Archive of Our Own

Gwyndolin reminisces on the first time they met.

One of his Knights, also a Firekeeper, told him about the Undead man lurking into the city. At first, she thought he came to retrieve the Lord’s Vessel but after a few times of chit-chat, he told her his true goal.

He wanted to put his sword at good use, to find himself a purpose to which he can cling, so his humanity will not slip away. And what is the most honorable and most bloody task than chasing after those to defy the laws and sin?

“He’s just a feral dog searching for someone to bark orders at him. How can he serve Gods when he defies them just the same? And yet… Faithful or no, he seems to be a good swordsman. My Lord can use a New Blade.”

He was skeptical at first. Khaled did not believe in Gwyn or his Sister, he did not believe in Gwyndolin at the time either - he was just glad to haunt those to wrong others and tear at their throats. He knew no rest and no sleep, bathing in the blood of the sinners more often than in the baths of Anor Londo. Gwyndolin wondered from where comes such spite and passion, yet never bothered to ask - foreseeing the lack of answer even if the question was to sound out loud.

And yet it appears that fate was willing to give him a chance when one night Gwyndolin awoke from the light nap in his chair to the sound of muffled sobbing as if someone desperately tried to choke that sound in their throat. Gwyndolin was not sure who could that be - yet curiosity took the best of him, forcing Godling to rise and move to the fog, snakes slithering silently against the cold tiles.

He felt it, as he approached. The heavy aura of nearing death. The smell of gore. The muffled crying and broken sounds leaving other’s throat.

-Eavesdropping on a dying Blade, huh?- The voice suddenly cut through the air, followed by the violent coughing.

-Too bold of you to assume such things of your Lord,- Gwyndolin retorted back without missing a bit, leaning away from the fog, -Especially in such state.- 

He could not see the man laying on the floor, with his mask thrown away, his sword collapsed right beside him, with his shield forgotten a few meters away. He could not see that huge pool of the dark burgundy of the Undead’s blood, while his hands desperately clutch to the huge gash in his abdomen, to the exhausted bloodied face, trying to quiet the sobs, to end those streaming tears.

He could not see. But, somehow, found in himself the need to. He barely knew the man, but he found that want to slide through the fog and just sit there until death would have come to take him, even if just for a short while.

-Perhaps,- Khaled agreed, trying to keep his voice stable, - but I will say it anyway. Lord or not, we all do our wrongs the same.-

Gwyndolin chuckled suddenly - yet the sound is heavy and pitiful.

-You never seemed to a type to cry before their death, especially when you know you will return to life sooner or later,- Gwyndolin continued the talk anyways, slithering close to the fog wall yet again, resting his palms against it.

-Who says that is the reason I cry?- Khaled hissed back with his voice cracking mid-sentence, leaving the man with another series of violent coughs.

-Then why?- Continued to press onto the topic Gwyndolin, desiring not to give up.

-Because of the past, that still forces its way into my present, not allowing me to move forward.-

That was the last thing Khaled had said before his body went still, last breath escaping his lips. The aura of death grew much heavier on the other side of the fog wall but all that there was left for Gwyndolin - move away and back to his chair.

There is no need to mourn or pray for someone that cannot die.

After that fateful night, Khaled would usually come to the tomb wounded and exhausted - most of the time to simply embrace the death or try to lick the deep wounds in his undead body. But each time they speak - even if not for long but they slowly dig into each other, revealing more to the other, learning more of another.

It’s at the seventh time Gwyndolin asks Khaled to walk through the fog. There is no wound that estus cannot heal, but the last hunt drained the Undead’s flask and it will take some time before more will gather, so Godling tries to tend to other’s wounds. Stitches them up the way sister Gwynevere taught him, pours divine blessing onto the clean cloth and rubs it through gore and dirt, trying to ease the pain and help the flesh and skin grow together faster. Khaled is silent through the entire process - not a hiss, not a curse word, only sharp inhales of air here and there. Afterward, Khaled usually tends to leave, rarely staying after, usually just long enough to offer souvenirs.

It’s after the eleventh time Khaled starts wandering into the Tomb not only when he is injured. He lingers for some time after usual stitching. They talk more. They share more.

Khaled doesn’t look so cold and less starved as time passes.

Gwyndolin feels loyalty in him now. He sees the flame of passion ignite.

.

.

.

Gwyndolin seems to grow more remorseful and quiet with each day passing. The eyes of icy blue are hidden away by the never-changing crown of the Dark Sun, yet Khaled does not need to see them to tell what is going on on Godling's mind.

Something troubling, that seemed to have planted its roots deep within the gentle heart of the Dark Sun many and many moons ago. Something that only briefly reminded of itself, until the little seed became a charming, yet a dreadful flower. 

Khaled reads it in intense shoulders, that never once had sunken under the weight of his responsibility, in a head, crowned by the Sun that did not suit Gwyndolin, turned to the only window in this long forsaken Tomb, in a lowly hissing, barely moving snakes. In gentle fingers curled into tight fists that the pale skin turns to a snow-white color and knees drawn together.

-My Lord?- The Undead asks, voice hushed by the crow mask, never once meant for his face. Piercing eyes of gold are hidden behind the dark metal, yet Gwyndolin still can feel the heat of dozen suns burning in them on the back of his head. Yet Godling shows it not, taking only a sharp breath, before facing the Undead man.

Even when standing several steps lower than his Lord, Khaled still was taller. And only once falling to one knee and bowing his head in respect he seemed shorter and overall smaller, despite his rather muscular complexion. Or was he leaner? His chest and leg muscles certainly are the strongest - even if wielding a greatsword, Khaled was very fast and agile, moving like a strike of lighting on the battlefield - going in swift and fast, crashing the enemies with all his strength. Such style required the loss of defenses, yet the Undead holds no fear of death or pain.

-How…,- Gwyndolin starts, yet finds his voice hoarse and shaking, breaking after the first word, -How the hunt goes?-

Khaled wordlessly reaches for a little purse on the side of his belt, untying the knot and releasing several cut ears, most of them fresh, with blood still not fully dried on the clean edge of the cut, and lets them fall onto his palm, later stretching it out to Gwyndolin, offering his souvenirs of reprisal.

-None have yet escaped the justice, My Lord.- The Undead answers, as Godling silently touches the souvenirs, watching them slowly vanish, -And only more will soon have the taste of my Blade.-

-You are loyal,- Gwyndolin acknowledges, with his hand held still over Khaled's, as if he wonders what to do next, -And you cut clean. You are a dangerous blade.-

Khaled finally raises his head, yet does not pull the hand away.

-And yet each Blade needs to be taken care of, otherwise, they will be worn down and break.-

The golden-eyed man raises his brow, even if it remains unseen behind the mask.

-I do not catch where you lead, My Lord.-

That causes Gwyndolin to lightly chuckle, turning his head to the side, with a brief smile forming on thin lips.

-You manage to catch the most dangerous sinners and yet cannot catch the thought, that you, my loyal Blade, deserved some rest?-

-My Lord, I---, Khaled immediately drops his head down, almost as if the tiles on the floor were the most interesting thing in this place, -I require no rest, you know that. I have no need for food, water or sleep for----

Gwyndolin interrupts him: -For you are Undead, yes, I hear this time and time again. You chase after those that committed crimes days and nights as if there is nothing else in your life but endless hunt. But you're a human , still. I appreciate your passion, but its flame may burn you down.-

The pale hand then slowly rests on rough Khaled's palm, the touch reminding the man of the brush of a feather against calloused skin. He is startled at first: yet shows it not, laying his other hand atop of Godling's instead, trapping it in a gentle embrace.

