways?” she asks.
The offer alone speaks volumes of her character. Millicent shakes her head, though she knows her immense pride is a terrible hindrance on her exhausted body right now. “Thank you, but I am fine on my own.” A massive lie.
“As you wish. Be careful out there.” With a farewell wave and a mighty step from Torrent, Serys is but a zooming blur in the distance.
It is only after she turns around that Millicent sees Serys’ fur cloak, lying forgotten where she had previously been resting.
Perhaps it is fate’s way of having them meet again.
—
—
The pull she feels in her chest leads her to an abandoned shack in Caelid.
Millicent was expecting to find a man there, someone vague and blurry from her memories –confusing them with nightmares, perhaps? it is entirely possible— yet she finds only emptiness.
A tired huff escapes her lips. She cannot find closure anywhere, it seems.
Still, there is a nagging sensation haunting her, urging to be somewhere. The promise of a purpose in life calls her. Images of a mighty valkyrie wielding a long, golden katana flash before her mind’s eye. Malenia, she instinctively knows her name is.
Malenia… I need to find her.
Millicent takes one last look at the shack. Her gaze then lowers to the fur cloak grasped tightly in her left hand. At the end of it all, even if there is nothing for her out there, she can push on if only to return this to its owner. She owes the woman that much.
Amber eyes glance at the paths available to her, all filled with different sorts of threats.
If only I had my arm… I could cut a path through all of those abominations. She isn’t sure where the certainty stems from, but her skill with a blade is the one thing she can swear by.
Running from safe point to safe point feels far, far beneath her.
Millicent grits her teeth and marches on regardless.
—
—
It takes days’ worth of travelling on foot to reach the Altus Plateau.
Millicent fends off a number of foes along the way, training her left arm as she goes. Although nowhere near as proficient as her right, she has been able to defend herself well enough thus far. Still, she is forced to halt her progress upon every nightfall. She cannot afford to challenge her luck further; it is wisest to travel only under the sun’s light.
She takes refuge from the elements in the empty ruins of another church dedicated to Marika. Millicent gathers the necessary wood and twigs to start a campfire. Only, before she can stress on how to light it, footsteps from outside register across her keen senses.
She immediately ceases all movement and sound, then crouches low against a wall that covers her shadow, her sword’s hilt held backwards, tight in her left hand. Millicent hears the tell-tale hiss of the invader’s own weapon being drawn from its sheathe as they cautiously approach. She wills herself calm. Breathes in, then out.
‘Fluid like the water. Time your breathing.’ In her hazy memory, someone without a face instructs.
And as soon as the unwanted visitor makes to step in…
Millicent flashes up.
Steel grinds against steel under the moonlight. Two deadly, narrowed sets of eyes, one of the ocean and one of gold, meet. There is a moment of cold anger, of wanting nothing more than an opponent’s fall. A memory sparks to life in Millicent’s mind within the seconds of the clash.
And then dawns the shock of recognition.
“Millicent?!”
“Serys?!”
They exclaim at the same time.
Millicent is the first to step back, overcome by both immense relief and equal amounts of guilt. Serys’ cheek is now sporting a horizontal line that oozes red, all because of her. The one person in the world she wasn’t to hurt, she went and drew blood from. Yet there is that voice within her again, whispering that hurting others is what she is best at.
“I’m s—” she wants to say that she’s sorry –and really she is— but the words just don’t make it past her throat. Ever. “You could have said something to let me know you’re not hostile!” An accusation, though, leaves her lips just fine.
Darn it.
“I’m sorry I don’t make a habit of announcing my presence to every potential creature in the spaces I enter!” Serys replies, gloved hand pressed hard over her bleeding cheek.
Look at what you’ve done, now. Her beautiful face— wait, no, that’s wrong to think. Millicent hovers awkwardly at one side of the unlit bonfire while Serys takes the other, pouring some sort of healing flask over the wound as she does. The blood flow stops and the gash is closed within a few moments.
Millicent takes a deep breath. Composes herself. “My apologies. For… that.” she motions to her own face.
Serys takes on a more relaxed stance, pulling a knee up to rest her forearm atop it. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my fault, too. I’ve… spent a while without seeing a friendly face. Or a sane one, really.” she huffs. “Guess I’ve started to assume it’s only enemies and monsters up ahead.”
Millicent understands, of course. She feels the toll of her journey grow heavier by the day, as well.
Then she remembers— “Your cloak. You forgot it back then.” She is stopped before she can return the piece to the other woman.
“You should keep it for now. It’s a cold night.” Serys holds a hand up. “I have Torrent to keep me warm.”
