Latest update:Febuary 17, 2024
Summary:After what must have been thousands of battles, Malenia at long last falls at the feet of this one Tarnished. But against all logic, it was not the victory he sought
Link:https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14188794/1/Drink-From-Me
Word count:56k
Chapters:12
Chapter 1: Shift
How many times had she fought this one man by now? Hundreds? Thousands? She'd lost count weeks ago. All she knew for sure was that no matter how many times she slew him—no matter how much blood he let, how many times her sword pared the veins from his throat, how hot the infernal poison that burned through her flesh incinerated him from within—no matter what, he kept coming back, able-bodied and armor polished like the past dozens of duels had never happened, like she had never once struck him.
Every time, without fail, he fell. On some days he fought with the ferocity of a thousand of her own knights, shredding her flesh faster than she could strike back. On other days he fought with their intellect, dodging her near-every move. Those days—the days where he nearly fell her—were the days she dreaded the most. Not because victory was slipping from her grasp, but because to get it back, she had to… to bloom.
She hated it. She hated it so much. It hurt, worse than anything she'd ever known. It wracked her muscles, set her blood aflame… and pained her heart with the shame of succumbing to the affliction her dear brother had worked so hard to cure. But alas, the beast inside would awaken once more, and within minutes, sometimes seconds, her opponent would fall. But even then, no matter what, he would be back. On some days, he would be gone for barely enough time for her to quell the eruption, only to bring it back out of her again like some kind of unholy firestarter.
And on other days still, he floundered like a disoriented puppy. But regardless of how well he fought, the outcome was always the same.
And how could it not be? She was Malenia. Blade of Miquella. And she had never known defeat… until today.
He had done it. At long last, he had done it. This one man, this seemingly unshakeable Tarnished, had finally prevailed. As the grim, colossal blade that he wielded every time they fought sank into her shoulder, nearly cleaving her in twain, she felt it, like a surge of enervation. She felt the fight leave her. She felt her golden feet give out from beneath her. She felt the strength to lift her sword suddenly vanish. And as she sank to her knees, landing with a pitiful splash in the clear water beneath her, Malenia felt a sick sense of amusement at how… good, it felt.
She was sick of the fighting. She was sick of feeling his gaze dig into her, as if trying to pry the calcified scarring from her own eyes. She was sick of blooming, sick of the pain, sick of the exhaustion she felt in its wake. Truly, she had begun to resent the Tarnished for bringing it out of her, again and again—for a time, anyway. As he kept coming back, kept up his assault, sometimes for days and days on end, she'd come to find herself respecting him, in the way any warrior respects another. Even on his worst days, she could sense the improvement in his every step. Slowly but surely, he got better, his swings faster and harder, his movements tighter and smarter. Truly, his determination, his resolve, his discipline, were undeniable and—for such a mortal man, a lowly Tarnished as himself—admirable. Through the agony he'd repeatedly forced upon her every time she had allowed herself to let the scarlet rot take over, the seed of respect he had planted slowly but surely outgrew the choking roots of hatred.
And now, as this mysterious Tarnished pulled his sword from her neck, that sprout bloomed with a greater vigor than had ever been shown by the scarlet rot.
Tilting her head to look up at him, trying to look into his eyes despite the scabs that covered her own, Malenia couldn't help but smile, even as burning blood trickled from her lips.
"Y-Your strength…" she gasped. "Extraordinary."
With her one real hand, she wiped the blood from her mouth.
"The mark… of a true Lord…"
Her knees gave out. With a sigh, she fell with a splash onto her back. The freezing cold of the water was barely felt by her dying nerves.
Gasping for air, Malenia's head slumped to the side, tilting her unseeing gaze over towards the hollow by which she had rested, for years and years, until this Tarnished had come along. Miquella was in there, somewhere in the darkness, and she had sat patiently waiting for him to return, for her brother to return to her once more.
The smile faded from her lips. Such a dream would never be realized, it would seem.
"O, dear Miquella…" she keened, in her dying voice. In the corner of her mind, her ears registered the sound of the Tarnished walking up to her and stopping by her side. There was a shifting of armor, then the sound of a soft splash as he sank into the water, then a much larger thunk as his imposing sword plunged into the earth.