-Would my Loyal Blade put his passion aside and instead keep my company for this lonely day?- He asks then, turning his head back to the man, with a gentle smile dancing on his lips,- Consider this not an order, but a request from a friend.-

Khaled finds no strength to neither dismiss an offer nor accept it, aloud that is. So instead he nods shortly, pressing his hands just a bit tighter together. Gwyndolin needs no words either, as the smile on his face grows just a bit wider, causing something inside the Undead burst and bloom.

.

.

.

A past that haunts and forces itself into Khaled's present. It's quite an interesting choice of words - even after a couple of weeks it still lingers in Godling's mind, not allowing the flame of his interest to fade. The Undead Man indeed seemed like someone with an interesting past - certainly unpleasant, maybe even painful and destructive. Something that marked his very soul. Something that made him so merciless to those that harm innocents. Gwyndolin notices how he chases the most after those that hurt children in many ways, yet all violent and forceful. Khaled follows them like a mad dog, desiring to spill and drown in their blood.

He wants to ask so badly. He wants to dig into his very soul and know everything, take everything, feel, even. So the Dark Sun waits for a good opportunity - when Khaled will not be able to leave the question to simply hang in the air or escape from giving a proper answer by his feet.

Another day followed by another hunt and Khaled crawling back to his Lord's feet, grinning, intoxicated and heady from the blood he spills, even as he bleeds in several places, his left forearm purple-blue, with bone shattered into pieces that tear at his muscles, a huge gash pulsing on his right thigh, as blood streams down, staining his foot, making the Undead leave a bloodied footprint behind as he limps from the bonfire and to the fog. Grinning even more through all of the pain and anguish, squeezing the handle of his sword so hard that his knuckles turn white, as he almost falls through the fog wall, managing to push the sharp blade of his sword into the cold tiles and lean heavily onto it, keeping his balance at the last second.

Gwyndolin rises from the chair at the other end of the room, quickly swinging his moonlight catalyst, casting the teleportation spell. It takes him only a blink of an eye, as then he appears before the Undead, putting his hands on broad shoulders, keeping the man in place.

Khaled chuckles then, couple of red drops flying out of his mouth - his mask had fallen off at some point, maybe even during the hunt, and now the Dark Sun could clearly see those eyes - triumph, pain, hatred, more pain - all of these emotions swirling in the ocean of gold, so vivid it's almost intoxicating.

Khaled can read other's face too, even if most of it is covered with the Dark Crown. And it makes him laugh because there are concern and fear on his Lord's face.

Fear for someone who cannot die. Then it is fear born out of care.

Well, surely, even a weapon needs to be cared for, to cut down enemies of its wielder.

-How many?- The Dark Sun asks, trying to ease the man down on the floor. Khaled, however, chooses to shove delicacy away, as he slams his back against the wall, sliding harshly down.

-Five. One was the… the invader. The Darkwraith, that son of a bitch---, He hisses lowly, holding into the pulsing open wound, trying to cease the bleeding, -He had a fucking--- Hammer or… that fucking shit crashed my arm like a fucking nut. -

Gwyndolin frowns at so many curse words dripping out of Undead's mouth, yet keeps his harsh remarks to himself, as he leaves to retrieve all the needed supplies - some clean cloth, water, Divine Blessing, needle and thread to stitch things up. The Dark Sun didn't have anything to heal the shattered bone with, but he could fix his forearm in place so the shards will not cause even more damage until estus will gather at the bonfire.

-Stay awake,- Gwyndolin commands, as he cleans the wound from all the gore. The weapon went rather deep - it damaged a major artery, it was a damn miracle, no less, for Khaled to be even still alive with such wound. Maybe if he wasn't Undead that would have certainly killed him long ago.

Khaled chuckles with pity: -Just finish me off. It would save my Lord time and me from suffering.-

Gwyndolin frowns, trying to take Khaled with some teasing instead: -Is that so? Can it be that Khaled himself runs away from a little pain, choosing the easiest way?-

The Undead sees where it goes, knows what it is for - and falls for it.

-I'm worried for my Lord, this all. These hands were not made to be stained in the blood of a foolish undead dog,- Khaled whispers then, -that cannot even return from the hunt standing steadily on his feet.-

-Keep your worries to yourself, it's not for you to decide what my hands were made for,- Gwyndolin retorts back harshly, as he starts to stitch the gash, slowly closing a massive wound. Khaled laughs then - brokenly, almost desperately.

-It is not, my Lord,- he agrees after the laugh dies in his throat,- and yet…-

Khaled suddenly lays one of his hands atop of Gwyndolin's, all bloodied and rough, stopping the Dark Sun from further stitching. It causes him to stir, then raise his head, a silent question hanging in the air.

-I follow and haunt each at who these hands will point.-

Now or never, Gwyndolin realizes.

-Why? Why do you chase after them like a blood-starved beast? Why do you throw yourself hunt after hunt? What demons haunt you?-

Khaled releases the hold of other's hand, turning his head to the side. The Dark Sun feels nervous as he decides to continue stitching the wound, the heavy silence falling around them. Khaled seems expressionless for some time, his face blank and deprived of any other emotions aside from physical pain.

-So many questions, my Lord,- Khaled answers then, a grin slowly appearing at his bloodied face, -But all have one answer, not an easy or simple one. But my behavior certainly kept on throwing more logs into the fire of your interest, didn't it?- 

Gwyndolin feels slightly embarrassed, yet he does not show it, harshly pulling the needle through the flesh, closing just a little bit more of the gash.

-But… that would be rude of me to not satisfy your curiosity. I will tell you.- He finally announces and it seems just way too easy for the Dark Sun.

-I am surprised,- another stitch, his voice now more steady, -I expected you to be the type to keep their secrets to themselves.-

-Oh, I am that type,- Khaled laughs, in the next moment hissing lowly as the needle goes through his skin once again,- I reveal them only to those that will understand.-

Gwyndolin freezes but only for a fragment of a second - which is still enough for Khaled to notice. What… what could they possibly have in common? What it is that he can understand? 

-After all, you're in this Tomb not by your will either, are you?- The Undead suggests with his voice low, as he then rests his head against the wall, closing golden eyes. It almost seems like the man let out his final breath - even his chest goes still for a few moments, raising heavily again after a couple of long seconds.

-The reason why I hate those sinners, why I hunt those that hurt innocents and children especially is because they remind me of my whore mother. It's,- he takes a sharp breath, as Gwyndolin pulls the last stitch, tying the thread,-It's not just a choice of words, she indeed was a whore. And, how it is expectable, I was an unwanted child. A… a mistake. A little goodbye gift from one of her clients.-

The Dark Sun cuts the end of the thread close to the knot, checking just one more time that the stitches fit perfectly and hold the torn flesh together before pulling away and sighing heavily, letting his mind slowly focus on the story rather than on his Blade’s wounds.

And Khaled speaks - hiding nothing, laying his past before his Lord bare.

Of a cruel mother that hated everything in him just because he looked like his father. Of how she could refuse him food, proper clothing, or a place to sleep, aside from a warm place on the floor next to the fireplace, what to speak of comfort or a good word.

Of how she sold him for a night with a price lower than she usually takes without a second thought. How enthusiastic she was, realizing how she could make more money.

Khaled was twelve at that age.

And at the age of twelve, he put a fork through her neck and watched her cough out blood, looking right into her struck with fear eyes, as she clung and clutched to the metal thing in her throat, desperate to pull it out.