As if on cue, spectral energy gathers behind her in the shape of her horse, which then materializes from it in an utterly ethereal, graceful step. Millicent is mesmerized by the glow, then the movement of the spirit steed as it lowers itself behind her back, almost curled protectively around it.
Torrent’s silvery head raises towards Millicent.
“He says hello.” Serys smiles. The horse nudges her with a horn, as if offended. “And that it’s nice to see you well.” she adds. Satisfied, Torrent leans his head back down.
The corner of the redhead’s lip tugs upwards at the exchange. What a strange duo…
Serys lights the bonfire through a simple spell. The two of them talk long about their recent adventures after.
When the conversation dies down and only the crackling of the fire interrupts the reign of comfortable silence, Millicent stares into the shapes born of the flame –like blooming flowers, like flowing red locks caught in the winds— and ponders. As much as she does not wish to dwell on it, she feels it in her bones this night was not the first time Serys and she crossed blades. She recalls nothing of the fight, but she is almost certain there has been one.
Was it before or during the nightmare of the rot…? Millicent is afraid to ask the question of what kind of person she was, then.
Several quiet moments pass.
Until, at one point, her own silence becomes unbearable.
“Say… have we by any chance… fought each other, before?” she holds Serys’ gaze across the fire as the woman slowly raises it to her own.
Torrent looks between them. “Um.” Serys frowns. “I don’t think so…?”
“Don’t lie to me.” The cold, biting way she barks it surprises even herself.
Another memory, one of Malenia saying something similar to one of her cleanrot knights, flashes by her mind like a shooting star. They sound similar, her and she. Briefly, Millicent wonders what connection there could possibly exist between a demigod and herself.
A soft huff leaves Serys’ thin lips. “You invaded me at the Swamp, I think. If that truly was you.” she admits. “But the adversary I faced is nothing like the woman I am talking to right now.”
Millicent’s jaw works. Her nails dig into her thigh through the fabric of her clothes. “I attacked you.” It’s not a question. “And you saved me…?”
What’s your endgame? Who does this?
“Someone at the abandoned shack by Sellia asked me to save you.” Serys says. “But if I knew the gold needle had that kind of power without him telling me, I would have done it regardless.”
“Why?” I wouldn’t have.
“Let’s just say I’m a believer in second chances.” Serys replies, expression much more serious now that her jaw is set and new lines form on her face.
“Are you?” Millicent doubts.
Serys stares at her, eyes cooler in a manner that makes her look a tad older. Wearier. A warrior, rather than a charming adventurer.
“…no.” she shakes her head. “But there have been too many people I could not save.” she speaks, solemn. “And one girl in particular I will never forgive myself for leaving.”
Millicent presses her tongue to a canine. “Is she…”
“Dead. Because of me.” Serys delivers the sentence like she’s carrying the weight of the world along with it. Torrent closes his eyes and rests his head behind her shoulder, as if sharing her sadness. “But I now make a point of helping everyone I can, because of her.”
“I see.” Millicent nods. “Seems like the more of my old self I remember the less I want to know.” A grimace. “I wish to atone for my past actions, whatever those may be. Towards you, especially. If I had my sword arm, I could assist you in battle.”
Serys and Torrent share a look, but the Tarnished doesn’t say anything more.
They take turns keeping watch until morning light.
—
—
“Would you wait here for me?” is what Serys says in place of farewell, highlighted by the first rays of dawn.
Millicent wants to ask what for, but she keeps her curiosity to herself when she merely nods. Once again, she watches as the woman speeds away on Torrent’s back. Many hours pass. With each one, her worry grows that perhaps her newfound company may not return. Too many ‘what if’s begin to plague her mind…
Until she hears galloping from the distance.
Serys practically leaps off of Torrent before he has even fully come to a stop. There is a hint of a darling smile playing at the edges of her mouth, like she cannot fully contain her eagerness. It renders her a far cry from the sombre warrior of the previous night, the one carrying her failures like a prison ball and chain.
The other woman hikes up the hill’s slope to her, while Millicent descends to greet her. They meet halfway.
Serys is holding something in the hand she keeps behind her back. “So… you know Shaded Castle, up that way?” she asks.
“I’ve heard of it.” Millicent says.
“Well, Torrent and I had visited it before, but I never thought what I found inside would be of interest to anyone. Yesterday, when you spoke of your lost arm, however…” she trails off, then brings the hidden object forward, presents it to Millicent like a tribute.
The redhead takes a sharp breath.
