#sorcerer rogier x oc

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Thirteen

Summary: The Lands Between are filled with horror upon horror. Delia rushes from one tragedy to the next, until she reaches the one she’s not sure she can take- the price for Rogier’s life.

Author’s Notes: Holy crap, y’all, 5.2K words on this one. And to think, this is a chapter I was worried about making a decent word count for. But I love pain, so it ended up being no problem at all. 😏 Please let me know if I break y’all’s hearts as much as my own!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: character deaths (yes, plural), canon-typical violence, abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically)

It was a fitful night’s rest, for both of them. 

Rogier mumbled and murmured, groaning and thrashing, but never waking. He was feverish and shaky. Delia spoke softly to him until he calmed, dozing until it all began again.

When she rose, she felt just as exhausted as she had the night before. She saw a scrap of parchment on the bedside table that she hadn’t noticed the night before. It was a letter, written in Rogier’s trembling hand. 

“I forgot to tell you, but it seems D has a younger brother. I heard he lies in a deep sleep in the aqueduct beside the Eternal City of Nokron. And it’s said he stood before the Prince of Death not far beyond that spot.” She clutched the page to herself, tucking it into her shirt. She pulled on her armor, startling as something clinked softly to the floor. 

Seluvis’s potion rolled across the floor, coming to rest against the bedpost. Delia picked it up with a shaking hand, turning the vial over slowly. 

Could it stop…?

No. 

She’d seen the puppet’s bodies in Seluvis’s basement chamber. 

But… she wasn’t Seluvis. 

She looked back to Rogier, murmuring unintelligibly as he slept. Besides the movement of his lips, he was still as a stone. 

She gently lifted the blanket from his legs. The roots had grown higher, wrapping themselves through and around his thighs. She swallowed hard. 

She was running out of time. 

She might already be too late. 

She steeled herself, raising her travel medallion. 

It was time for some answers. 

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“So, you had Nepheli drink the potion? Truly? Hmm. Then perhaps something was amiss with it.It's concocted from the finest ingredients. But perhaps I should review the recipe.” Delia was opening her mouth to make half hearted, sympathetic noises when Seluvis went on. “I may have expected too much of her, to begin with.” She snapped her mouth shut, incensed. She had to take a deep breath and push down her anger before speaking.

“What exactly was this potion meant to do?”

Seluvis waved a hand absently, turning to his spellbooks. “Never you mind, it would be far above your understanding.

Delia couldn’t bite her tongue before the words came out. “Really? And I suppose this potion has nothing to do with the puppets in your chambers near Ranni’s tower?”

Seluvis stiffened, turning slowly. The metal mask he wore hid his expression, but Delia could hear the rage in the breath he sucked in.

“You break into a man’s private chambers, rooting about as you please?”

“That’s right.” She stepped closer, lacing her voice with as much venom as she could summon. “And now that I know your little secret, you’ll answer my questions. Unless you share the opinion that my lady would find those chambers… intriguing.” Seluvis flinched, and Delia felt a shot of triumph race up her spine.

“What is it that you wish to know?” Seluvis ground out.

“Does the potion cause harm?” “Physical? No.”

“Does it cause any lasting damage of any kind?”

She could hear the sneer in his voice when he answered. “No.”

She fought to keep her voice steady. “And the body. It remains… it stays… would this keep it from being…” Her voice had begun to shake. She sensed the moment Seluvis scented the weakness in her.

“The body remains in stasis, pristine. Immune to the effects of the world around it. It can be used to fight for you, for menial labor, or to run your errands. Or,” and here, his voice filled with a lecherous glee. “You can use it for more… intimate-”

“No,” Delia hissed. “All I need to know is that it can stop the spread of Death, and that the person can be freed.”

“Death?” There was real shock in Seluvis’s voice. He studied her for a long, tense moment. He spoke slowly. “I see no reason that it can’t. And a person can be freed.” He paused for dramatic effect. Delia straightened, scowling threateningly. “Yes, I’m sure it would work. Although I would need a potion of a… stronger caliber.”

“A stronger caliber?” she snapped.

“I will need to… test a recipe. Come back tomorrow.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Let’s just say that I have a… scheme, if you will. I would much prefer that it not cross Lady Ranni’s path. And this shall be a most interesting experiment, indeed.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Getting the promised information from Seluvis took much longer than Delia would have liked. But she got it, and set out across Limgrave to speak to this Sellen. 

She startled when she laid eyes on the sorceress. 

“Well, well… Seluvis is not a name I ever wanted to hear again…”

Delia had recognized her from Seluvis’s basement chambers. She had anxiously asked if his potioncraft could be trusted. Sellen had assured her that they could. 

“Just beware the cost.”

Now Delia was riding hard back to the Mistwood, anxious to tell Blaidd what the sorceress had said.

“If General Radahn were to die, the stars would resume their movement. And so, too, would Ranni's destiny.”

All they had to do was kill a god.

Blaidd was eager to move forward, pacing away even as Delia finished speaking. “You’re coming too, right? To Radahn’s festivities… I’ll meet you at Redmane Castle in Caelid. The way ahead is pleasingly simple. We fight, sword and fang.”

“I’ll meet you there,” said Delia. “I just have to make one stop first.”

Blaidd gave her an odd look, measuring.

She could feel herself crack under his scrutiny. “Then I’ll see you there soon.”

He let the matter lie.

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“Good, I've been waiting for you. It's finally complete. The perfection of my draught, gleaming nectar-sweet.” Seluvis held out a vial of amber liquid that seemed to glow softly. “Give this to your… friend.” Delia bristled. “It should keep him docile.” “I only want it to keep him alive,” growled Delia.

“Yes, yes. As you’ve said. Although if you do change your mind, your secret will be safe with me.”

Delia clenched her fists, nearly crushing the potion before releasing her grip. She put it carefully away, turning before she killed Seluvis where he stood.

“You’ll need this bell, if you wish to summon him.”

“I don’t.”

“You’ll need it all the same. If it breaks, well… it wouldn’t be pretty.”

She needed him. Just for a little while longer.

She snatched the bell from Seluvis’s outstretched hand, grimacing as she cradled it in her palm.

That didn’t mean she had to like him.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia didn’t want to administer the potion. It still made her feel ill at ease. So, rather than make straight for her room, she sought out D. 

“D, can you help me?”

He inclined his head. Delia reached into her pack, withdrawing the dagger. She’d wrapped it in an old piece of cloth, but the moment the blade was revealed, D’s posture, impossibly, straightened. 

"Well, what have we here? How did you get your hands on that dagger?”

Delia paused, unsure whether she should reveal Fia’s name. D seemed to sense her hesitation. “...Well. That hardly matters. I know very well whose dagger it is. Why don't I return it to them for you? Good work, bringing this to me."

Delia handed over the knife, murmuring her thanks. But she couldn’t settle the pit in her stomach. 

“Any change?” Roderika’s voice startled her out of her stupor. The young noble watched her, expression hopeful. Delia shook her head and the other girl’s face fell.

“Not yet, but… I might have a solution.” Roderika’s expression brightened, but Delia shook her head. “I’m not sure whether it will work.”

“You’ll let me know if you need anything, though?”

Delia nodded, forcing a smile. She said hello to Hewg, receiving a grunt in return, and then rounded the corner. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. 

Rogier was as she’d left him, lying with his head turned toward the door. She padded across the room and lowered herself onto the bed. She reached forward to lift his head, allowing herself a moment to caress his cheek. 

She withdrew the potion from her satchel, examining it again. She told herself that she was running out of options. She told herself that this would work. 

She tipped his head gently back. He moaned in his sleep, shifting slightly. She lifted the bottle, losing her resolve at the last moment. She traced one finger lightly over his lips and then steeled herself again. 

She poured the contents into his mouth. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he coughed. His eyelids fluttered without opening as he began to writhe. 

Delia started to panic. “Rogier?” She leapt to her feet, hauling him up until he was nearly sitting. His eyes fluttered again, the barest hint of green peeking from between his dark lashes. 

His muttering had begun again, frantic. She heard him say “no” and then unmistakably, she heard her name. She looked up and met his eyes, wide and disbelieving. 

“Rogier?” Her eyes flitted all over him; his flushed cheeks, his unfocused pupils, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Her heart soared- he was awake. She grasped at his hands, but he weakly pulled them back. She looked at him in shock- he’d never recoiled from her touch before. 

She nearly fell backward at his expression. His eyes burned with anger. With betrayal. His lip had curled up. She took him in, dropping his hands, struck dumb by shock. 