Khaled pressed it down further and never once averted his eyes.

Gwyndolin finds himself squeezing his fingers into tight fists.

-I never once regretted it. She got what she deserved,- he breathes out, turning his face back to the Dark Sun, his eyes more clear now, bronze-gold glistening with pride. For once, the Undead feels like a boulder was moved from his shoulders, allowing him to straighten his back and take a breath with a full chest.

The rest of the story goes much easier. Of him running away with what little he could hold in his hands. With a man named Arian taking him under his wing, teaching him to use his young fangs in combat. Of death from simple bandits, that came in the night, slicing at his, what an irony, throat, and then piercing his chest. Of how he awoke amongst the flames, neither alive, neither death.

Of how he came here, seeking a God that could point at those who committed a crime so that he can tear them apart.

Of how he found something more.

-More?- Gwyndolin asks, unsure, sitting on the cold hard tiles next to the Undead man.

-I found someone worth following. Worth… adoring,- the word comes with a bit of unease, -Worth protecting.- The man explains then, eyes never once leaving Godling’s face,- Even if I do not know the whole story, I’ve seen enough to set my mind.-

The silence falls then, with Gwyndolin finding no words to speak all of a sudden.

-If that would be all,- sounds after some time, as Khaled raises to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall while so, -I shall leave my Lord and lick my wounds. Tomorrow another hunt awaits.-

The Dark Sun wants to ask the man to stay.

But instead only watches his back, as he leaves through the fog.

.

.

.

Aside from hunting, Khaled enjoys strolling through the Darkroot Forest. His bare feet may not feel a damn thing anymore, yet he still can take in all of the beautiful sights, strange and not unpleasant odors and feel the gentle breeze moving through the air, gently nudging at his hood and scarlet robe.

But the most he enjoyed picking flowers - not taking more than one per visit, yet choosing the most beautiful in his eyes.

Today it was the bright white one, with its petals still glowing weakly. Almost as if some skillful sorcerer managed to catch the rays of the moon and fold each one into the shape of a petal. It reminded Khaled of the gentle smile and silver, almost snow-like hair, that lights up with glowing gold whenever the ray of a sun lands on the soft strands. 

-Ah, Khaled, my Blade,- The Godling greets, as the tall man walks through the thick fog wall, his posture tense as always - it almost seemed like there was no place for the Undead to let his guard down, even tho he possessed no fear of death, -Back from the successful hunt as always?-

Khaled doesn’t need to see Gwyndolin’s face to know that there is a feather-like smile on pale lips, for it is heard in a still childish, yet powerful voice. He doesn’t need to see the ice of other’s eyes to know they are filled with strange relief and everlasting remorse.

It’s always remorse.

-Not quite,- the man corrects his Lord, kneeling before him with head bowed with respect, -Tho I did bring a souvenir, even if… not the usual one.-

He opens his purse, pulling out the bottomless box. Gwyndolin raises his eyebrow under the crown, yet makes no comment watching the Undead open it and pull out a magnificent white, glowing ever so weakly, flower, proposing it to him. Godling lets out a surprised breath but does not reject the gift, carefully wrapping both of his hands around the stem and the head. There is a silent question in the air - a question Khaled doesn’t need to hear to answer.

-It reminded me of you,- the Undead explains, pulling his hand away, remaining on one knee still, -It stood lonely in the tall grass, barely visible even with its glow.-

Gwyndolin doesn’t know if that supposed to mean anything - and he doesn’t need to ask this question out loud too.

-Just like you, kept away by the shadow of your father and sister,- Khaled answers to something that was never asked - never would have been, -Not many people even know you are here. They may not know your name. And even if hidden away, you still shine, so beautifully that it makes me want to stay close just a little bit longer - to simply look.-

Gwyndolin stills for a moment - Khaled thinks the other even holds his breath behind the cage of bones for these brief seconds.

And then he speaks, words soft, wrapping around Khaled's hearing like silk.

-You say such things and yet you hide your face behind the mask?-

There is a hint of teasing in that voice, which causes Khaled's hands to tremble slightly as they reach for the crow mask, pulling it off and placing onto the cold tiles, presenting the Undead's face to the world.

Khaled has the eyes of a thousand scorching suns and rather aristocratic face features - those to remind nobles of Astora, with features sharp, cheeks gaunt, puff, chapped lips and eyes harsh, with bugs under them, with eyebrows thick and grey, with a long scar crossing the left one and the eye along, partly crossing the nose. His hair is dirty and messy - one could still see dried gore in some places, dying his silver hair with red.

Khaled was overall much sharper in his shapes and forms, just like the Blade he carries on his back - even now, to those seeing the man for the first time maskless, he would be seen irritated, even pissed. But Gwyndolin knows better, sees better - he sees respect, care, affection, and pain.

Pain is always there. No matter if the mask is on or laid to the side.

Gwyndolin doesn't question the sudden desire, he simply follows it, laying his hand onto the gaunt cheek, running his thumb over Khaled's cheekbone, almost expecting a cut.

But the other man only sighs heavily, leaning into the gentlest of touches, covering Godling's hand with his own.

-You could have left the flower within the tall grass, where it would have shined for long days, maybe even months. But now it will wither in a span of several days.- Gwyndolin suddenly says, still not breaking away.

-I could have. But what is the point to shine for such a long time when no one can witness it? What is the point to remain among the tall grass, when you could be… could be so much more?-

Gwyndolin is not sure if they still talk about flowers at this point.

.

.

.

It’s only after a couple of months Gwyndolin brings out his past. It happens almost accidentally - with the Blade visiting when he was not supposed to, finding his Lord collapsed near the cold stone coffin, clinging to something held tightly in his hands.

Any other Blade would have left - if not by their will, then by their Lord’s command.

But Khaled remains and Gwyndolin wants him to. He wants him to see those tears, because, damn, the Undead was right. They can understand each other, even if their lives seem so much different. After all, it was so simple in the end.

Both of them deprived of parental love. Both losing the only one who cared enough for them.

Both alone in the end, desperate even if not showing it, keeping up the facade of someone strong, someone who shows no fear, no doubt, and has no regrets or sorrows.

Both in dire need for someone to be close.

Both ready to be there for the other.

Khaled kneels without a word, pulls into his arms without a word, holds the Dark Sun tightly against his chest, as he shivers and trembles with each sob, his cheeks and chin wet, lips all bitten, eyes red and puffy, his hands tightly holding a golden, dusted ring of his older brother, long forgotten by the world, close to his chest.

There is not a day where Gwyndolin does not think of him, does not ask guidance, or simply misses him. He would have given everything just to see the God of War once again, to hear his voice and feel large calloused fingers run through his silky hair.

He feels, then. Fingers much smaller, with skin just as rough, yet their movements slow, tender, caring. He sharply inhales other's scent - blood and sweat. His now nameless brother used to have the same smell, with a weak odor of ozone left from the lightning he summoned so often even in training.

The Dark Sun cannot help as more tears pour, his voice turning into a broken, regretful howl, feeling the eerie atmosphere fall around them. Now as never does he feel the emptiness of this city, the hollowness that his illusions cannot fill. Deprived of life, dying slowly under the cold rays of a fake sun.

There is not much to say - and thus only Dark Sun’s hysteria cuts through the air, allowing his woes and miseries to escape through broken howls and salty tears, as they roll down pale cheeks. But Khaled is there, running his hands through the strands of silver, moving then to draw soothing circles in between the folds of white on Godling’s back with rough fingertips, allowing the waters of woe to soak into his traveling coat. It’s only them in this prison and the Undead can hear his heart wailing along with the Godling, responding to this blubber.