A glistening, gold prosthetic arm reflects the sunlight magnificently, a near-exact replica of the one Malenia used to fight with, in all her memories. Its masterwork craftsmanship is plain to see. Such a tool is surely fit for beings far above Millicent. Still…
“I… thank you.” Escapes her in a breath. Head bowed, Millicent is overcome by emotion she desperately bites back as she reaches out to take the gift she feels entirely undeserving of.
Serys regards her with that open expression again, that subtle, gentle smile that perfectly complements the sun and makes it impossible not to trust her. Right here, bathed in yellows and oranges and radiance, she is far more to Millicent than a mere Tarnished. She is, twice, her savior; the woman she swears to protect henceforth.
“If the arm serves well enough, I should be able to assist you in combat.” Millicent says. “And I promise to assist you from this point on, wherever and whenever you need my sword.”
“Two blades are always better than one.”
Always, then.
“Give me some time to get used to it.” Millicent says. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, further up north.”
—
—
The third time, she is the one who finds Serys.
At Windmill Heights, the woman faces a horrifying opponent. A Godskin Apostle, who bears an armor infused with the skin of his own victims. Their faces, stuck in perpetual anguish, decorate his cape as he strikes down onto Serys again and again, the sound booming like thunder.
The Tarnished is brought to her knees. Blood leaks through the cracks of her armor. But when the monster goes for the killing blow…
Millicent is there.
The Apostle’s head rolls onto the grass before his blade has a chance to harm Serys again. It is merely the first of many parts of him that sever and dislocate in slices. If Millicent went a little overboard with the ‘waterfowl dance’ attack, it is a safety precaution and not for—
“Show-off.” Serys grins under her fringe, bloodied and on her knees as she is.
Millicent rolls her eyes with a smirk she can’t quite chase from her face fast enough. Her left hand is extended to her fellow warrior. Serys does not hesitate to take it. It is a simple action, helping her stand, yet the sense of acting as her support fills the redhead’s chest to the brim with pride, with accomplishment.
Serys stumbles on her first step, nearly falls forward, yet Millicent’s fingers brace against her stomach to stop the motion. It brings them close –one tilt of her chin downwards and it would be tucked against Serys’ shoulder— close enough for her to catch the scent of hyacinths lingering about her hair over that of blood. A sudden, curious warmth crawls up Millicent’s neck.
“Careful there. Your leg looks bad.” she says quietly, taking a step back. The eerie quiet of Windmill Heights seems even more glaring to her right here.
“Then it looks better than it… feels.” Serys coughs mid-sentence.
A thin river of red runs down her straight nose.
Millicent’s eyes follow it down to the curve of her upper lip before averting to the road ahead. She scans as far as her sight can reach for any safe spots to camp. Even through healing spells or that curious flask she used last time, it is clear Serys won’t be able to move for a while.
“Torrent.” Serys calls weakly. The spirit steed steps out of the aether and sits down to render her climb easier.
“See those ruins Northwest? I’ll meet you there.” Millicent says. Torrent’s head turns her direction, intelligent eyes blinking once in clear understanding.
By the time Millicent makes her way past the collapsed part of the walls, the sun has set and Serys already seems much better than earlier. She is in the process of removing different parts of her armor, while Torrent stands guard off to her left. He cuts an imposing outline in the dark, with his horns and tall stature.
Millicent builds a campfire that she can actually light, this time. Serys lets out a sigh and scoots closer to the young flame. They are seated at a polite distance from the other, though not on opposite ends.
“I take it the arm serves you well, then?” Serys speaks up first, laying on her uninjured side, fur cloak folded into a makeshift pillow under her head.
Millicent’s left hand rests on the prosthetic at the mention. It is strange; if she concentrates hard enough, she can even sense the weight, the point of pressure. “It is remarkable. Works as well as my own.” If not better. “Finally, with this I can begin to thank you for all you have given me.”
“You do not need to—”
“I want to.” she says. Without you, I’d be nothing more than a rotted mound of flesh now. And though Millicent yet wonders who it was that sent Serys to her and to what end… she has seen enough of the other woman to no longer question her motives.
“What of your journey?” Serys then asks. “Have you found what you’re looking for?”
Ambers peer at azurites. “It is not a thing so easily found.” A pause. “I am searching for the demigod Malenia. There’s this sense that I need to find her, this vanished woman…”
“Ah. Another shard-bearer.” Serys muses aloud. “You know, my road always takes me to them, one way or another. Some say it is my fate, being Tarnished and all. …You could travel with me.”
Millicent masks her surprise at the offer. Beyond that, however, she worries at how easily –how eagerly— she wants to agree. A certain level of admiration and perhaps even kinship with Serys is to be expected… but even those sentiments can prove dangerous for warriors like them, in the fractured world they inhabit.