“Why?” His whisper was harsh. She met his gaze again, catching a hint of honest hurt there. But already, his eyes were sliding shut, body slumping down. “Why would you…”

“No, no, no, no,” she whispered. “Rogier, no, please.” She fumbled to keep him upright, but he was heavier than before. Her thoughts raced, desperately searching for a better route. But it was too late for that. It was all she could do to lower him back to the bed without bumping his head on the headboard. She stared at him in

“What have I done?” she whispered. 

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

She rode like mad south into the Caelid Wilds. Despair and doubt made her reckless, cutting her way through anything that stood in her path. 

Blaidd was waiting in the courtyard when she arrived, breathless and heartbroken. “Ah, there you are. Took your sweet time. The players are all made up, and waiting for the curtain…” She nodded at him, as distracted as he usually was. “Let’s give them a show to remember, eh.”

He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. “Just don’t you go dying on me. For Ranni’s sake, too.” She nodded again, firmer this time. 

“Let’s kill a god.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

It was a harrowing battle. Radahn was a fearsome foe with an unmatched skill in gravity sorceries, and Delia was left battered and sore after a long fight. Blaidd seemed pleased with their success, and she agreed to meet him in Nokron after checking in on Rogier. 

“The curtain’s riising… on the final act.”

She couldn’t be sure whether it was Blaidd’s portentous words or a strange sixth sense, but she knew something was wrong the moment she set foot in the Hold. Her skin crawled, heart pounding. 

Please, not Rogier. 

She hurried down the hall, stopping dead in her tracks in the doorway of the antechamber outside her room. 

D lay still, sprawled at the feet of a cloaked figure. 

Fia. 

She spoke without turning. “Finally, it is returned to its rightful place. The stolen hallowbrand, of the exalted noble. And now, I must bid you goodbye as well.” She turned then, glaring at Delia from beneath the fringe of her hood. “Though I ask you deliver this message to the Roundtable Hold. I am Fia, Deathbed Companion. Hark, Roundtable. Disturb not the Death of Godwyn, the exalted. We, who humbly live in Death… live in waiting, to one day welcome our Lord.” Her voice grew louder, stronger as she went on. “What right does anyone have to object? Our Lord will rise. The Lord of the many, and the meek.”

She raised her hands. Delia raised her sword. She lunged forward, but too late. The Deathbed Companion was gone. 

Delia fell to her knees beside D, struggling to turn his body. She wrestled his helm from his head, pressing her fingers to the pale flesh of his throat. 

Dead. 

She sobbed, turning to heave over her shoulder. 

“Delia?” Roderika’s voice was panicked. “Oh,” she gasped. “Oh, gods. Oh, D.” She slid to her knees beside Delia, clutching her shoulder with one hand. The other, she reached out shakily to lay on D’s arm. “Delia, the roots…”

Delia nodded woodenly. She’d seen them. 

“Is that what…”

“I think so.”

“And… and Rogier? This is what happened to him?” Delia nodded again. She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. 

“And… I think…” she choked on the words. “I think I made it worse.” That unleashed the flood of tears that had been frozen by horror.

“Darling.” Roderika wrapped both arms around Delia’s shuddering shoulders, pulling her to her chest. “How could you have made it worse?” 

It took several moments and lots of hushing from the younger girl before Delia could put together the words.

“I gave him a potion. I turned him into a puppet.”

“A… puppet?” Roderika’s voice shook- in terror or revulsion, Delia couldn’t tell. She felt the other girl release her shoulders and sagged forward, onto her hands. Her tears flowed freely now.

“A puppet. I-I was running out of time, he’d fallen asleep like he said he would and I-”

“Asleep? Delia, what do you mean ‘asleep’?”

“He told me…” she sniffled. “He told me he felt as though he would fall into a ‘fathomless slumber’. He told me he was afraid. And he did. He fell asleep and I couldn’t wake him up.” She leaned back and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, then scrubbed her hands roughly down her face. “So I gave him a potion that would preserve his body until I can cure him. But I… I think I made a mistake.”

Roderika was silent. Delia looked over her shoulder. Roderika’s expression was contemplative.

“Well… can it be undone?”

Delia sniffled again. “I never would have done it if I thought it couldn’t.” Her voice broke again. Roderika leaned forward, taking Delia in her arms again. 

“There, there,” she soothed. “I think you did your best.”

“I don’t think he’ll forgive me,” Delia confessed in a whisper.

For a long time, the two simply rocked together on the floor. Then, Roderika spoke. “I think he will.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

When Delia arrived at the crater in Limgrave, Blaidd was nowhere to be found. She waited for several minutes, even considering descending without him. 

Something stopped her.

Something was wrong.

She summoned Torrent, giving him his reins once she’d mounted. He had yet to steer her wrong. The steed ambled South, taking her down a path that seemed vaguely familiar. They followed the path until Delia heard something that made her recognize the area.

Howling.

They were near the Forlorn Hound Evergaol.

She spurred Torrent on, weaving up the path to the elevator and leaping from his back. The howling abruptly stopped as she ran across the elevator.

“Hello?” she called.

“Oh, it’s you.” Blaidd. “It’s me, Blaidd.” Delia felt a crazed laugh bubbling up at the thought that he thought that she might not recognize his voice. The sound died in her throat as he went on. “Old Iji trapped me in here. Told me I’d bring naught but bale to Lady Ranni. But there’s no chance that could happen. I’m part of her being. Her very shadow… I thought old Iji knew as much.”

Delia peered around, wondering why the gaol would not open. Her eyes landed on the gargoyle guard standing watch. She strode to it.

“Honestly,” muttered Blaidd, “I don’t know what’s going on anymore…” The stone key had been removed from its place in the gargoyle’s mouth. Delia breathed a sigh of relief, pulling one from her pack and slotting it. She watched the elevator light and was rewarded with Blaidd’s tall frame a moment later.

“My thanks, friend. I’m going to see mistress Ranni, now. I don’t know what came over old Iji, but even if the odds are slim, I need to check the mistress is safe.”

Delia blanched. “What about Nokron?”

Blaidd barked a laugh. “Oh, you certainly don’t need my help there. You’re quite the warrior, yourself, and more of a scholar than me.” His hand made a muffled thump as it landed on her shoulder. “We’ll see each other soon. Now, Ranni can finally set in motion the fight against her fate she’s dreamt of for so long.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Iji, what’s going on?”

The old troll looked up from his reading, sighing heavily. 

“I presume you've spoken with Blaidd? Very well. There is something you should know. The Two Fingers gave Blaidd to Lady Ranni, as a faithful follower. Her very shadow, incapable of treachery. But if Lady Ranni, as an Empyrean, resists being an instrument of the Two Fingers, the shadow will go mad, transforming from a follower into a horrid curse. But such is his destiny. In such matters, Blaidd's own thoughts hold no weight. It pains me so, but he must be neutralized. For Lady Ranni's sake.”

Neutralized. 

“Neutralized how?”

They watched each other for a long moment. When Iji spoke, his voice was heavy with sorrow. 

“However we must.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia crashed into the Hold.

She’d found them, in Nokron. 

Black boluses.

She was sure they would cure the Death Blight.

They had to.

Roderika called her name, but it didn’t slow her mad dash. She threw open the door without bothering to shut it, fumbling at the low table by the fireplace. There was a bowl and spoon there that she managed to pick up after a moment of grappling. She rushed to the bedside, dumping the boluses she’d collected into the bowl and using the spoon to smash them. Then she fell to her knees, raising the bowl and Rogier’s head. She poured the contents into his mouth, careful to slow herself enough to not choke him.

When the bowl was empty, she sat with her back against the bed, clutching his hand in both of hers. She saw Roderika peer around the door frame before retreating quietly down the hall. She closed her eyes.

Just for a moment.

She dreamed as she dozed. She dreamed of Rogier, on his feet and buzzing with the energy she associated with him. She dreamed of his sparkling peridot eyes and the curve of his lips in his tiny, secret smile. 

She dreamed that he spun her around, lifting her in his arms, laughing all the while. She dreamed that he pressed her close to himself. 

She dreamed that he leant down and brushed his lips to hers. 

And then thrust his rapier through her stomach. 

She woke to Roderika’s soft touch on her shoulder. 

“Delia, are you alright? You were crying in your sleep.”

She reached up, smearing tears as she rubbed her eyes. 

“I’m fine,” she said hoarsely. She rose quickly, turning to toss aside the blanket from over Rogier’s legs. 

She blinked. 

Some of the roots had withered and browned. 

“Roderika,” she whispered. 

“I see it,” Roderika whispered back.

The two looked at each other, a slow smile spreading across Roderka’s face. For the first time in weeks, Delia let herself smile, too. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“My lady.”