They sit like this for a time uncertain - even when Gwyndolin’s lament ceases into quiet whimpers and then silent shivers against other’s chest, his body growing weak in arms of the Undead. Khaled’s face expresses just as much grief and much more understanding - he is maskless, Godling notices only now, - and his eyes hold an emotion still unknown to him.

-You exhausted yourself, my Lord,- He whispers then, -You should rest and in the proper bed, that is. I can carry you if you wish.-

-No,- Gwyndolin cuts with his voice hoarse, -It’s forbidden for me to leave this place so here I will remain.-

He is harsh, but the Undead is unaffected.

-You can rest right here if you wish then,- Khaled offers after some time, shrugging his shoulder lightly - his muscles grew sore for sitting so long in one rather uncomfortable position, -I will guard over.-

Gwyndolin is too tired - and also too curious to try his Blade’s honesty and determination. Will he keep his word if he will submit and fall into this… nonsense? For how long will he tolerate this?

But the Dark Sun finds himself incapable of speaking, so he just nods once instead. Khaled shifts then - maintaining the hold around his form, moving to the nearest wall, leaning against it, pulling Gwyndolin close, allowing the use of his chest and shoulder as a pillow.

-Rest now, my Lord,- he whispers, his face close to the Gwyndolin's, barely warm breath tickling against the skin, -As you rightfully deserve. I'm here. I'm always here.-

He finds nothing else to say - not like the other man ever needed many words. He feels the Undead shift underneath just a bit more, before leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. At least there is the intention to keep his word.

The Dark Sun doesn't ponder too much on it, closing his eyes as well, not noticing how quickly he falls into a heavy, dreamless slumber.

.

He awakes in warmth, with some clothing covering him like a blanket - it is Khaled's travel coat he realizes after a couple of seconds. And right after - that he is still held in arms, that are fully covered in the blood of sinners, yet so gentle and warm to him.

He can feel Khaled's chest slowly rising and falling as he breathes - even if no longer needed air. He feels the rough fabric with his fingers as he slowly pulls it away to free his hands - stained in so much blood it had started to give off a red-ish color to the fabric.

-Have you rested well, My Lord?- The Undead asks then, his voice a gentle whisper, -You may rest more if you like.-

Gwyndolin pulls himself closer, allowing the other to hold him more closely, with both arms wrapped around his back.

-How long was I resting?- He asks after some time, pressing the side of his head against Khaled's chest.

-It's… hard to tell. I would assume around two days, if not more.-

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like it's nothing at all. Like he didn't sit in the same position with a sleeping Godling in his arms for almost two whole days.

-You make it sound like not a big deal.- He says his thoughts out loud, finally deciding to let the Undead have his freedom of movement.

-For it is,- voice confident, relaxed, smooth, -I offered. And I intend to keep my word.-

As Dark Sun rises to his feet, Khaled finally moves around his limbs to regain feeling in them - his legs went numb and fell asleep, his arms and back became sore and stiff. It takes him a good ten minutes to rise back to his feet, still stretching his muscles here and there to return them to life.

He feels embarrassed, suddenly. He shouldn't have allowed it. He shouldn't have been seen crying in the first place. What Gwyn would have said if he---

There is a hand on his shoulder.

-I am your Blade, my Lord. If you will tell me about the woes that hunt you, I promise to try my best against them.-

Khaled smiles then - genuinely and fondly and then offers his Lord the golden ring that fell out of his hands at some point in his sleep. The Dark Sun carefully picks it up, squeezing it tightly.

-I never doubted that, Khaled.-

The Undead seems to be surprised - but it's not something unpleasant.

-It's a long story, however. Are you sure you want to spend a few more hours here?-

-I can be patient when I want to,- Khaled brushes it off, deciding to do a little bit of exercising to help himself,- so go ahead.-

And so Gwyndolin tells. About how he was born not of the sun but the moon. Of how he was raised as a daughter, never once receiving as much love as the firstborn or his beautiful and wise sister Gwynewere.

Of a most loved and adored older brother, whose name is now crossed from annals of history, never to be remembered or said out loud.

Of loved no less older sister that fled away, once the shadows touched Anor Londo, never once writing him or sending any other word to let him know she is still alive and well.

Of Four Knights and the only one remaining.

Of a crumbling city. Of a fading legacy that he must preserve no matter the cost. Of a throne that did not fit - that never will.

There is so much more to speak but he is crying again, his voice cracking and breaking off completely.

-You kept it inside for way too long, my Lord.-

-Just Gwyndolin, please.- he breathes out, clinging to the Undead man that once again offered his chest and arms.

-Let it out, m---, a small cough, -Gwyndolin. I am here now.-

There is warmth, there are soothing words and Gwyndolin never felt more relieved.

.

.

.

Khaled comes every day now. He's no longer so tense, with eyes burning with passion and respect when he looks at the shorter Godling. Others would feel like a rabbit watched by the predacious gaze of a starving wolf but Gwyndolin was no rabbit.

These are the eyes of a wolf indeed, yet the one ready to serve and be loyal to if proved to be worthy of it. He never doubted Khaled's loyalty now, with how quick he is ready to throw himself into the battle, with fangs bared and ready to tear, with his past unraveled, with his shadow always behind, willing to catch, protect and comfort. 

One day a man wandered into the Tomb, a treasure seeker of sorts, that stubbornly refused to turn away. He almost passed through the fog - Gwyndolin already prepared his bow, yet the intruder was quickly slain with his ear cut clean and just as quick.

Any other Blade would have waited. For a word, for an order, maybe even for the end of the assault - the codes forbid them to interfere without a direct command.

Khaled is not any other Blade.

Khaled is loyal. Not to the Covenant, even if he follows its codes and serves well in the hunts.

Khaled is loyal to Gwyndolin. Khaled hunts for Gwyndolin. Khaled kills and dies for Gwyndolin, rising again and then repeats.

Because he is a starved wolf, seeking one who would offer targets to chase and welcome him back home.

Gwyndolin gave one without even realizing, for he, in return, was looking for comfort and knowledge that he isn't alone. He offered a place in his lonely home.

-What it is on your mind, my Lord?- Khaled asks, kneeling before Gwyndolin, with his mask away.

-You,- Gwyndolin says honestly, turning to his Blade, -And please. Just Gwyndolin. I think we settled it?-

There is a drop of pink to the gaunt cheeks, as Khaled chuckles: -I know. Old habits die hard.-

He rises to his feet, offering his palm for the taking.

-Maybe, if it is I who troubles your mind, I may help? We can stroll through Anor Londo, the fresh air will surely do you some good.-

-I can't, you know that,- Gwyndolin whispers back with yet again remorse, -I---

-You are the last God remaining in here,- Khaled parries calmly,- the one and only ruler of Anor Londo. Your father is long gone. Don't you think it is time to move away from this shadow he casts upon you, and leave this prison?-

He is right, Gwyndolin silently agrees. It's no sacred Tomb of the Lord of Light. It's his coffin, in which he gladly put himself trying for once to earn respect and admiration from Gwyn. A prison in which he rots and suffocates, while nothing but his illusions watch over the city of Gods. Once a mighty Anor Londo.

Now nothing but a shadow of its former self. Just like his father.

His father, who even being dead still hides him away because of the powers he was born with. Of his "looks" that Gwyndolin cast upon himself on Gwyn's will, never doubting or asking.

Khaled walks closer and Gwyndolin trembles - he only feels, not sees, how Khaled lays his hands onto the Dark Crown, lifting it up and away from his face.