Best not to add fuel to the flame.
Millicent doesn’t quite remember when or why, but she is certain she has faced loss. It is a pain she doesn’t want to feel again. It is hurt she can bear easier towards an acquaintance rather than a friend.
“I don’t think that’s… wise.” her tone lacks conviction.
“Why not? Twice the blades is half the danger.” Serys replies. “Besides, Torrent likes you. He has no problem carrying you along.” The horse presses his hoof into the ground and lowers his head in acquiesce. “See?”
Millicent is in the process of politely shaking her head, when Serys gets a devilish little glint in her eye.
“Do not tell me you’re just scared of riding on him.” she teases. Somehow, the comment bypass all of Millicent’s barriers to strike straight at her pride.
She makes a face. “I am not ‘scared’.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Serys presses on.
“You have a lot of energy for a woman half-dead not an hour ago.” Millicent comments.
“I was handling it just fine, thank you very much.” comes the denial. Torrent snorts. Blue eyes cast him a pointed glare.
“It was apparent by how you were getting hammered like a nail to the soil.”
“I was waiting for the perfect moment to strike, okay?” Serys counters.
“Okay.” Millicent nods in utter and complete disbelief.
Blue eyes roll over-exaggeratedly at her.
—
—
Millicent knows she will regret this. She knows it in her bones.
But when Serys extends a hand out to her and asks “Are you coming?” she finds that she is powerless to say no.
She lets herself be pulled onto Torrent’s saddle, at the woman’s front. It is not the first time she has ridden on a horse, but there is something distinctly different about it now. It is not that she’s scared of the spirit steed. Her heart is pounding in her chest, yes, though not from fear. Not exactly.
“You okay? Comfortable?” Serys’ voice comes quietly over her shoulder. Her arms bracket Millicent’s sides to grip at the reigns.
“Yes. We can go.”
A white lie never hurt anyone, right? Because Millicent is most certainly not fine and well on her way to regretting most life choices, remembered or not. She doesn’t want to dwell on what this is, that her body has grown warm all over, acutely aware of every centimetre of physical contact between them.
“You should grip tighter at his mane. He’s fast.” Serys warns.
Millicent doesn’t listen.
But she’s gripping Torrent’s hair for dear life ten seconds down the line, when he’s speeding down the plane.
By. The. Gods!
Serys is pressed tightly to her back, breaking into a fit of chuckles. Millicent’s stomach plummets all the way down the cliffside, but she’s unsure whether it’s from the huge leaps Torrent takes, or the feel of that laugh by her ear.
—
—
They fight back-to-back. Ride together. Sleep far easier than warriors are normally allowed to, trusting the other with their safety. So it goes, for weeks.
At some point, Millicent realises she isn’t trying to remember, anymore. She doesn’t much care about the life she had, because knowing Serys feels more than enough for her. Even without answers, she is content with their arrangement. If she were to die like this, to die for her, protecting her from a fatal blow, the redhead would not at all mind leaving her own goal unfulfilled.
Meanwhile, the golden needle works wonders. The scarlet rot inside her is completely, mercifully supressed, almost to the point where it can at times be forgotten. Almost.
She still thinks of herself as a ticking time bomb, however. Despite Serys’ assurances that the rot cannot remain on her as Tarnished, Millicent keeps her distance. Never lets herself get too close, where she can help it. Never skin-on-skin contact. Whenever she can, she pulls her very gaze off of the woman, as if even that can potentially infect her.
Millicent would rather fall on her own sword than bring Serys the suffering she released her from.
She has only ever touched her in dreams. Even then, she woke herself up before she could go too far, past the point of no return.
It is easier to see Malenia and her battles in sleep. The next day, Millicent doesn’t have to come up with excuses to be alone. She is far more focused. Far more like the undefeated demi-god whose visage seems closer and closer to her own semblance. Maybe too close. Maybe…
“Hey.” Serys’ voice is low, calm.
Illuminated by the glow of the bonfire, Millicent turns to her with hair still damp from the bath she took at the river earlier, her cotton shirt yet clinging to parts of her body. Torrent is munching on grass not far behind them.
“You still have some blood on you.” she says, then leans slowly towards her, hand extending to wipe at the stain on Millicent’s face.
Golden fingers stop hers. “I told you that’s dangerous.” she states without any real bite.
“Millicent, I have like five talismans boosting my immunity at the same time, plus I’m Tarnished on top of it. Pretty sure standing in a lake of rot in Caelid wouldn’t get me infected at this point.” Serys says. “Just let me get it.”
Perhaps that’s not the only problem. Millicent thinks sadly. I can hardly keep my distance from you as is.