“Ahh...It was thee. Not Blaidd, it seemeth. Even in my slumber, I sensed it. It is in thy possession, is it not? The hidden treasure of Nokron?” Delia withdrew the blade from her sheath, holding it out to Ranni. “My thanks. Finally, all the pieces are in place. Soon must I begin my journey. Upon the dark path only I may tread. Ah, but before I leave, I shall entrust thee with this.”

She handed Delia an odd trinket, an hourglass with a woman inside.

“My thanks, for thy sterling efforts. A strange gift, perhaps, but a rare sort such as thee would welcome it, I am sure. I am certain now, fate steered us to our reunion. I must thank Torrent too, for his part.” Though her doll’s face did not change, there was warmth in Ranni’s voice. Delia smiled a tired smile. “You may leave now. It was but brief, but thou gavest me fine service.”

The smile snapped off her face, blood running cold. “Leave? But-”

“Mine part is not yet done,” interrupted Ranni. “But almost. Soon enough, I shall aid you with your friend.”

Delia choked back a sob. “My lady, he… he has already fallen asleep…” Ranni said nothing, templing her fingers in thought. “I… I gave him a potion from Seluvis…”

Ranni’s voice snapped. “From Seluvis?”

Delia hung her head in shame. “I didn’t know what to do. I was frightened, I-” Ranni held up a set of hands to pause her rambling.

“Thy intentions are true, of that I am certain. Thou was wise to give it him. Now wish well that it hold him until mine powers be returned to me.”

There was a high, thin, keening sound then, wrought with despair. It took too long for Delia to recognize that the sound came from her. 

Though Ranni’s face was unmoving as ever, there was sympathy in her eyes. 

“Seluvis made well his potions, snake that he was. And thine friend be strong of mind, to be still breathing.”

Was?

“Now, go.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

She went, with a sinking feeling, to Seluvis’s Rise.

She found him there, dead.

She couldn’t stop the curl of her lip, even as panic rose up in her chest.

He hadn’t told her how to free Rogier from the spell.

Ranni would know.

Ranni would fix it.

Numbly, she made her way to Iji.

“Oh, there you are. Good of you to drop by. Have you heard? Lady Ranni has departed on her journey. Along the dark path of the Empyrean, from Renna’s Rise, as she calls it. It would not have been possible without you. As Lady Ranni’s war counselor, and moreover, her childhood warden, I express my deepest gratitude. You, and only you, were Lady Ranni’s true champion.”

“That’s not true,” whispered Delia. Iji hummed a question at her. “I said that’s not true. You and Blaidd are her champions as much as I am.”

“Well,” Ijii said slowly. “That may be true, but you are the only one who broke her curse. Who set her fate in motion. And Blaidd…”

“Blaidd’s concern is only for her. His only thoughts, Iji, are of her.” Her voice was too sharp. Her ability to cope was wearing thinner by the day, by the horror of the things she’d seen and done.

Carefully, Iji lowered his book to rest on his anvil, giving her his full attention. He spoke gently, patiently. “I hope that you are not mistaken. Truly, I do.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He only picked up his book again, leaving Delia to her thoughts.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Renna’s Rise had been inaccessible before, shielded by some magic.

That magic was gone now. Delia made her way up the ladder, up the elevator, into the loft above. It was empty, save a chest and a portal. She opened the chest to find Ranni’s garb, there- her hat, her dress, her cloak. She fingered the thick fur of the cloak, thinking of Blaidd as she did.

Where had he gone?

She didn’t want to believe Iji’s words that he might turn against Ranni, turn against his own free will. But she hadn’t been able to find him after freeing him from the Evergaol, and she was beginning to fear for him.

Carefully, she folded Ranni’s clothes into a neat bundle, wrapping it all with a short length of rope. Her fingers brushed against the pamphlet Rogier had so lovingly created for her. She felt dizzy with despair. She lifted her head and straightened her shoulders, looking to the portal.

Reaching forward, she let herself be tugged somewhere else.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia lifted the tiny doll with shaking hands.

“My lady?” There was no response. She gripped the doll slightly tighter, trying and failing to maintain some semblance of calm. “Lady Ranni.” Still nothing. She made an aggravated sound, shaking the doll lightly between her hands.

She took a deep breath. “I know you can hear me. And I’m not going to leave until you speak to me.”

The answering voice was dry. “Oh? A dogged fellow, aren't we? Or is it merely thy habit, to talk to dolls?” 

Delia sucked in a breath. She’d been half convinced that she was wrong, that this wouldn’t work.

“Fine...fine. I hadn't expected any soul to recognize me in this guise.” Delia arched an eyebrow at that. Really? “But now the cat is out the bag, I cannot allow thee thy freedoms. Perform for me a service, as recompense. Eliminate the Baleful Shadows which prowl these lands. The name of Ranni the Witch is already sullied by thee. I will not brook disobedience in this matter.”

Delia felt her hackles rise. Sullied? She bit her tongue. She couldn’t afford to lose her temper. Not now, not with Rogier’s life on the line. And so instead, she fought her way through dripping caverns, past ants as large as shacks, past a malformed star.

She fought through all of this, not easily, but without pause.

“Let us speak of the past awhile.”

Ranni told her tales of Empyreans and the Two Fingers. Of Blaidd, her vassal shadow, and of slaying her own flesh. Of Baleful Shadows, of Iji and Blaidd’s loyalty- especially Blaidd’s.

Delia fought.

“Blaidd, and Iji both… art willing to give too much to me.”

Until she reached a courtyard, drowned in an awful red glow.

“Ah, should I add thee to the list? Another one, kind of heart. As kind of heart as they.”

Until she saw Blaidd.

“O Shadow, thou’rt the last.”

Shadow. Not Blaidd.

She raised her sword just in time to block a devastating blow from Blai- the Shadow’s- sword.

“Tell the Two Fingers, that Ranni the Witch cometh, to rend thy flesh.” Ranni’s voice was powerful and angry. Delia sidestepped, rolled, used her blade’s enchantment to close the distance. With a powerful thrust, she drove it up, through the chest of the Shadow. “With a fateful wound, ne’er to heal.”

Delia choked back the involuntary sob that arose from killing one wearing the face of a friend.

“Beautifully fought,” Ranni soothed. “My thanks.”

Delia wrenched her blade free with a squelch, doing her damndest not to look at the mask at her feet.

“Now I can finally stand before them. We’ll meet again, my dear. Take this key, and bring me what it opens. And tell Blaidd, and Iji… I love them.” 

There was a tiny ringing sound in the cavern, and then a filigreed key dropped at Delia’s feet. She picked it up with a sigh. She looked up, toward the passage on the far side of the room. Something about it called to her. She moved toward it, hand on the hilt of her sword, and peeked through.

Her stomach dropped at the sight of a vast, roiling lake of Scarlet Rot.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The path forward had been bloody and fraught with pain.

The key had opened a chest. The chest had produced a ring. The ring had raised questions. Questions had led her to Iji. Speaking with Iji had led her to Blaidd.

Blaidd, Ranni’s most loyal companion and protector. Blaidd, her own friend and helper. Blaidd, driven mad by the nature he sought to master. Blaidd, who had attacked her.

Blaidd, who she had killed.

She’d fallen to her knees at the steps, shock and grief silencing the wails clawing their way up their throat.

She had to tell Ranni. She had to tell Iji.

Iji’s words had haunted her as she numbly followed the draw of Grace.

“I’ll catch up with you soon enough, Blaidd. When I do, I only hope you’ll accept my apology.”

She’d had no tears left to cry when she found Ranni’s lifeless doll body, bloody and still. Her only thought as she knelt had been of Rogier, that she’d well and truly failed him now.

She hadn’t let herself look too closely at her own near-friendship with the witch. 

But she wasn’t dead, and that was one crisis averted for the time being. Delia had let herself be lulled into a sense of relief- that Ranni was alive, that everything would be alright.

Everything was not alright.

At the Hold, in Delia’s chambers, Ranni had produced a necklace, sharp edged and sapphire with scarlet sheen along the points.

Not a necklace. A blade.

Delia recoiled. She could no longer hear Ranni’s voice above the ringing in her ears. Each time she thought things couldn’t get worse, they did.

“It is the only way. If thou hasn’t the stomach for it, I can help thee not.”

“He’ll never forgive me,” Delia whispered.

“Neither wilt he forgive thee if he does not live to do so.”

Delia sucked in a shaky breath. “Is this… it’s because I…” She couldn’t finish the thought. 

She needn’t have tried. Ranni was shaking her head, slowly. “He was at Death’s door, my dear. Thou didst well by him.”

She lifted her hand slowly, offering the blade once more. Delia stared at it. 