She knew this series of sounds well: The warrior was taking a knee. A vigil over his dying opponent. Even now, his earnest heart beat strong. Even now, he showed the woman that had rent his skin from his muscle uncountably many times the same silent respect with which he'd always approached her.
If not her brother, then she at least hoped the Elden Throne would be claimed by this unwavering champion.
"O, dearest Miquella…" if her voice weren't already broken, it would have snapped right then and there. "M-my brother… I'm sorry. I finally met my match."
It was becoming too hard to keep her head up, to face the darkness that wreathed her brother any longer. Malenia let her head fall into the water, the icy liquid swirling around her lips, washing away the blood that spilled from her throat. Another kind of darkness had begun to pool around the edges of her vision, darker even than her own blindness, and the tired warrior welcomed it. Allowing her head to loll its way to the sky, she heard her match stand up, his sword falling to the earth with a thud that, even in her current state, Malenia felt in her bones. The knight walked all of two paces until he stood directly over her head; she could almost sense his gaze boring into her. Then, with determination, he squatted down, fixing her blind, fading stare with his own… and wrapped a greaved hand around the nape of her neck.
"Up with you, warrior!"
It was the first time she'd ever heard the Tarnished speak, in all the moments they'd shared over the clashing of steel and spraying of blood. She'd heard his voice before, when he screamed in agony as he fell from the sky upon her blade or when the rot within his system boiled to the surface. But this was the first time that words had found their way to his lips, and it came as such a surprise to her that, for the briefest of moments, she stirred. The rotted demigoddess could almost feel her heart start back up, jolting her awake from the abyss of death that wreathed her senses.
And in that single moment of vitality, the Tarnished would deliver a far greater shock to her.
Something pricked her, right in her solar plexus, before sliding its way into her hot scarlet flesh. At once, she felt the bloom leave her, as fast and as suddenly as the will to fight had left her with that final blow. But unlike all the times before that had ended in victory, it did not simply recede out of her head and crouch within whatever dwelling it had established within her veins, waiting for its chance to flower yet again. No, for the first time in centuries, Malenia felt the scarlet rot well and truly… vanish.
The swordswoman knew this feeling. She'd felt it several times before, when her dear brother Miquella had tested his crafts on her rotted body. This… this was one of his needles at work.
The realization hit her just as hard as the feeling of her blood finally running clear. He… this Tarnished had one of his needles? Where? How?
The confusion, the alarm, the… the fear jolted her awake even as the strength of the scarlet rot left her. Suddenly, she was aware of how cold the water that wetted her skin was. Suddenly, she was aware of how much she hurt. Suddenly, her arms could move again, allowing her to prop herself up and stare in the Tarnished's direction, her slow breaths quickening and deepening.
"A… A needle?" she gasped. "But… but how?"
"The girl for which I intended this is… no longer." Malenia would've been a fool not to hear the rueful pause in the Tarnished's voice. "I shan't let her legacy go to waste."
"The girl for which you intended?" Malenia coughed, struggling to prop herself up on her trembling elbows. "But… these needles are of Miquella's make! They were meant for me and me alone!"
"The craftsmanship is of your brother," the Tarnished confirmed. "But it was I who found its keep. A young girl, a beautiful swordswoman, by the name of Millicent. It was her who led me here, to these roots. It was where she chose to die, but not before she returned this needle to me."
Millicent… why did that name sound familiar? Malenia shook her head, confused.
"Wh… Why would she come here?" she asked. "How did she know about this place?"
There was a long silence. Then, "She… was given a part of you. She came here to return it."
"What—" Malenia tried to ask, but cut herself off with a weak gasp when her hands slipped out from under her. As her head landed once again in the frigid waters around her, she did not move to lift herself back up. Her breaths were shallowing again. She knew she didn't have much longer.
The Tarnished grasped her yet again. "Up, Malenia!" he commanded. "Up!"
Behind her scarring, she blinked.
"Up?" she repeated. "For what purpose? You have won, Tarnished. Your fight… at long last, it is over."
"This is not what I fought for! Don't you wish to see Miquella again?"
At hearing his name, she smiled.