Fire meets Ice and Gwyndolin for a moment thinks he will burn in these eyes.

He doesn't mind.

-Sun never suited you anyway,- Khaled adds, laying the crown atop of the huge empty coffin,- nor did the dirty lies of your father.-

Gwyndolin finally rises from his chair, snakes hissing lowly as they bring him a little bit closer to the Undead.

-And what those lies speak?- He asks in a hushed tone, almost as if afraid to break the silence in this once sacred place.

-Nasty and untrue things. For one - I will never find a man more delightful and powerful than you,- Khaled answers, tension for the first time leaving him, -Ones to call it mutilation are blind fools, not competent to possess a tongue.-

Khaled doesn't know about the ring that makes Gwyndolin like this, this Godling knows for sure - otherwise, he would have demanded that thing off his fingers. A Lord, the Last God - it all mattered none for the man. Khaled bent his knee not before the titles - but before Gwyndolin.

Regardless, Khaled finds him delightful . Khaled looks up to him, despite being taller. Khaled's eyes are crammed with respect and affection. With adoration.

So Gwyndolin accepts his hand, smiling honestly and openly for the first time in years.

-You are right. I could indeed use some fresh air. If your offering stands still, would you keep my company?-

The Undead's face grows softer and his eyes shimmer with gentle warmth.

-Gladly.-

.

.

.

Frampt shows interest in Khaled - tis no wonder. Khaled walked quite a way to reach Anor Londo, he gathered a lot of strength, and with each foe falling, he drew only more. Gwyndolin feels it too - the raw power that only grows inside the Undead. How his eyes shine more and more.

The damned Serpent brings his word through Cindy - brought his first a long time ago when Khaled only arrived, but Godling dismissed that at the time. Now, however, the power of Khaled’s soul is something he cannot ignore. He feels it, whenever the man is close - that strange aura around him, that felt somehow… warm. Like home . There is no other word that would suit the feeling better.

This is why his remorse grows. If Khaled is indeed The Chosen Undead and it’s the evil mistress fate’s cruel design, then he is bound to success and become the heir to Gwyn’s legacy.

He will sacrifice his soul to lit the first Flame and prolong the Age of Fire.

Khaled will die. Fully, without awakening restored and whole near the bonfire.

He will be gone.

Gwyndolin can’t stand the thought, but Frampt goes more and more pressuring every day. The Undead man notices things too - but keeps his tongue to himself, patiently giving him all the time the Godling seeks. It becomes unbearable, how just one thought suddenly made him see and feel so many things at once. Things he is not yet ready to accept himself, let alone bring them out to Khaled. And he partly hates it, how Khaled waits , because it would be so much easier to spill out to the boldly asked question, it would be so easy to tell everything laying at the bottom of his heart under the pressuring eyes of gold.

Instead, there is understanding. Instead, there are soft smiles and words of comfort. Khaled comes even more often. He holds Gwyndolin’s hand, he brings him flowers from the Darkroot Garden, he tells him stories of those he meets outside the city walls. He allows Gwyndolin to bury his face into the broad shoulder, while they sit in complete silence. Khaled allows so much and he is willing to do anything, asked or not.

It’s no surprise when Khaled takes the vessel and leaves to retrieve the Lord’s souls.

He never needed to hear questions from Gwyndolin, after all. He already held the answer.

Seath goes down first. Khaled came in seeking the answer to Pale Drake’s immortality after a few days of departing to the archives and after two more days, he returned with his soul blazing like a wild forest fire. Even Smough, being not sensitive to such things, feels the changes in the Undead. The raw power pulsing within. The Dragonslayer once speaks his thoughts out loud - Khaled radiates the same energy all of the Godlings like Ornstein himself do. The power of the First Flame and… and maybe even something more. More dreadful. Humans are still creatures of the Dark.

-I was thinking about going into the depths of Izalith next,- Khaled announces after a week, -Quelaag promised to grant me passage through the shortcut.-

-Quelaag? Chaos Witch Quelaag?- Godling sounds shocked. From what he heard, the Chaos Sister was very hostile to any human to come near her domain. She guards the second bell and the Dark Sun thought Khaled had to slay her but…

-Yes. It's quite interesting how you can spot someone that just tries to protect someone they love. I explained to her that I needed the bell and nothing else.- Khaled tells in a way, that makes it look like not a big deal at all, -It only cost me a couple of humanities for the Fair Lady.-

Ah, Quelaag's sister. He heard of her, even if only briefly. Of her kindness and her suffering, that she brought upon herself.

-Do you visit them?- Godling asks after some time, tilting his head to the side, causing Khaled to chuckle lightly.

-Yes, it is especially easy now with the Lord's Vessel. I don't stick around for long tho - usually to drop some humanities that I collect off the sinners.-

-So killing two birds with one stone?-

-Yeah, you can say so.-

Gwyndolin tilts his head the other way then, eyes glistening with sadness. He seemed so distant and cold before. Like an unbreakable wall of stone and ice. But now Gwyndolin saw what was held inside - a gentle, caring soul, covered in scars of his misery and anguish. The wounds still shaped on the outside - Khaled can be spiteful and hateful and even cruel, especially to those that remind him of his mother in their disgraceful ways. But to those who showed gentleness, he would return ten times more of it.

And it hurts to the core. To think about losing someone so bizarre, someone who became so close. For the more Khaled collects, the closer he is to succession. And Godling can barely handle the thought of letting the man go. It's almost a shame how desperate he is for someone willing to be by his side. Someone who listens, who cares, who shows affection and simple love. It's a shame how lonely he was before, how lonely he will be afterward. Even Cindy will not be enough - she still has a duty as a firekeeper, aside from keeping this Moon's lonely company.

-Will you…- Gwyndolin starts, yet stops mid-sentence, as Khaled's rough palms take a hold of both his hands. The Undead's expression is soft, with a gentle smile shining on chapped lips, golden eyes scorching with power and such fondness and tenderness that makes Gwyndolin's heart beat just a bit faster.

He never needed to ask. Khaled never required to hear the question.

-Of course, my Moon.-

The Dark Sun doesn't hold the gentle laughter that flees past his soft lips. Nor does he holds back the impulse to lean in closer, wrapping his arms around other's neck. Khaled is startled - only for a moment, before chuckling and pulling Gwyndolin close, wrapping his own, far stronger arms around Godling's waist.

It’s safe, in other’s arms. It’s… soothing, to feel those arms that slay all sinners alike with brutality and even ferocity now be so gentle and even hesitating. Gwyndolin feels warmth spreading from his chest and through his veins and…

And there are so many more things that he is still afraid to name.

.

.

.

They both stand at the highest balcony in Anor Londo, gazing at the empty city bellow. Only at nights does Gwyndolin let goes of his illusions, allowing himself to breathe freely and rest peacefully. It’s such a pity, such cruelty - what is the point to keep up this facade when the city is devoid of any humans or gods for that matter? There are only a few hundreds of Silver Knights remaining, sir Ornstein, Smough, Cindy--- Why must the Dark Sun spend his days locked away, hidden and unseen, almost abandoned and forgotten, when he can shine, let this pageant fade away and let the Moon take the Sun’s place? He cannot return Anor Londo it’s previous shine - but he can reveal the city in a new light.

The Undead brings up those themes a lot and Gwyndolin seems to slowly gather courage and determination. Before there was nothing but the day. Before he couldn’t even think about stepping through the wall of fog.