She couldn’t do what Ranni asked.

She had to.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She pictured Rogier’s bright eyes and dark hair, the curve of his lips and the arch of his brows.

She blew out all the air in her lungs and reached for the blade.

It took lifetimes to walk the few steps to her bed. It took longer to sit, and longer still to lay a hand on Rogier’s shoulder. She leaned forward to rest her head in the crook of his neck.

“You were right,” she whispered. “The boluses, they worked.” She stroked his sweaty hair back from where it brushed his eyebrows. Careful doses of the black boluses had killed the remainder of the magic roots, and those that hadn’t dried and falled had simply… disappeared.

If only she’d found them sooner.

She lay her head against his chest.

“Come, my dear. Be not afraid. I’ll not let him die, not now. Not after what thou hast done to see him through.”

She lifted her head, turning a tortured expression back to Ranni. “There’s no other way?”

The witch glided forward and rested a pair of hands on Delia’s shoulder, but said nothing.

Delia took in a shaky breath, drawing little comfort from Ranni’s cold hands. She pressed her cheek to Rogier’s. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

Then she drew back and, with a savage thrust, drove the blade into his heart.

[flaskofceruleantears]

In her humbler days of exploration of the Lands Between, Asteri made many friends, whom she holds very close and dear to her heart.

Asteri knew she would have to make her journey alone. But those she met along the way warmed her heart and gave her a sense of companionship and camaraderie she had lacked in her life.

She even felt love blooming in her heart, after a lifetime of stoic solitude. But, like all things in the Lands Between, it must come to an end sooner or later. Nothing lasts forever, and it always seems to vanish too quickly for her to ever really enjoy its presence.

[bowietea]

Fuck it we ball moment of even more fanart doodles based off of @no-braincells-inc Varre fic qwq✨️

[draken-rotzi]

They've taken over my mind and heart

🐲🗡🪄🩸

[nightingale-fic-recs]

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Some things can only be cultivated under pretenses [Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader] - ✨ Out 12/11/24! ✨

Elden Ring

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished]

Modern Warfare Reboots

Promises - a MWII Mini Series

You needn’t read one to read the other, but they happen in the same universe! Both set during/after the events of MWII 2022.

Maybe [Soap x Fem!OC]

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MW2019/MWII One Shots

I’ll never use Y/N in reader-insert fics, but I will assign callsigns! Set outside of the canon MW universe.

Your Wildest Dreams [Soap x Fem!Reader]

Convallaria Majalis [Alex Keller x Fem!Reader]

MWII Headcanons

141 Headcanons - The Five Love Languages

[alistairs]

ELDEN RING ➼ [22/?]  

So much time on the other side Waiting for you to wake up

[10millionotters]

Couldn’t stop thinking about my tarnished and Rogier

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Two

Summary: The Tarnished finds herself a new sword alongside her new friend, and finds herself wishing for a way to get under the sorcerer’s skin the way he has hers.

Author’s Notes: A measly 800 words, just a bit more dialogue to set the scene and establish character.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: none? Unedited (basically)

“Rogier?”

He opened his eyes, tilting his hat up to see from beneath the brim of his hat. Delia stood before him, twisting her fingers nervously together. Her eyes darted between his face and the blanket over his legs, brows drawn low over her eyes.

Rogier seemed frozen for a moment before pasting on a wide smile. “Ah, we meet again after all. I apologize for any offense given by my bearing, but I’m quite unable to move, you see.” She felt her heart splinter. She’d known the moment she touched that bloodstain, but she hadn’t wanted to believe. The first person to show her genuine kindness in this godsforsaken land…

He continued before she could gather her thoughts enough to interject, sounding remote. “So. What do you need?”

She looked at him, face screwed up to hold back some emotion she couldn’t quite put a name to. He seemed to squirm for a blink as she studied him. Finally, she spoke.

“I’ve defeated Godrick.”

His eyebrows went up in surprise, mouth forming a perfect circle. “Ah.” She said nothing else, and aftee a moment, he continued. “You defeated Godrick and claimed yourself a Great Rune.” He smiled up at her, a bit more real, and this time she returned it. It seemed to be the first real smile he’d given since they met.

He grimaced, flinching, and then hummed. Under his breath, he said “Looks like we both got what we wanted out of Stormveil, didn’t we.” Her face fell, cool demeanor slipping between her fingers. He seemed to notice, because he opened his mouth, but then faltered.

He tugged at the blanket over his legs. She tracked the movement, trying not to let her distress bleed through. Rogier pasted a smile back on, and leaned to his side. “Well done, friend.” He turned. And in his hands was his rapier. “Something to mark the occasion.”

Delia blanched. Not his beautiful blade. “Go on, take it.”

She reeled back, unable and unwilling to tear her eyes away from the proffered sword.

“Rogier, I-” she faltered.

He softened his voice, regret dimming his smile. “As you might’ve guessed, I still can’t move. My fighting days are behind me.” He gestured toward her with the hilt. He went on, a bit more firmly. “No need to be polite, I’ve no use for it anymore.”

She stepped forward, tentative fingers wrapping around the hilt. She couldn’t. She had to. For a moment, Rogier’s grip on the blade held. Then, he pressed it toward her. “Please,” he murmured. “You need something better than that piece of scrap you used against Margit. Besides which, this way I’m still helping you out, in a way.” He smiled up at her, but it seemed hollow.

Silently, Delia pulled her own newly acquired sword from her scabbard. It was a wide blade hewn of bright steel. She held it to Rogier, whose eyes went wide in appraisal. “Actually, I already did replace the piece of scrap.” Eager hands reached forward to run across the metal, testing the balance and edge. He seemed impressed.

Delia took in a breath. “Does that change your mind?” He hummed absently, looking up to her from where he still studied her new sword. Then he realized what she was asking and that new light dulled.

Delia could kick herself.

“No. No, it does not change my mind.” He handed back her sword, tilting his head down to retreat beneath the brim of his hat. Delia stamped down a pang of hurt and irritation. She found herself frustrated, not for the first time in their interactions, at his sudden withdrawal.

“Unlike you, I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of this guidance for the longest time.”

She wondered how long that time was. She had learned precious little about her own kind in her travels thus far, but from what meager information she had managed to glean, she was under the distinct impression that most of the other Tarnished she’d met had been here for years. Decades, even. Ageless, even after the abandonment of grace, but searching. Ever searching.

She thought of the echo she’d seen when she’d touched the bloodstain beneath Stormveil. Rogier’s bloodstain. The arch of his back as he was pierced through and lifted from his feet. The blanket over his legs now.

She desperately wanted to ask, wanted to know what had happened, and why he couldn’t cure it with magic. What she could do to help, and why he sat here, all alone, removed from the rest of the Hold.

She bit her lip, and took a deep breath.

She knelt, and bit back a triumphant grin at the utter shock in his expression. She leaned forward, hands on his knees, and pressed her lips to his cheek as her heart hammered. Rogier sucked in a breath, so quietly she almost missed it. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

“Thank you,” she whispered. He said nothing, blinking rapidly. She stood, and turned, and without another word, walked away from the balcony.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter One

Summary: Rogier meets a Tarnished and finds what he’s been searching for- in more ways than one.

Author’s Notes: 1K words to start! The Tarnished isn’t named in this chapter, but she will be. 😉 thank you to my beloved @halfmoth-halfman for giving me an excuse to post this. ❤️

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically)

If he hadn’t watched it happen, he probably wouldn’t have ever known. He’d just stepped forward to peek out the doorway when a figure landed on the stones before him without a sound. The same Tarnished who’d fought Margit. She froze, lavender eyes locked on him as he paused.

“Ah, nice to meet you. The pleasure’s mine.” When she didn’t move, he went on, turning on his infamous breezy charm. “Rogier’s the name. A sorcerer, as you might’ve guessed.” She straightened slowly, eyeing him warily.

Rogier shifted, growing a bit nervous. He’d thought she might be friendly, after his aid in her fight against the Omen. Now, though he could hardly begrudge her caution, he wasn’t so sure. And she was beautiful in a way that was vaguely intimidating all on its own. Sooty lashes brushed her cheeks as she blinked at him, one slim hand on her sword hilt.

“I’m looking for a little something, here in the castle. When I’m not hotfooting it from the troops, that is.” He cocked a rueful grin, hoping for some expression. Nothing. “But enough about me. What are you doing here in Stormveil Castle? This place is bristling with Tarnished hunters, you know.” He was rambling, now. “They sacrifice our kind, for grafting. Not exactly a place I’d stroll into without a purpose in mind…”

“I’m here to defeat Godrick.” Her voice was soft and rough, low in a way he hadn’t expected. He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard.