She’s already tired after a day of constant fighting and loosened by her bath, though. Her resolve falters. She lacks the energy to argue. And before she knows it, her grip is released and Serys is wiping at the bloodstain at the corner of her jaw. Those deft, fire-warmed fingers sport tiny scars all over, yet feel surprisingly smooth for a warrior.
Serys’ eyes are endless, dark blue when she pulls back and looks upon her face a moment longer.
“I like your hair down.” she compliments.
Millicent turns nearly as red as the crimson strands, a flush she hopes to hide with turning on her left side to sleep.
—
—
Traveling with Serys was a mistake. She has grown too attached, too quickly. More and more, Millicent considers that she ought to leave.
Yet one look into the world's most stunning pair of blue eyes kills the announcement hanging on her tongue every time.
She hates the effect that gaze has on her. She hates how effortlessly it disarms her. She hates how it is the only force in the world that can quell the nightmares born of her fractured memories.
Tonight is no different.
Millicent sees endless crimson. A vast ocean of nothing but rot, confined underground. Twisted, abhorrent abominations lay within the infestation, feasting on it. They worship it.
Then they worship her.
Millicent is petrified. The sight, the very thought of this world makes her sick to the core.
Mercifully quick, it all fades away into darkness. At first, she is thankful for it. But she soon realizes she is not alone in the shadows. A tall figure stands far ahead, which slowly, ominously, turns to acknowledge her presence. A long, curved blade extends from their right arm, far into the nothingness.
Eyes of fiery gold open to regard her, narrowed in nothing short of glacial distrust.
…Malenia?!
“Who are you...?”
Millicent snaps awake at the kiss of the sword against her throat. The phantom feeling remains with her even as she greedily draws sharp, shallow breaths, as do the afterimages of the rot's reign in her nightmare.
A comforting touch lands on her back.
“Millicent.” Serys speaks her name. “Are you okay? Was it a nightmare?”
Millicent nods and immediately sits up. A fur blanket falls from around her shoulders to pool at her lap. She did not fall asleep with it, which can only mean Serys pulled it over her sometime during her watch shift.
Warmth fills her chest at the thought. She chases it away with all that she has. Or... tries to, anyway. The task becomes thrice as difficult when the hand on her back begins to move in soothing little circles between her shoulderblades.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, it's just... gibberish. Hardly makes any sense. Don't worry yourself over it.” She breathes in a voice not quite as steady as her own.
Serys' hand eventually lowers to the ground behind her, but even without it she is so near they may as well be in physical contact. For a few heartbeats, there is quiet.
“I am not falling back to sleep now, so you should rest.” Millicent speaks up.
“If you're sure.” Serys says and lays down, one arm under her head, the other wrapping her fur cloak tightly around her.
“Also, you need to stop giving me your blankets.” Millicent chastises softly.
“So you've said.” Serys sighs with her eyes closed.
“Then why keep doing it?”
A tiny, crooked smile. “I want to.”
Millicent throws half of the warm covers over her, when she is sure Serys is too lulled by the beginning traces of sleep to object.
—
—
The further north they travel, the more certain Millicent becomes of her kinship with Malenia. To what extent she knows not, but she can sense it clear as day now, that the same blood flows through their veins.
Beyond that, she is also positive there are creatures out there –things— which worship the curse of rot within this very blood. These pests, they have designs for them. Millicent focuses long and hard on what her old self may have known on the matter.
These flashes I get, these memories... did the rot truly wipe them away, or did I wish to erase them?
Leaning above the riverbed to examine her face, so painfully resembling the flame-haired demigod's, she wonders.
That is when she recalls a sentence once spoken to her by a mentor;
“So you may one day bloom into the fairest of flowers...”
Millicent leaps back, far away from the water and the red lake her mind parallels it to, where all those other women who look startlingly like her are gathered in a foggy memory.
For the remainder of the day, she cannot shake off the icy chills brought to her by that low, unsettling voice and those images. She does not feel safe in her own skin.
Naturally, Serys notices.
“Won't you tell me what troubles you?”
“You assume something does.” Millicent brushes her off. She winces at the ice in her own voice right after she speaks; turns out she takes after Malenia in all the worst ways, she muses.
“It's very clear something does.” Serys states. “I know you.”
At that, a sudden flare of white-hot anger blinds Millicent. She rounds in on Serys, right up to her face, fierce as a hurricane. “You know nothing about me!”
She knows she’s being cruel and unfair even as she barks it. Shame fills her chest, then she tastes the acrid sting of regret. Red imprints are left within her palm with how tightly she clenches her fist. It would be easier if Serys hurt her back, or shoved her, or did literally anything other than continue to gaze into her eyes with that unending, caring patience.