-I used to come here with my older brother,- the blue-eyed Godling says, letting the faint wind ruffle accurate and soft strands of silver,-He used to pick me up whenever Father forced yet even more studies onto me to “let my mind breathe.”-

-You are rather fond of your brother. I… I never found his name. How was he called?- Khaled asks, leaning against the rails and closing his eyes, taking in a deep breath of chilly air.

-Finias. Mother picked the name for him. I used to call him Fin.-

There is sadness in Dark Sun’s voice. Light, yet still hearable. Pleasant memories of a person long gone in a direction no one can point, with his fate unknown to this day.

-He… He was the one to offer me to try out archery. Never thought I will find it so… So relieving. When releasing bowstring with a sharp arrow, I think of nothing but of how the arrow whistles through the air, piercing my target.- A light chuckle follows after it, -And never had I thought he will not witness how far I will go with my skills...-

Khaled moves in closer, resting his palm against Gwyndolin’s shoulder blade.

-Wherever he is… I’m sure he is proud. For a thousand years you held such a massive illusion, you led the entire city even as… as everything began to crumble. You stood tall, even when hidden in the shadow. This takes a powerful both mind and soul. This… this takes everything and everything you gave.-

Gwyndolin fully turns to the Undead now, his eyes glistening as if… from tears? Khaled smiles as gently as he can, moving both of his hands to hold one of Godling’s, fondly caressing the soft and gentle skin on the outer side.

-You deserved so much more. You gave enough. You continue to give still. So I want to give so much to you. I want to give everything I can.-

Khaled is being open and honest as he is, feeling that his time is running short. It was a nice half a year spent in here but only one Lord Soul remains and he planned to depart for it in the near two days. Only that he cannot leave without spilling out his soul, without letting his feelings be if not seen, then heard.

-Even trade my life for this world, as long as I know you still will be there,- he whispers then, raising Godling’s hand to his face and pressing a short kiss to his knuckles, -All for you. Everything for you. You… you may not be mine. But I always will be yours.-

The eyes of gold look straight into the eyes of icy blue, yet find no cold in them - only growing warmth and… affection?

Gwyndolin blinks a few times, feeling his cheeks heat up to the words and a brief contact of lips against his knuckles. He turns his head to the side, but only to properly gather his thoughts - those burning eyes did him no good, drowning him in all of the pure and honest love and devotion they were filled with. Khaled, however, takes the gesture in a bit different way, loosing his grip on the pale, delicate hand.

-’Tis will change nothing, even if my feelings are unrequited,- he says still softly, hanging his head and dropping his gaze to the ground, -I still will be there, ‘til the very end.-

-I know,- Gwyndolin whispers, slithering closer to the man and raising his free hand to cup other’s cheek, - but your feelings are not unrequited. Do not be mislead by my behavior - it’s just very hard to collect my thoughts whenever I look into your eyes.-

Now it’s Khaled's turn to earn a shade of pink to his cheeks, as he closes his eyes shut, yet still clinging to Dark Sun’s hand, not daring to move even a muscle - just simply waiting. For a word, for an act - whatever it may be, however harsh it may turn, the Undead is ready to accept it, while the cold breeze plays with his short grey hair.

-What I want to say,- Gwyndolin starts after some time, with his free hand cupping Khaled’s chin, asking silently to meet his eyes, -Is that I will gladly have you if you will have me in return.-

The Undead man smiles then - so brightly and vividly, with his eyes liting more, outshining anything around them, which only proves to Gwyndolin the honesty of his emotions. After all, Ornstein’s eyes used to light just the same when he looked at Artorias back in a day.

-Can I kiss you?-

Gwyndolin laughs softly. How much he wished to be able to answer questions before they were asked as Khaled does.

Yet… it has some charm to it. The man has shown nothing but concern and deep care in this half a year.

-Yes, my dearest Blade.-

Khaled finally erases any space left between them, taking a final step closer, not letting go of Godling’s hand yet - instead interweaving their fingers into a lock, gently squeezing the soft palm, resting his other hand on the gentle pale cheek. For a moment he stops - simply observing, taking in the beautiful, almost breathtaking sight of his Lord, not believing fully still that he is allowed this close, that he is allowed to feel him so close, so warm and welcoming under the touch of his rough fingertips. He can feel the warm breath tickling his face, with only centimeters in between of their faces. Khaled didn’t need to breathe, yet only kept on doing so out of habit, his breath chill like that one of death.

It doesn’t bother Gwyndolin. It never did, maybe… Maybe amused, in some way, how he, without being alive, still kept on doing such… living things.

They both close their eyes, as the Chosen One finally closes the gap in between, tilting his head to the side for more comfort.

It’s brief. It’s warm, despite Khaled being cold as a corpse. It’s tender, with a slow movement of lips, as they pass their emotions to one another.

Gwyndolin realizes he doesn’t want this to stop.

.

.

.

There are no more souls for Khaled to collect.

The Four Kings had fallen and now there is only one place for Khaled to go with an only one-way ticket. 

To the Kiln of the First Flame, to feed his soul to it, allowing the Age of Fire to continue.

-Now I see what the remorse was about,- Khaled announces, while they both lay in his bed - not exactly his, but one granted along with the chambers in the Cathedral by the Dark Sun out of concern and care,- The more I gathered, the more it grew. Foolish of me not to realize sooner.-

There was nothing sinister that they did. Gwyndolin for the first time in ages remembered how it felt to sleep in a normal bed and, for the first time in his life, how it felt to fall asleep in the arms of someone who dies for you and your cause again and again, in the arms of someone who loves. And Khaled was happy to feel it by himself, how it is - to awake near the one he cherishes and watch him lay there peacefully, with his silver-haired head on his slowly rising and falling with each breath chest. How pleasant it would be to run his calloused fingers through the soft strands of silk, play with them in between his fingers, kiss the top of his head and wrap his arms around him to keep him safe from the entire world.

-How can I not feel it, knowing full well that once you will leave you will not return? How am I to face it, let alone accept? Knowing, feeling, seeing how our last day draws closer---

-Our?- Khaled interrupts, slightly raising his head to look Gwyndolin in the eyes.

-Yes, our. Because… Because afterward there will be just me.-

The Undead hears his voice crack, hears that wetness in the back of his beloved’s throat, how the words fade, turning into a whisper. And he hates how powerless it makes him feel. There is nothing he can say to it, he cannot promise it will be alright because that is bullshit, he cannot feed Gwyndolin lies and foolish hopes - they’re both too smart for it.

-It will be after,- Khaled takes the path of avoiding the theme altogether, -But now it’s just us. So how about we will… Hm,- he raises his upper half, taking a sitting position, forcing Gwyndolin up as well, -How about we will go out?-

-Out of the Cathedral?-

Khaled chuckles, pressing a short kiss to other’s forehead.

-Out of Anor Londo.-

.

When they both form near the bonfire again they stand not in the closed room but out in the open, near the edge of a high cliff. It’s Darkroot Forest Gwyndolin realizes quickly, taking in the surrounding sight and inhaling chilly, filled with thousands of odors, air. Underneath he can see the top of the trees - moving so slowly along with the wind. It’s rather dim in here, even tho the day had just begun, but he supposes that’s where the name comes from. The wet with dew grass pleasantly tickles against the scales of his snakes, as Godling runs his snake-feet through it, taking in the strange and new feeling.

Now he sees why Khaled lent him his clothing - his Moonlight Robe was made for the walls of the palace, not to traverse the wild outside the city walls.

Or anything outside the Tomb, Gwyndolin thinks sadly but pushes the thought aside.