“I see. Here to challenge Godrick, and lay your hands upon a Great Rune, are you?” She nodded, and he could feel himself relaxing. If only a bit. Then her gaze seemed to catch on something he couldn’t see before coming back to him. Bitterness flooded his throat, nearly choking him in its intensity. “You can see it then, I take it? The guidance of grace.”

She nodded, and he tried to level his voice when he replied. “Well, enjoy it while you can. I’m Tarnished, like you. But unlike you, I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of this guidance for the longest time.”

Her brow furrowed, and she stepped further into his little sanctuary. Rogier tried to mask the sharp spike of anxiety he felt, and was grateful when she came no further. He felt naked under her sharp gaze, pierced through and stripped of all his cavalier defenses. He tried to keep the panic and exasperation from his voice. “Still, I won’t forget how it felt when I first came here, to the Lands Between.” He’d erred too far on the side of caution. His voice was far more wistful than he would have liked.

The Tarnished hummed, finally taking her eyes from him to look around the room. He breathed out sharply, relieved. They rested for a moment on his fire, and Rogier extended a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, the Tarnished sat. Rogier realized that she was just as nervous as he. On the one hand, it filled him with pride that he could intimidate a warrior as fierce as she. On the other, it filled him with relief to have a peaceful encounter like this. Had she any wish to strike at him, she’d have done it by now.

“I’m privy to a few magical battle arts,” he blurted. She looked up, eyebrows raised. Rogier stumbled on, lowering himself to sit across the fire from her. “Would you care to learn one? As a fellow Tarnished, once guided by grace, I’d love to help you out, if it please.”

A wry smile quirked one corner of her lips, highlighting a fine scar there. “I’m afraid I’ve no aptitude for magic. Cold steel’s more my speed.”

“Oh?” Rogier grinned. He drew his rapier, carefully, holding it out handle first. The Tarnished took it gently from his hands, turning the blade this way and that reverently. “Keen to learn another battle art, are we?”

She looked up, then back to the hilt in her hands. “It’s a fine blade,” she admitted, turning it back toward him. He took it from her hands and leaned back to slide the blade into its sheath. The soft hiss of steel raised his eyes, but he found only another hilt before him.

Rogier’s eyebrows lifted. The blade was rusted, chipped in places and somewhat dull. “You used this… to fight Margit?”

She shrugged a muscled shoulder, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’ll replace it eventually. Just haven’t found anything better, yet.” She looked up then. “Thank you, by the way.” At his blank look, she went on. “For helping me.”

“Oh, that. Of course. As I said, fellow Tarnished and all that. Happy to help you out.”

She hummed again, tilting her head. “That doesn’t seem to be the case amongst us all.”

Rogier grimaced. “Come across someone less friendly?”

“Several someones, in fact.” He waited, but she offered no further comment before standing. “Thank you for sharing your fire with me. I’d best be getting on, though.” And off she went through the door, silently as she’d come. As eager as Rogier had been to escape from her eyes, her absence left him feeling bereft of comfort. He sat for a long while after she went, watching the space where she’d been.

There was a certain despair that accompanied meeting new Tarnished. Sometimes, when they were particularly rude, Rogier allowed himself to gleefully imagine the moment that they, too, lost the ability to see the guidance as he had. But only for a wink.

Tonight, he found himself hoping that just this once, that moment might take a long, long time. Perhaps even long enough that he could discern what made her attention so captivating.

And in the depths of the castle, pierced with Death itself and barely able to drag himself away, as he crawled on shaking arms, fumbling his Roundtable medallion out of his pocket, the only thing that kept him awake enough to escape was the memory of those eyes, burning into and through him. The memory of feeling, and the hope of feeling again, seen. Truly seen, for the first time.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished]

Summary: A charismatic spellblade navigates a lifetime of disappointment, heartbreak, and more questions than he’ll ever find answers to. An introspective swordswoman fights for purpose and a place in a new, devastating world. When Grace leads them together, will they let themselves be bound? Or will Death itself rip them apart? A tale of hope from hopelessness, a life bought from betrayal, and two souls more alike than they might at first seem.

Author’s Notes: TLDR: A 36.6K word slow-ish burn Rogier fix-it fic that may bends lore/game mechanics to serve the plot. The full cut: I am, and always have been, a huge sucker for intricate, lore-heavy stories- especially stories with lore gaps and space to interpret it differently than someone else. I find Elden Ring to be both of these. I also always fall in love with minor characters who (I feel) don’t get NEARLY enough content. Plus, as Elden Ring fans know, everyone dies and we need fix-it fics. So, here’s a piece I wrote as I replayed Elden Ring and gleaned new bits to question and dissect. Not all plot points will necessarily line up with my own interpretation of the lore. Some are based on theories I’ve had or read, some I’ve bent to suit my own purposes. If you’re reading, I hope you enjoy. ❤️ Also, if anyone wants to see how I picture Delia, I built her in-game here!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Fic Warnings: GAME SPOILERS, suicide (minor character; brief description and brief references, including a non-explicit explanation); canon-typical violence, mild depictions of wounds/blood, mild language, suggestive content, abstract horror? I think? unedited (basically). Chapter specific warnings will be posted. Please let me know if I’ve missed anything!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

~Outtakes and Extras~

The First Kiss Outtake

The "Always good to see you safe" Extra

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - The “Always good to see you safe” Extra

Summary: Rogier's thoughts on watching Delia die and come back. Takes place sometime after the events of the main story

Author’s Notes: 700 words! Me: starts typing. Husband: What are you doing? Me: Writing! Husband: Writing what!? Me: ……… Husband: *Gets up to look at my screen, throws his hands up.* “Oh, for the love of-!”

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: canon-typical violence, abstract horror? I think?

As it turned out, knowing that someone could be resurrected did not make watching them die any easier.

It was knowledge Rogier could have done without.

As Delia went down, he made a choked sound somewhere between a shout and a sob. He backed slowly up, never taking his eyes from the shimmer of runes where she’d been a moment before or the Tree Sentinel circling the spot. The blade through her body would fuel his nightmares for weeks to come. He breathed shallowly, hardly in control of himself. He wanted to race out, to draw his rapier and cast every spell he knew, but there was a reason she had him stay back.

They knew she could come back.

But did they? The voice in his mind sounded an awful lot like D, sometimes. Grace spurned you, once. What if it spurns her too?

“It wouldn’t,” he ground out softly. “She’s better than me,” he added on a breath. 

You allowed yourself to be seduced by Those Who Live in Death, and she allowed herself to be seduced by you. What’s to say she won’t be abandoned as well?

“Enough,” he hissed.

“I agree.” Delia stepped up behind him, startling him so badly that he sat hard on the loamy ground.

Despite her heavy mail- she’d taken to wearing Blaidd’s armor in their recent travels- her step was still light enough to startle him more often than not. He was reminded often, and fondly, of their first meeting.

She was looking at him curiously. “Talking to yourself?” she asked lightly. He hadn’t told her yet about the ghost of D that lived in his mind, but he thought she might have an inkling all the same. 

Instead of answering, he surged to his feet, dragging her behind him to press her against a wide tree trunk that blocked them from the Sentinel’s view. He dipped his head to kiss her. It was desperate, filled with the despair and anguish he’d felt watching her fall, even believing that she’d walk up behind him just as she had. Delia made a startled sound that quickly dissolved into a satisfied sigh. She reached up, pulling him closer by the straps that hung around his arms. She parted his lips with her tongue, exploring his mouth languorously as he tried in vain to still the beating of his heart with one arm braced over her head and the other pulling her against him. 

The effect she had on him was unreal. He might have had an abundance of experience over her, but she never failed to make his knees weak and his chest tight. No matter who instigated the contact, she was always the one in charge.

Rogier loved it.

Well, loved it until she broke away. “You’ve got to let me go, my Love. I need those runes.”

Rogier huffed. “I still don’t see why we can’t test this so-called immortality of mine. You know I hate seeing you take all of the risks.”

“Well,” she hummed. She reached up, straightening his hat and his collar. “I can afford them.” For how long? “But not losing you. Not again.” She patted his chest firmly, kissed his cheek, and drew her blade. She took a few steps before turning to walk backward, tossing him a wink. “I’ll be right back.”

He waved half-heartedly, planted for a moment of indecision. Then he sighed, tiptoed back to his vantage point behind a large rock, and peered over. Delia was as quick as ever, backstepping and whirling and swinging and dodging. The Tree Sentinel put up a good fight, but was ultimately no match.

He did not earn a second victory.

Rogier rose from his crouch and Delia, having just collected her newfound strength, beamed up at him.