“…I don’t even know the first thing about who I am.” Millicent’s eyes fall. She retreats a step back, which brings her against smooth rocks that she gladly leans her weight on. “If you were wise, you’d stay away.” And if I was any less selfish, I would have already left…
Serys comes closer, instead. Her hands press to the rocks by Millicent’s sides, but oddly enough it doesn’t feel like a trap. It’s… safe, good, familiar, like when they ride together on Torrent, except much more intimate now that they stand face to face.
“Wisdom is not my most prominent trait.” Serys replies, though she is wise beyond her years. “Millicent.” the way she says her name as though it is something holy always renders the redhead so weak. “I cannot stand to see you hurting silently like this.”
And Millicent breaks.
She lowers her head to Serys’ shoulder, her left hand trailing up her fur-caped shoulder to rest on her neck. She smells like steel and flowers and she is warm like sunlight against her. She is her anchor in a world that’s rotted and broken; what Miquella and Finlay were to Malenia.
Serys presses a hand to her lower back, threads the fingers of the other in her loose hair. They are walking a very dangerous line here, pressed this close for this long and not breaking apart. Millicent’s chest aches at everything she’s feeling at once. Her heart is pounding as though it’s trying to leap out and make a run down the grassy hill, her fingers itch to press harder into Serys, her stomach is a wreck.
“You smell really good.” Serys says, turning her head a bit so it affectionately pushes Millicent’s.
The redhead doesn’t dare turn hers. She’s already as scarlet as her clothes and too aware of the fact a tiny shift is all it takes to finally know for real what it feels like to kiss her. There’s no going back to pretending they are simply comrades in arms after this. There’s no containing and re-naming what Millicent feels every time she wakes up to see her gorgeous face.
Malenia may have managed to keep her affection for Finlay under tight lock and key, but Millicent is not that strong.
She has a taste of the forbidden fruit. And then she’s hooked on it.
—
—
Their sleeping arrangements change after the kiss.
At least they no longer argue over who gets the warmer furs. They both curl up in the same bedroll –it is a tight fit, but neither minds— underneath common covers. Serys keeps an arm around Millicent’s middle from behind, or tucks her chin into the crook of her left shoulder and lets herself be held to a soundless sleep. According to who keeps watch, they alternate.
They’re in a cave this time and it’s much more comfortable than being exposed to the icy night air. Clothed in the undershirt and pants she wears underneath her black armor, Serys joins her after she is done cleaning up. She leans in for a kiss at the corner of Millicent’s mouth that the redhead drinks in like fine wine.
They scoot a bit to get comfortable and end up with Serys half on top of her, thigh resting between her legs and fingers tangled in the flaming red of her hair. It’s no secret between them that she really likes it down. With a cheeky little smirk, the brunette gives an experimental pull, that is meant to be just a playful little tease. Millicent, to her later embarrassment, gets a tad too into it.
Her whole body flushes alight with heat. She gasps and arches her neck into the sensation, demanding “Harder.”
Serys’ blue eyes darken like a starless night above her. She doesn’t quite oblige –won’t hurt her even where Millicent clearly likes it— but she tightens grip in a way that’s just as delicious. When she leans down, her teeth catch the redhead’s bottom lip, then move down her jawline, to the most sensitive parts of her neck.
Golden fingers curl into the furs. Millicent has never felt it before –not this degree— this fire that licks down her belly to the apex of her legs, the hollow ache to be touched right now. She’s had pangs of want since meeting Serys, certainly, that she loathed and resisted giving in to when bathing alone. They do not compare to this immense, overpowering urge here.
The first press of teeth on her neck has her digging her nails into Serys’ cotton sleeve. “Bite me.” she huffs, breathless.
Serys' teeth sink into her skin. Millicent loses all conscious thought. She bites her lip raw to ground herself, to not make much sound as she desperately presses herself to the woman's thigh, seeking relief in friction. They ebb and flow together like water at the shore, clothes pulled undone along the way.
Thankfully, Millicent is too far lost in arousal to grow self-conscious about the rot-induced, abstract white markings decorating her right side. Her human hand pushes under Serys' shirt, guiding it up and gliding across defined abs along the way. Her golden limb, she keeps firmly on the ground –always— never to cause Serys discomfort with the cold metal.
But the Tarnished halts the wicked trace of her tongue on Millicent's collar, draws back the faintest amount, to gaze upon her in equal parts desire and adoration.