"I will," she assured the Tarnished. "Wherever I may go next, I will wait for him. One day, when the Haligtree has flourished and its people are safe… one day, he will return to me, and I will wait for that day, as I've always done."
"No, Malenia," the Tarnished denied, with a determination that perturbed her. "No more waiting. Now is the time for action."
There was a shuffling, the sound of clinking glass, and then… a bottle was held to her lips.
"Drink from this flask," the Tarnished ordered. "You will heal. The crimson tears within will—"
At that, Malenia recoiled. With a strength she didn't realize was still within her, she slapped the Tarnished's hand away.
"No!" she cried, hoarsely. She could hear the Tarnished's armor shuffle as he leaned back, leaving her panting.
"… No," she breathed, after an extended silence. "I… I cannot have the crimson tears spill into me. If the Erdtree's essence finds its way into my body… it'll find me."
Her voice trembled. "It'll find us."
"You must," the Tarnished implored. She shook her head, more determined this time.
"I refuse to allow the dew of the Erdtree to stain this ground," she insisted, hardly. "I will not drink from its leaves."
The Tarnished was silent after that. Malenia had tensed up in her vehemence, but hearing the Tarnished's silence, feeling his absence, she slowly began to relax… and then, she began to falter. Her head hit the floor again, and her breathing began to tremble. Whatever strange plans this warrior had for her, she wouldn't let them come to fruition if it meant letting the Erdtree find her again. And thank goodness, the perennial respect with which this knight treated her didn't stop at his schemes being thwarted. If she had to die to preserve her brother's vision, then so be it. Something told her she could trust the Tarnished not to let their dear Haligtree be compromised, if he was truly allowing her to preserve it this way. Her eyes closed behind their scars, and Malenia let out a long, slow breath—one free of rot, free of anxiety, free of anguish. This… this was a warrior's death.
"Then drink from me instead."
Malenia didn't have time to even ask what the Tarnished meant before he grasped her prosthesis and held it aloft in a firm, steady grip… and then plunged the blade straight into his chest.
It ran clean through him, piercing him with no effort at all. The utter shock and disbelief that ran through Malenia did little to jolt her like it did before… at least, not compared to the feeling of the Tarnished's lifeblood flowing into her veins.
With a cry, Malenia scrambled to her feet before she even realized she'd found the strength to do so. Inadvertently, she wrenched her blade free from the Tarnished's body, cutting an ugly gouge through him in her haste. The knight wasn't even able to let out an agonized cry before he slumped to the ground, dead. His armor shuddered and clanked as he fell, and then he was silent.
Malenia stared down at him, mouth agape and breaths coming in ragged, rapid gasps. He'd… he'd just gone and done that. He'd allowed her sword to claim his life once more, stealing his vitality like it had done a million times before. For the thousand-thousandth time, the knight lay dead while Malenia stood over his lifeless body. Only this time, it felt wrong. So, so wrong. Wrong as Miquella's silence, wrong as the bloom… wrong as—
The bloom! With her trembling flesh-and-blood hand, Malenia reached below her breast to feel at the hard metallic lump that jutted out from her skin. Miquella's needle lay buried in her flesh, separating the scarlet rot from its host—at least, while it lay in there.
Not that she had any intention of removing it, of course. Not for a while, anyway.
Malenia continued to gawk at where the Tarnished had fallen. Why would he do that? Why would he forfeit his victory, after all these countless tries, to spare the one person he'd set out to best in the first place? If he had wanted her alive, why would he try so unrelentingly to fell her? It didn't make any sense. It didn't…
Malenia sank onto one knee. Grunting, she planted her katana firmly into the mud, propping herself up. The Tarnished had pulled her from the brink of death with his mad sacrifice, but she was far from healed. Groaning with the effort, Malenia hauled herself to her feet, keeping her sword shoved into the earth, leaning on it like some kind of cane. Wrenching her gaze away from the Tarnished, she turned and limped away, back to the foot of the Haligtree, where she collapsed against her resting place.
He would be back. He always came back, no matter what. She could ask her questions then. Until then, she needed rest. Sighing, Malenia grasped her prosthesis by the shoulder and unlatched it. It fell into the mud with a metallic thud.
She had a lot of thinking to do.
Link:https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14188794/1/Drink-From-Me