His heart melted as he looked at her. Sometimes he imagined that he could feel the shard of glintstone in it, but rather than a painful reminder, it had become a token of her dedication. She cocked her head, expression growing confused.

“What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He was grinning like a sentimental fool. “It’s just… I…” He felt overwhelmed with gratefulness all over again, having her within reach once more. He pulled himself up, drawing her into his arms. “It’s always good to see you safe.”

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - The First Kiss Outtake

Author’s Notes: Here’s the original first kiss scene! Only 700 words. If it looks familiar, that’s because I cannibalized whole chunks of it for various pieces that DID make the cut. Originally, I wanted their first kiss to be pre-betrayal (potion and/or Primal Glintstone Blade business) because I thought it would make the betrayal THAT much more heartwrenching. It was going to be a whole shebang. However, as I’ve mentioned previously, I wrote the Chapter Fourteen Ranni conversation really early on and ultimately, I decided THAT would gain impact if nothing had happened between them. I also figured that if they started making out and Delia knew that he had feelings for her, she’d never leave his side (except for looking for boluses) and the plot would stagnate/be harder to justify. So this was removed in favor of Delia’s love turning our boy’s world upside down after he thought she was just like everyone else in his life- using him for some personal gain. This little bit would have been in Chapter Eleven.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: Suggestive content (it's spicy, but not explicit)

She climbed over him then, straddling him as she had the night before. This time, she grasped the front of his shirt, dragging him forward until their lips were a breath apart. 

“Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you truly don’t, and that this has nothing to do with fear, and I’ll say nothing more on the matter.”

Rogier swallowed hard. His heart thumped against his ribcage, his breath stuttered. His shaking hands had found their way around her waist and it took the last of his resolve to still them there, to keep himself from leaning forward the rest of the way. 

She gave him ample time- time to lie, to make excuses, to beg her to go and spare her heart or to beg her to come here and kiss him, already, heart and conscience and pride be damned.

He did, and said, nothing. 

“As I thought,” she murmured, lips brushing his as she spoke. She closed the gap, pressing her mouth to his. 

And he was lost. 

Instinct drove him as his thoughts failed. He wound his arms about her, crushing her to his chest as her mouth moved on his. She lay one hand against the headboard, bracing herself, and lifted the other to his hair. She tugged lightly as she parted his lips with her tongue. He groaned into her mouth, and she responded in kind. 

His hands roved her curves, squeezing and pulling at her as gently as he could manage. He wanted to devour her. He slid his tongue into her mouth, running it along the inside of her lip, and delighted in the shudder that ran through her

He needed her closer.

He tucked his hands behind her knees and pulled her forward, unbalancing her enough for her to stop kissing him. He took the opportunity to latch his lips onto the tender flesh between her throat and shoulder, biting lightly and sucking hard. 

She moaned, loudly enough to slap a hand over her own mouth. Even with the lower half of his body numb, Rogier felt a bolt go through him at the sound. He felt himself growl in response. Delia had thrown back her head, elbow resting on his shoulder to hold her mouth shut. The other curled into the hair at the nape of his neck. He saw stars, releasing her throat in a gasp. 

She leapt on the opportunity, lowering her head to fasten her own mouth to his pulse point. 

He whined. 

Her hands went under his borrowed shirt, dragging the fabric up as she laved his throat with her tongue. He lifted his arms, taking advantage of her momentary distraction to capture her mouth again. She nipped lightly at his lower lip, causing his jaw to slacken. She was panting, trembling against him. Every shudder of breath, every brush of her lips made him want as he had never wanted before. He reached up, deftly unfastening her cloak, before fumbling with the shimmering armor she wore. 

She took pity on him, giggling and pulling back enough to undo the cunning hooks. Then she paused. 

“You can’t…”

“Can’t what?”

“Feel. Your legs? Or…?”

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.” He reached for the buckles and she leaned away, giggling. 

“Rogier!”

“I’ve got hands, haven’t I? And a mouth.”

She shrieked as he succeeded in looping his hands beneath her breastplate, pulling her back to kiss her again. She sighed into it and for a moment, he thought maybe he’d won the argument. Then she arrested his motions with hands on his wrists. 

“Rogier.”

“Delia.” He looked up with an expression he hoped was sufficiently innocent to persuade her, but was unsurprised to find her smiling fondly back at him. 

She pulled his wrists gently from her body, clasping his hands between hers. “We are going to fix this.” She leaned forward, pressing light kisses to each of his eyelids in turn. “And then we can have our fun.”

“Or, you could let me have my fun now,” he grumbled. “And then you’d be having fun, too.”

“Rogier!” she gasped, cheeks flaming. He grinned, leaning up to press a light kiss to her cheek. 

“My Delia,” he murmured.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Epilogue

Summary: Now that they’ve finally found each other, our swordswoman and her sorcerer have some things to tidy up- people to see, places to go, cursemarks to find. And after all that, some alone time wouldn’t go amiss…

Author’s Notes: 3.8K words, and… we’re finally done. This was originally meant to be a character study featuring a fix-it plot, but it turned into more of a fix-it plot with moments of character study. And man, did it get away from me. I hope y’all enjoy reading as much as I’ve enjoyed writing. This has been an absolute labor of love and, though I’ll admit that I’m relieved to be done, I think I’m going to miss obsessing over this at all hours of the day and night. Who knows, maybe I’ll write snippets of R & D’s adventures as the mood strikes me. 😉 Thank you to everyone who came along for this great journey with me. ❤️

As for actual chapter notes, I did change a character description (of sorts). The most reasonable explanation I can find for what happened can be explained away by changing one spell detail, which I’ve done to make this fit, and because the consensus seems to be that the devs errored.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: Character deaths (yes, multiple), mild language, canon-typical violence, SUPER suggestive content (borderline smut? Like YA level), abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically)

It was a long night of soft kisses and whispered words.

“I thought I was going to die.”

“I was terrified that you would. You should have fought back.”

“I could never strike you.”

“It wasn’t really me.”

“And what was it, really?”

Rogier had flooded with shame. “A mistake,” he’d whispered. But Delia hadn’t been upset. She’d told him of the echoes she’d seen of the spirit with the katana. 

“Who knows. If it had gone on long enough, I might have ended up fighting myself, too. If not for Devin, I…”

They had shared deep grief over both D twins- the tragedy and heroism and needlessness of both. Delia wept as she told him how she’d found Darian. Rogier held her closely while he spoke of Darian’s stories of his brother, of their time spent traveling together.

“You loved him, once. Didn’t you?”

Rogier hadn’t answered. Delia had curled into his side, tucking herself beneath his chin.

“He loved you, too.”

Now she lay, exhausted, draped against his chest between his raised knees. There would be an awful kink between his shoulders when they moved, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He hadn’t woken her for the midnight watch either, too content to have her in his arms and listen to the steady rhythm of her breath. Besides, he was filled with a giddy energy for the first time. There was nothing nostalgic about this feeling; he couldn’t be absolutely certain, but he was quite sure that he’d never felt it before death or since.

As sunrise broke over the horizon, he committed every detail of her face to memory; every line, every freckle, every scar. She had washed off the blood and dirt in a nearby pool and, though he teased her mercilessly about cleaning her with his tongue instead, Rogier had kept a diligent watch while she did. 

She’d come out from the lake dripping, clad only in the loose shirt she wore beneath her armor, and Rogier had to fight the flood of his baser instincts. The wet fabric clung to every curve, transparent enough in some spots to showcase scars he hadn’t yet had an opportunity to catalogue. She was on him in an instant, kissing him feverishly and pushing him back until he hit a tree trunk and she pressed herself against him. They’d moaned into each others mouths, hands roaming, with Rogier’s on the bare skin of her hips beneath her shirt and Delia unlacing his jerkin for a delicious moment that ended far too soon for his liking.

“It’s too dangerous here, we have to be watchful.”

So they’d murmured to each other until Delia dozed off, and Rogier had taken the time to take her in in all her restful glory. She stirred as pale sunlight streaked her hair, scrunching her nose in the most adorable expression Rogier had ever seen. When she opened her eyes, they glowed up at him.

“You didn’t wake me,” she rasped. Rogier only shook his head, tipping her chin up to kiss her softly.

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“Oh, my.” Roderika’s soft voice shook, hands alternately fluttering at her sides and before her mouth.

“Oh, Delia!” She ran toward them, throwing her slight weight full into Delia’s waiting arms. “Oh, I was so frightened that I’d never see you again!” She turned to Rogier, smiling a watery smile. “I’m so glad you found her.”

“So am I,” Rogier answered, smiling.