She then takes hold of her prosthetic hand and brings it to her lips, leaving a kiss on the gold palm. Millicent can't quite feel it, yet the sentiment that does fill her chest at the gesture is all-encompassing.
“You're so beautiful, Millicent.” she praises.
If she could talk in this moment, Millicent would ask what she sees in her, someone severed and broken, when the stars themselves are surely envious of her grace.
Wet and flustered as she is, however, she settles for pulling Serys back down into a kiss filled with all she cannot voice.
“Let me hear you, darling.” Serys requests of her. Millicent cannot deny her anything.
The night hears her whimper and moan and gasp her pleasure, as it peaks to heights she never thought possible. Millicent offers herself to Serys completely, body and mind and soul, all that there is and could be.
Lying with her afterwards, listening to the steady beat of her heart beneath her ear, Millicent feels the happiest she has ever been.
No matter what truths are laid bare about me, Millicent thinks, I am yours if you will have me. To the ends of the earth and further beyond.
Malenia was the Blade of Miquella.
I am yours.
—
—
Millicent remembers a lot, now. But not about herself.
Her memories are of gods she has never met, of knights she held dear yet were never really her own. It doesn't matter if she was not meant to be her own person. It doesn't matter what she was meant for. She turns it all into her strength and cleaves twice the number of foes that dare stand in Serys' way.
If the sun itself rises to oppose her one day, Millicent will slice that in half, as well.
She has no doubt in her mind Serys will become the Elden Lord.
Except, the title does imply certain things that she is –frustrating as it is to admit— all too happy to avoid thinking about. The closer to the Mountaintops of the Giants they get, however, the more difficult the conversation is to avoid.
Serys brings it up one night, what the end of all this fighting could be like for them, while they sit huddled together to ward off the cold.
“I will follow your vision regardless of what it is.” Millicent promises.
“Why do you say it like that?” Serys frowns. “You're my equal and my lover, not my soldier.”
Millicent licks her lips. Don't say it. Don't say it, she urges herself.
“Isn't the Elden Lord, by definition, Queen Marika's consort?”
Damn it all. She does not mean for it to come out so bitter.
“...no way.” Serys breathes by her ear as if she's trying not to laugh. “Are you actually jealous?”
Millicent is positively green, but she keeps her chin high and denies the accusation with every fibre of her being. “Absolutely not.”
“You absolutely are!” Serys chuckles, but then kisses the corner of her jaw when she sees the sharp line there tighten further.
“Hush.”
“Hey, Millicent? ...I hope you're not seriously thinking me being Elden Lord will change anything between us.”
Serys slips their fingers through each other's.
“You are my one and only.”
Millicent allows herself a bashful smile at that.
“And you mine.”
—
—
At Elphael’s inner wall is where it all comes crushing down.
During the fight with the rot worm, Millicent remembers everything. Who she is, why she is, what her purpose originally was. While Serys finishes the abhorrent beast off, she stands there, lost and shaken to the very core. Her sword falls from her prosthetic hand, blade-first into the soil.
I…
She is nothing. Born of the crimson Aeonia Malenia unleashed in Caelid to meet Radahn’s measure, she is but a husk, raised and honed by a cult of rot worshippers as a warrior –along with so many others like herself, some of which succumbed early on to the disease— with a singular purpose assigned to her; to blossom into a terror.
A puppet to the goddess of rot. Just another means to spread the crimson curse across the lands, through her very own bloom. She is a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the right trigger to go off.
The trigger that Gowry surely intended Serys to be, unbeknownst to both of them.
“Millicent, what’s wrong?!” Serys yells from the other end of the chamber after the worm is subdued, jogging towards her.
Millicent instinctively takes a step away.
All this time, I promised to protect you from all dangers. From all that would harm you. she thinks, while in the background her heart is cracking to pieces. And from the very start, the biggest threat to your wellbeing was—
Me.
Her ‘sisters’ invade them the next moment.
Brainwashed as Millicent herself once was, they are under the delusions they were raised with by the Children of the Rot, that this ‘blooming’ is holy and they are now assisting her ascension through opposition. The needle is meaningless when it comes to this. The only thing it stops is the rot from killing her early. It won’t block a transformation. It may even assist it.
In the midst of fighting, Millicent barks at Serys to leave.
It is too naïve to think there’s even a single chance she will listen. Serys clearly had no part in Gowry’s twisted plan beyond saving her life. At least, if she is to die or turn into an abomination, Millicent will do so with a lighter heart, knowing everything they shared has been true.
Her sisters’ combined strength is frightening. But it still does not nearly match up to Serys and her battling as one.
A gash left oozing red at Millicent’s side is all that remains of them, after the sounds of clashing steel have given way to silence.