Khaled’s traveling coat was far too large for him - it was tightly wrapped around him and held in place with a belt, torn at the edges sleeves reaching half of his forearm, while on Khaled they barely covered his elbows. The hem of the coat reached just below the point where his humanoid feet divided into snakes - which was no problem still since Khaled also gave him a plain black waistcloth to not let any cold get to his skin. The palette of Undead’s clothes looked so strange on him - when the Dark Sun took a look at himself in the mirror he barely recognized himself - the greenish-grey coat hid away his pale skin and thin proportions, tho brought out his face and exposed arms. He thinks for a moment how brightly must his silver hair and milky-white skin stick out against their entire surrounding - and that’s when Khaled pulls coat’s hood over his head.

-Better?- Khaled asks, smiling brightly at the other, offering his hand for the taking.

-Much more,- There is a giggle escaping his lips, as he takes the offered hand, allowing himself to be pulled away from the bonfire, as they move deep into the forest. Gwyndolin spots the Black Knight’s Sword and the Grass Crest Shield on Khaled’s back but only smiles sadly at it. Since Khaled gave away his coat, the Undead man was left in his black battle shirt, grey leggings with a scarlet waistcloth wrapped tightly above, with its hem torn and ripped, covered with mud, dirt, and some dried gore. His armor was also in place, tho it did not provide that much protection.

After a couple of minutes, they walk out of the woods to another cliff - this one seems to have some kind of path down, however. Gwyndolin spots some glowing flowers below, more trees and bushes, and in between them… Something glistening with weak pale light. Almost like a surface of the water. A river? Or a lake?

It’s a lake Gwyndolin finds out after half an hour of their way down and through, as they finally enter the open air. It’s somehow easier to breathe here, with birds whistling in the background, brunches cracking softly as the wind pulls on them, running away through the leaves, leaving them dancing. The Dark Sun raises his eyes to the dim, dark sky above, reminding him of a dark Anor Londo - only this place did not feel as creepy and empty, with all those little charming sounds.

It’s little things that make for the whole picture, after all.

-I come here from time to time,- Khaled starts after a few minutes, breaking the not unpleasant silence between them, - helps to clear my head. I would have brought you sooner but it was already hard enough to convince you to step out of your Tomb.-

Gwyndolin chuckles, watching in awe as Khaled without a second thought lands his arse onto the grass, throwing his legs out, with arms supporting his upper half as he places them behind and leans back a bit.

-I bet it was.- He admits, as eyes of gold then meet his, looking at him, pointing at the spot near the Undead then and rising back again. Gwyndolin makes a confused face, raising both of his eyebrows. Khaled then frowns childishly, rolling his eyes and patting a place beside him. The Dark Sun looks at the grass, then back at Khaled, almost as if asking: “Are you telling me to sit in the grass?”

-If you’re afraid to stain my wear, then too bad for it - I already put it through enough dirt.- The Undead laughs, turning his face to the lake. Gwyndolin feels his cheeks hit up a little, as after a brief moment of hesitating, he slowly lands himself near Khaled, with his snake-legs politely put together and around himself, hands resting on his knees. The Chosen One glances at his pose, before giggling to himself and shifting closer, wrapping one of his arms around Dark Sun’s shoulders.

-How can you read me so easily?- He whispers to the Undead, leaning into the touch, resting against the other's side,- To spot that I am afraid to dirty your clothes?-

Khaled giggles yet again, starting to press lazy kisses along Dark Sun's face, speaking in between: -You always wore a white robe, plus you're quite… how do I say it,- a kiss against his cheek this time, as Khaled continues to travel lower,- more educated? No. More polite?-

-I was taught manners. That's what you're looking for,- The Godling helps his beloved out, as a kiss is landed to his neck.

-Yeah. The eci--- eti… ugh….-

An awkward pause.

-Etiquette,- Gwyndolin helps him out yet again.

-Yeah, that thing. Sorry, I'm not familiar with all these fancy words and acts. I find them useless anyway.- The Undead states, pulling the collar of a traveling coat just a bit away so he can press more soft kisses.

-They're not useless,- Gwyndolin protests without enthusiasm, leaning closer to the other man, allowing strong arms to wrap around his waist, while Khaled proceeds with more kisses, -I ought to look appropriate for the crowd. My Father already thought of me as a disgrace and I held no desire to provoke even more of these thoughts. I just…-

Khaled stops, leaning away only a bit to look at his Dark Sun, smiling so fondly at him, before cupping the right side of his face.

-You wanted love and here I am, willing to give you every last bit and ounce of it,- Khaled whispers, cradling other's face, -And you can have so much more. You can be so much more. Believe in yourself, my love, the way I believe in you. So…- He presses their foreheads together, gently pulling the hood off Gwyndolin's head, allowing his right hand to roam through silk-like strands of silver,- So will you shine for me, my Moon?-

The words… are simple. But the meaning behind them suddenly crushes Gwyndolin down, as bitter tears form in the corner of his eyes with a heavy lump blocking his ability to properly breathe. His thin lips start to shake and he bites the lower one hard to prevent the broken sob from escaping past them. He feels his shoulder sink under the weight of realization, as he clings to the Undead man, with his gentle fingers pulling the dark fabric of Khaled's battle shirt on the back, almost threatening to rip a good piece of it. The Dark Sun takes a deep, shaking breath, not managing to stop the weak, painful sound following along. He tries to hide his face in other's neck, as another sob tries to escape, followed by another and then another.

Khaled wraps his arms around Gwyndolin, trying to hide him away from the entire world of possibilities. The man starts moving slowly back and forth, cradling the crying God in his arms.

His beloved, whom he doesn't wish to leave.

His beloved, who he asks to lead Anor Londo as he should, to rise from the Shadow and allow his light out. He asks Gwyndolin to put back his fears and be the mighty and powerful God that he was born.

To shine for him in the new Era for which he will die.

Gwyndolin doesn't find the strength to answer - only suddenly howl in misery, as his walls crumble and fall, spilling out all of his emotions.

Khaled is near.

Khaled is undead, yet somehow is warmer than any living being. Khaled is human, yet feels as powerful as any of Four Knights, maybe even stronger.

For Khaled, Gwyndolin is everything at once. His whole world, shaped into a majestic God-like being with the gentlest of smiles and saddest of eyes.

Right now, his world is crumbling. But that's alright.

Sometimes it is needed to destroy something old to create something new.

Something stronger.

Khaled believes Gwyndolin will finally become strong enough to break away.

The Moon is usually hidden in the day sky, barely visible with the Sun glowing brightly - almost blinding anyone to look at it.

Now the Sun has sunken.

Now it is night.

.

.

.

They manage to return just before the time of putting Gwyndolin's illusion down. It only then occurred to the Undead - even when away in Darkroot Garden, rather far from Anor Londo, Gwyndolin still managed to keep the illusion up. It was shocking, to some degree.

Still, he is a God. Khaled should have not expected less. Only… it must have tired him greatly. And his crown was away too--- Oh, with what Khaled was thinking? He is going to apologize for that later on, that's for sure.

Gwyndolin usually goes out to the roof, picking a hidden place where no Silver Knights guard. Then he takes his staff in both hands, raising it above his head, closing his eyes. It is then the Sun starts to lower, following the movement of the staff, until completely disappearing behind the horizon. The sky then darkens, allowing the stars to reveal themselves, as then the moon then finally steps out from behind the clouds.

Khaled always observes from the side, and unknown to him, the Dark Sun always feels his gaze, feels that love and belief. It gives strength every time.