“Delia, you must tell me everything. Where have you been? What have you been doing? Did Rogier gallantly sweep you off your feet?”

Delia and Rogier snorted in unison, sharing an amused glance.

“Actually, I think he- Rogier!” She cut off with a shriek and a peal of laughter as he lifted her over his shoulder, spinning to face Roderika.

“Indeed I did, just like this.” He spun in a circle, earning Delia’s fists on his back and Roderika’s delighted giggling.

“He most certainly did not, I was half-dead when he found me!” Roderika’s laughter abruptly died, eyes going wide. Rogier sighed. He lowered Delia, spinning her to face her friend with a gentle shove forward.

“Really, darling, you shouldn’t say such things.”

“Oh, Roda. I’m sorry.” Delia rushed forward, taking the young girl’s hands. She glanced back at Rogier, who waved a hand and turned from the chamber to give them privacy.

The Hold was quiet and empty, save for the ringing of Hewg’s hammer. Rogier searched the halls for any signs of life, but found none until he reached Gideon’s study. The old man stood hunched over old texts, absorbed in his reading. Rogier hesitated, considered going in, and decided against it. Instead, he found himself back at the balcony he had occupied for so long. He sat, running his hands over the worn wood of the bench, and leaned back against the wall.

To think, so many things had happened since he’d sat here last. He rubbed absent-mindedly at his chest. He’d never felt truly at home here, or anywhere else for that matter, but he’d returned here time and again. It had been safe, and D had been here.

D. 

He’d been content in his travels with D; at ease in his company, secure enough in his care and with D in his. There had been a trust there, and even love, as Delia had said, before they’d parted ways. 

But he’d still been restless, and their differences could not be compromised. And now D was gone.

He stood abruptly, walking briskly past Delia and Roderika and Hewg to stand in the recess before Delia’s door.

To anyone else, the space would look unchanged. But Rogier imagined he could see the faintest stain of rust there, on the stones.

He shouldered his way into Delia’s room, pacing the length of it. He tossed his hat aside, yanking at the strings on his jerkin to loosen it, suddenly feeling suffocated under the weight of his regrets. He crouched, ran his hands over his face, and breathed in.

D was gone, and he’d never know if they’d truly parted as friends. Delia seemed to think so, though, which brought him some measure of comfort.

He took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, D.” He felt a wave of guilt, about all of it; the things he’d said, the things he hadn’t; letting D walk away, and letting himself fall in love with Delia when D had gone on alone.

“We buried him, you know.”

Delia had startled him with that.

“What?”

“Darian. In Caelid, in a coffin in Gurranq’s Sanctum. I thought… I thought he should be near a friend. Someone who could protect him in death, until he finds his way back to us.”

He took another deep breath.

Not quite alone.

He stood to gather himself. 

“We… I said the Litany of Proper Death. I know that without the magic, it’s only words. But it felt right.”

He resolved to study.

He would learn the Litany, would learn the incantations of the Golden Order; would sanctify the ground of the sanctum and seal Darian’s tomb. Then with Delia’s help, he could return to the path to set death right again, with the tools to put to rest the restless souls along the way.

Nothing could have kept them together- one too set on a new Order, one too set on the old- but he could bend to accommodate this. He nodded to himself, finally at peace with his aim decided. He would see their mission through.

He tied his jerkin and collected his hat. As he picked it up, his gaze fell onto the crate Delia had left behind. He picked up the pamphlet he’d made her, toying with the glintstone he’d tied into it with a wry, self-deprecating smile. Then his eyes slid to the statuette, lying on its side amongst the wrapped ingredients. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand. He tucked both items into his satchel and took one last, long look around the room.

He did not think either of them would be returning soon.

As he stepped back into the passage, he could hear Hewg’s gravelly voice. Delia came into view, chatting with him with a pile of materials on the workbench in front of her, while Roderika tinkered with bells on her rug.

“The girl has come a long way. As ever, time and technique have made her stronger. ‘Tis good to see. An imprisoned monster does not deserve an apprentice, or a daughter. But at times, that's precisely what she feels like to me.” Hewg’s gaze had drifted up, resting on Roderika with a pride and affection that paused Rogier’s steps. The smith looked down sharply. “I've gone soft. And it isn't easy.”

Delia looked over her shoulder, eyes falling on Rogier. She smiled gently.

“No. But it’s worth every doubt and every worry.” She glanced at Roderika, smile widening. “Besides, she idolizes you. Now fix my sword, and maybe I’ll see why.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ 

Torrent was a sprightly little mount, but Rogier would be lying if he said the beast didn’t scare him half to death. It was painfully obvious that Delia felt no such fear. 

Where Rogier’s hands were gripping her waist, probably too hard, hers flitted between Torrent’s mane and the damp Liurnia air. She laughed as Torrent leapt from a particularly high rock. It made his stomach drop.

But he was close to her, practically wrapped around her warm body, and the sun shone down on both of them despite the chill breeze. They had just quit the Hold, heading north to Jarburg on their way to the Academy.

Rogier leaned forward as a high tower came into view. He pointed at it before speaking into Delia’s ear.

“Is that the tower?”

She nodded. “Are you ready?”

He was.

The path looped, leading them down through stands of trees until a doorway came into view. Delia took the statuette, but paused in the doorway. She looked up at him.

“Would you wait here?”

He started. “Wait here?”

“Please,” she said. She raised herself on tip toe to kiss him gently. “I don’t want to put your ‘immortality’ to the test. Would you let me go?”

With a huff of irritation and a few more kisses, he did. He paced the entire time, muttering and swearing to himself.

He counted his steps; he counted the clouds; he tracked the shadow of the tower along the cliffside.

She’d been gone for too long.

He was going in.

He stepped through the doorway and promptly stumbled over the… top? Of a doorway? He muttered and swore some more, picking his way forward to peer down at the… bottom… of a chandelier.

“Looking for me?”

He whipped around to see Delia standing behind him, smiling smugly. She raised her hand, and there, in all its glory, was the cursemark he’d been searching for for so long. For a long while, he’d nearly forgotten it, too overcome with the fear of losing her. To see it in her hand now, while she smiled broadly at him? It was everything he’d ever wanted, right in front of him. With a whoop, he ran forward, lifting her by the backs of her thighs to spin her around before pinning her to the wall and kissing her breathless.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ 

The trees and rocks flew by on the ride back up the hill. It was peaceful for a time. Then Delia leaned back against him as Torrent navigated his way down a dizzying cliffside using tombstones stuck in the walls. She laughed as his grip on her tightened.

“You… you just let him…?”

Delia laughed again. “Believe me, Torrent knows his way better than I do.” She reached over her shoulder, sliding her hand behind his neck. “Relax.”

He tried.

Once they landed at the town outskirts, he clambered down with Delia’s laughter pealing against the cliff walls.

“Not one for horses?” she teased, sliding to the ground gracefully.

“I prefer my own two feet, thank you very much.” 

She giggled again, turning toward the little town. Her posture stiffened, hand falling to rest on her greatsword’s hilt. Rogier reached for his rapier and staff, waiting on a sign from Delia.

“Something’s wrong,” she murmured. “It’s too quiet.” She stalked forward, drawing her hood up. Rogier followed for several paces before she put her hand back in warning. “Stay here.”

He moved to crouch behind a small boulder, eyes glued to Delia’s back. She moved carefully, pausing every few steps to look this way and that. Rogier was just beginning to grow anxious when she stood straight up, dropped her sword, and sprinted forward with a cry.

Rogier rushed down the hill after her, slowing only when he saw Delia cradling a familiar set of armor. As his face came into view, Rogier’s heart sank.

“D-Did I defend them?”

Delia was nodding fiercely, but Rogier could see the shattered jars scattered around them. “You defended them.”

“Then all is well... This fool proved his worth, in the end…”

With a rattling breath, he shuddered and went still. Delia let out a soft sob. She rocked back and forth, clutching Diallos’ head to her chest. Rogier put his hands on his head, at an utter loss.

A tremulous voice came from behind them. “O-oh! Coz! I'm glad you came.”

Rogier reached for his weapon, but Delia only looked up mournfully. A tiny jar stood nearby, wringing its hands and shifting its weight back and forth. Delia reached up an arm.

The jar hesitated before stepping slowly toward her.

“I won't cry though... I'm a warrior jar. A warrior.”

“I know you are,” whispered Delia. The little jar made its decision, kneeling and tucking itself beneath her arm. It reached out a tiny hand to stroke Diallos’ limp one.

"’The tale of House Hoslow is told in blood.’ That's the kind of warrior I want to be one day, coz. Even if I'm scared, I'll still fight to protect everyone.”