Serys walks up to help her stand.
Millicent, however, remains on her knees amongst the flowers. She dares not reach for her beloved’s hand anymore. “…thank you, Serys. For everything.” she says. “I have been in your debt from beginning to end. It is only because of you that I was able to live as my own person.”
“What are you talking about…?!” Serys suddenly sounds out of breath. Panicked, in a way Millicent has never heard her before. It hurts her to be the one to bring her to this state. “T-The wound is not that deep…!” the Tarnished falls to her knees right in front of her, checking with wide eyes.
Millicent tips her chin up with a bloodied finger, so their eyes meet. “I remember everything now.” A pause, to make sure her voice does not betray her, does not sob or break on her. “And things for me must end here.”
Serys frowns, distraught, in denial. “I-I don’t understand.”
“The one who gave you the needle you saved me with is a very twisted thing of a man.” Millicent explains. “All those who share his vision worship the rot as a god. Malenia refused to be what they envisioned, but her scarlet Aeonia eruption in Caelid created spore-clones from her blood. I, apparently, am the closest thing to the original there has been. I was meant to become what she refused; …a crimson flower, a source of rot to poison the world again.”
She waits a heartbeat for the information to sink in, to see some sort of change in the way Serys looks at her.
There is none.
“Don’t you get it?!” Millicent asks, her vision impaired with unshed tears. “The needle stops nothing! I swore that I would protect you with my life but the biggest threat to you right now is my life!”
Serys grips both her wrists in her hands, tight enough to hurt. Perhaps she knows what it is Millicent has decided to do; remove the needle and allow the rot to take her once and for all.
“If you want to die here after remembering all this, I will not stop you.” Serys speaks, low and even, even as tears trail a burning path down her cheeks, to drip-drop upon the white flowers below their knees.
Thank you…
“But know that I will use the Rune of Death to die with you.”
Millicent’s head snaps up, amber eyes wide. “Have you lost your mind? One fire giant is all that’s left for you to become Elden Lord—!”
“Thrones and titles mean nothing to me. This whole world means nothing to me if you are not in it. Let it stay fractured. Let it all burn away.” Serys says, with conviction that could scare a god. “The only reason I kept fighting this long was for you. So you could meet Malenia, like you wanted. The rest of the demigods were just… in the way.”
The floodgates break.
Millicent is openly weeping now, her whole frame rattled with sobs.
Serys’ hands withdraw from her wrists, settling in her own lap. There is nothing stopping Millicent from removing the needle anymore, except her own heart. She can put an end to a worldwide threat right here… but there is not a single doubt in her mind that Serys, this beautiful, valiant madwoman will follow through with the use of the Death Rune.
“How can you risk this…?” Millicent asks. “If I bloom into a scarlet valkyrie…”
“You will be my scarlet valkyrie regardless.” Serys states. “But if it puts your mind at ease, should you one day bloom into this thing you despise, I can swear to you right now to use the Rune of Death on us both.”
Millicent would rather rot into nothingness with her dignity intact, than turn into a scar upon the world.
But then again…
She would scar the world a thousand times over for Serys’ sake.
—
—
Serys and Millicent gather Finlay’s spirit ashes and summon her outside of Malenia’s resting place, at the roots of the Haligtree. They never go inside, never disturb the slumbering demigod.
Finlay performs the Cleanrot salute at them, pauses a moment with her visor turned towards Millicent… then seems to understand. She alone proceeds inside, to reunite with her Lady, her old flame.
Serys and Millicent slay the last of their enemies together.
The secrets of life they discover within the Erdtree are theirs alone to know and keep for the coming age of prosperity they herald. As promised, Serys takes the throne, the title of Elden Lord and rightful ruler of the Lands Between. She plans, over the next thousand years, for the world to eventually be distanced from the influence of the Golden Order, as well as her own rule. The mistakes of the past will not repeat themselves, nor will the pain.
Many adversaries rise to oppose her rule, each with their own views on how the world should function. They all meet a swift end before they even get to her, by the Elden Lord’s shadow, her fearsome valkyrie in red.
Millicent, too, achieves her goal.
She never needed to travel to the icy mountaintops to see Malenia, after all. The demigod had always been but a dream away.
The two of them meet for the second time in darkness and thick roots that are no longer threatening. Malenia does not approach with her blade drawn, like in the past. Perhaps Finlay, none-too-convincingly feigning disinterest in the background, has something to do with that.
“I am Malenia, Blade of Miquella. Who are you?” the living legend asks in her deep, authoritative voice.
“I am Millicent,” she replies. “Scarlet Valkyrie of the Elden Lord.”