With the illusion finally faded, Gwyndolin exhales deeply, pulling his crown away. Right now all he can think about is how today is going to end and tomorrow will come, and tomorrow--- tomorrow there will be no Khaled because Khaled will burn.

The Dark Sun doesn't notice that the Undead came close, taking him by the hand.

-Let's go to my chambers,- he whispers then right to his ear, -today isn't over yet.-

Right. He still has time.

Just for one last thing.

-I can see how that thought is being written over your face,- Khaled says as the door closes behind them with a light thud, -And I wish to erase that from your mind tonight. I… this is hard. I know. For both of us. But let's just… be happy, what do you say, no matter how impossible that may seem?-

And Gwyndolin gladly falls to that: -You are right, indeed. I… I do wanna be happy. With you. For…-

Khaled catches up with him, their voices uniting.

-I am yours and you are mine.-

They smile at one another, as the Undead closes the distance between them, pressing their lips in a tender kiss. It's what they both carved - care and affection in their purest forms. Feel needed. Feel loved.

Maybe even feel… desired.

Gwyndolin tries to deepen the kiss - tilting his head and parting his lips slightly. It's an invitation since he lacks the confidence to make a move himself. Khaled seems to catch the hint, yet instead of accepting, he pulls away, with arms wrapped around Godling's waist.

-Are you sure about this?- The man asks then, looking rather serious. He is concerned , he wants to make sure the Dark Sun is confident and sure and…

And that touches something inside of him.

-I am,- a sharp breath is let out, -I want to… to feel it all.-

-You can and you should tell me to stop if you ever feel bad about something, alright?- Khaled kisses his forehead, golden eyes glistening with emotion so… strange. Yet charming. Something Gwyndolin cannot name but wants to feel on his skin nonetheless.

-Alright,- a momentary pause, -I promise I will.-

-Then let's move somewhere more comfortable, hm?-

Khaled smiles, it's a different one this time - there is still affection and care there but now… interest, perhaps - and then picks Godling up with one swift motion bridal style, his smile growing wider. Gwyndolin laughs, the sound ringing through the room, throwing his arms around Khaled's neck, while the Undead moves them both to the bed, gently putting the God down, crawling onto the bed right after, laying down onto his side right beside his beloved.

They smile at one another - Gwyndolin even chuckles, as Khaled's fingers gently guide his chin up, allowing their lips to meet. This time it's the Undead that tilts his head and gently prods with his tongue at other's lips, asking for permission. The Dark Sun exhales loudly, opening his mouth, allowing the tongue to slip inside. It feels strange and very pleasant, especially when he moves his tongue too, trying to follow other's movements. Their tongues collide and dance, hot and slick with saliva, while Gwyndolin decides to take a step further - running one of his hands up and down Khaled's chest, briefly pulling at his battle shirt here and there, as if asking to remove the undesired clothing.

But it is established now. The Dark Sun does not need to ask questions out loud, as the Chosen Undead parts from his mouth to only pull the shirt off and toss it somewhere - not even watching where it lands. The Godling seems rather pleased at that, as he forces Khaled to his back, straddling his hips then. Then the same smile follows, with hunger burning in golden eyes. Hunger for more. Hunger for Gwyndolin.

It's lust, he realizes.

Gwyndolin smirks back at his lover, starting to untie his traveling coat painfully slow - there is a plain white shirt underneath, the hem of which he raises up and down several times, allowing to see briefly the pale belly. It is teasing, almost a dirty one, but the Undead holds himself from ripping the shit off the Dark Sun. Instead, he runs his palms up and down his thighs, here and there caressing the inner part. Even with waist cloth tightly wrapped around God, the man could already tell that all of these touches and kisses had their effect on his beloved.

As they finally get rid of the rest of the clothing, only underwear remaining, Gwyndolin freezes, the fingers of his right hand brushing against the cold steel of the reversal ring, hesitating. Should he reveal the truth? Would that change everything? What… what Khaled will say then?

He feels hands that take his right one in between each other, gently caressing the outer side of his palm, as the Undead speaks: -If you wish, keep it on. I will not love you less, with or without illusions.-

It startles him then. He… knew?

-For how----

-Not for long. Pale Duke's archives have a lot of interesting books. There was one with all of the known rings and what they do. I was searching for some that can aid me in battle since I gathered quite a lot and have no idea what most of them do.- Khaled explains, his smile light, as he cups Gwyndolin's cheek, burning sun of Undead's eyes meeting with the arctic ocean of Godling's ones.

He takes a sharp breath.

And pulls the ring off, hearing the illusion fade into dust, as his more feminine features step aside, revealing how… rough he looks. Even his snakes fade, revealing a couple of normal feet, which surprises Khaled the most.

The Undead takes a good look. Gwyndolin has very powerful arms, the muscles strong there and in his chest - archery did a fine job there. He has broader shoulders and rather thin feet - the long-lasting illusion may be the cause. His face is not so round anymore, his hair no longer so thin and silk-like - each strand is rough and rather thick and heavy.

Khaled didn't lie when he said he will not love Gwyndolin less.

But right at this moment, he feels that he might have fallen just a bit deeper for the last God remaining.

-Is… there something wrong? I--- I can put the ring back on, I---

His voice… it's filled with fear. He is terrified and desperate - it makes Khaled's still heart ache, as he stops his beloved before he can put the ring back on.

He smiles then, his voice a gentle whisper.

-Oh, there is. I thought I could not fall deeper for you, but here you are, the real you, and I feel myself falling and falling into a pit that has no bottom.-

Gwyndolin cannot stop a few tears of relief and pure happiness as they escape his eyes - Khaled gladly wipes them away then, kissing where the wet trails once were.

-I love you, my Moon.- Is whispered in between tender kisses.

-I love you too, my Loyal Blade. My Dearest Blade.-

As kisses move from his cheeks to his lips, Gwyndolin allows his hands to roam free on other's back - it's rough and ragged from all of the scars, almost like a bark of a very old tree that had seen not one century pass by. He can feel each deep mark even as he moves to the sides and then his chest - almost in the middle, there is the dark sigil, his mark of death.

It's slow. They explore each other and they bask in each other's warmth and love, giving and taking just the same. Khaled tries to give his everything, offering every last bit of himself. Gwyndolin offers just as much, hoping to fill up the hollowness inside of his beloved caused by the damn curse.

The curse Gwyn put on all of humankind, trying to force them on their knees.

Humans… they were meant to be immortal, just like them. They were meant to be equals, stay side by side, not… not like this.

The Dark Sun knows one thing, however.

Khaled is at his side. He is a Blade, but he gave into service on his own, by his own will.

And so to his Blade's hands he gives in, drowning in pleasure, while the two become one.

.

.

.

He awakes alone.

He awakes late in the darkness, with nothing but the moon and stars shining.

Gwyndolin is alone in a cold bed which he shared not so long ago. In which he fell asleep with his beloved.

There is nothing but neatly folded parchment with one damned white glowing flower laying near. He knows what it means, he understands, he realizes and----

The Dark Sun screams into the air, as tears stream down his face, agony, woe, and misery fully clouding his mind, snapping his soul, trying to rip it out, twist and break, afterward forcing it back in.

It is over.

The Chosen Undead now took the legacy of his father.

The world is blooming still.

Gwyndolin's world is gone and reduced to nothing but ashes.

It's cruel, the way he left. But at the same time maybe just a bit less painful.

It's agony from loss and grief that cloud his mind. They will be there for a time unknown.

But afterward, Gwyndolin promised to himself, to Khaled, that he will make his sacrifice worth it.