Rogier knelt on Delia’s other side as she began to weep anew, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and wishing he could put a stop to the endless stream of suffering that plagued her. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The ride northwest was blessedly uneventful. Rogier’s arms ached from the grave they’d dug in Jarburg, and Delia’s worries for her friend’s body and soul gnawed at Rogier’s mind. They’d seen no deathroot, none of Those Who Live in Death or any sign of them; nothing to indicate any threat to Diallos’ final resting place. 

Delia still worried. But without the proper incantations and rites, there was nothing more they could do. So they’d buried him, with Rogier promising to return to sanctify the ground once he’d learned, and the little jar bairn had planted each of the village’s rare flowers over the mound of dirt with care. 

“D’you think he’d like that, coz?”

“I think he’d love it.”

The Academy towers loomed in the distance, and Rogier found his excitement rising as they drew nearer. Delia had been practically silent since they left Jarburg, and he was worried for her. 

She pulled back on Torrent’s reins now, slowing their progess. 

“I…” Her fingers clenched the reins, and Rogier could feel her muscles tense beneath his hands. “I need to see someone,” she said. 

“Alright,” he said cautiously. “Then let’s go see them.”

She turned in the saddle to look more fully at him. “You don’t want me to leave you at the Academy?”

“No.” The swiftness of his answer surprised even him. “I want to go with you.”

She crooked a half smile. “Not dying to study the cursemark, then? Now that you’ve finally gotten your hands on it?”

He was, they both knew it. He wanted to be near her more, though.

“There’ll be time for that later.”

She smiled, and kissed him softly, and then clicked her tongue at Torrent. The steed loped off to the west, toward a crumbling ruin that could hardly be seen for the surrounding mist. It was a short, silent ride, and not long until Rogier understood that things had, once again, gone wrong. 

“Oh, Iji,” Delia breathed. 

She slid from Torrent’s back, padding to the corpse of a troll, wreathed in wicked red and black flames. She laid a hand on one of its massive arms, looking up sorrowfully. Whatever she murmured, Rogier did not hear. She stood silent for several long moments while he and Torrent waited, giving her space. Then she turned back and mounted up. 

“They’ll pay,” she said. 

“Who?”

“All of them. The Outer Will, the Two Fingers, the Black Knives. Everyone responsible for Iji, for Blaidd. For Ranni’s suffering. For theirs. For mine.”

Her voice was flat and cold, and Rogier felt a tinge of anxiety along with shared sorrow. He laid a gentle hand on her leg, wrapping the other around her waist. 

“I’m sorry.” It was an empty platitude, and they both knew it, but Delia seemed to take some comfort from it anyway. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Ta-da!” sang Delia, spinning with her arms raised over her head. She smiled wide. “What do you think?”

Rogier raised an eyebrow, barely able to surprise a smirk. “Of?”

Delia smacked him lightly on the arm. “Of the library, you dolt.”

He looked up and around. “I think it’s the most incredible library I’ve ever seen.” He smiled down at her. “And I think I saw it before, when I was searching far and wide for you.”

Delia stared at him blankly. “I suppose I never did ask how you found me.”

Rogier stepped forward, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Her mood had brightened considerably upon their arrival, and he was loathe to let her slip back into heartache. “I don’t know how, but I think I felt that I was following in your footsteps.”

Her face screwed up. “That’s what it’s like for me, following sites of grace.”

He smiled. “One might say that you are my saving grace. After all, it’s by your grace that I’m still here.”

Delia snickered, turning to walk away, but Rogier grabbed her arm. Her expression was puzzled for a moment until he pulled her closer by her waist, tilting her head up. He was suddenly overcome with desire, reignited now that they were in relative safety. “Thank you, he whispered. He brought his mouth down over hers, swallowing her gasp of delight. He kissed across her cheek to her ear, nuzzling just behind it. 

“When do we need to leave?”

Delia shivered. “We?” She gasped. He kissed the tender flesh under her jaw, letting his teeth drag across her skin down her neck. He slipped his fingers beneath the hood of her cloak, pulling the material away so he could nip lightly at her throat. Delia’s breath came raggedly.

“Yes, we.” He could feel her heartbeat speeding beneath his arm, her hands fluttering at the laces of his jerkin. “You didn’t think I planned on letting you go ever again, did you?” He let both hands slide around her body to the cunning clasps beneath her cloak. He deftly unhooked the first two, with Delia’s shallow breaths like music in his ears.

“You don’t-” she gasped again, then continued with difficulty. “You don’t want to stay and study the- by Marika- the cursemark?” He’d backed her slowly up to a bookshelf, pressing his body against hers. There would be no hiding what he wanted now.

“I think,” he murmured against her throat, “That I’d rather study you.” He’d made his way under her chestplate now, fingers sliding over soft skin as he pressed harder against her. Delia’s hands were wrapped firmly around his shoulders, dragging them closer together as she keened softly, arching against him. “And besides, there’ll be time for that later,” he repeated.

“I have… there’s a den that I thought… Rogier,” she breathed as he reached for her backside, pulling her up his body. 

“Lead on,” he whispered. She nodded over his shoulder, pointing to a doorway close by. He strode purposefully toward it, toeing open the heavy door she indicated as she unlaced his jerkin. By the time he got the door shut behind them, she’d swept off his hat and hood and had his shirt halfway up his waist, lips attached to his pulse point. It made him dizzy. 

He turned, searching for any surface that would fit their purposes, and saw a heavy oaken desk in the corner. He unceremoniously deposited her on it, sweeping the neatly stacked papers back in one motion. He yanked his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside, and preened a bit under her hungry gaze. She reached for him, dragging him closer by his waistband. He dipped down to capture her lips again, sliding his tongue into her mouth and breathing in the taste of her. He made quick work of her armor, dragging her greaves down long, lean legs and yanking them off along with her boots.

Delia’s hands shook as she tried to unlace his trousers, giving him pause for the first time in the heated exchange. He took her hands in his. 

“Delia, we don’t have to-”

“I want to,” she breathed, leaning up to kiss him again. He sighed before forcing himself back. 

“We can wait, if you’re not ready.”

She’d gotten her hands into his trousers now, making his head swim as she ran them lightly over him. She pulled down the offending garment, leaving him to toe off his boots while she kissed him feverishly. “We’ve waited long enough,” she panted, peppering kisses over his face. “Don’t you think?”

She grasped him and all conscious thought fled. He nodded dumbly, leaning forward to kiss her deeply. Her legs came up around him as he pressed forward. His hands cradled her face while hers pulled lightly at his hair. They were a moaning, fumbling mess; all breathless whispers and sloppy kisses with Delia’s teeth marking his shoulder and his lips marking her throat. It was too much and not enough, unbearably close and unattainably far away, the heat of lust tempered by the cool comfort of devotion; and when she came undone, moaning his name in his ear, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard or seen, and her grip pulled him after her in an all-consuming flash of white.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

He did study her, after- first with his hands and tongue, and after she’d fallen asleep, with his eyes. She was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.

And she loved him.

They lay on the floor on a pile of their clothes, still wrapped around each other. Rogier had never felt so at peace- with the world, with himself, with his lot in life. He closed his eyes, pulling Delia ever so slightly closer. In her sleep, she curled into him, leg sliding between his and hand gripping his side. He reveled in this moment, in finally having her in more than his dreams.

He cracked his eyes open, searching for some sign as to the time of day. He found none. He considered for a long moment. There was so much to do, for both of them- a mountain of spells to learn, a throne to claim, a crooked world to set right.

He closed his eyes, turning to nuzzle Delia’s hair. He kissed her head lightly.

All of that could wait another day.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Fifteen

Summary: While Delia fights for her life, Rogier fights for a chance at her love. With a little blood and a lot of heartbreak, maybe they’ll finally reach each other.

Author’s Notes: 3.3K words! Obviously, I’ve completely mangled (a whole interaction and) the order of events for a certain in-game fight scene. But this is my story and I can do all of the things I want this way, so if you noticed, no you didn’t. 😉

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: suicide (minor character; brief description and brief references, including a non-explicit explanation), mild language, canon-typical violence, abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically)

Rogier beat against the barrier and shouted for Delia until his fists were bruised and his voice was hoarse. She obviously couldn’t hear him.

She had backed away from the shade of him, sword hanging limply at her side. He could just make out her mouth moving, though he could not hear her. He could only hear the blood roaring in his ears. 

The spirit lifted its rapier, and Rogier froze. The blade phalanx rose around it. Delia took a step back, raising her hand between them in warning. Her sword hand twitched, but she did not lift it.

There was a horrible, long moment of waiting. 

Then, the spirit lunged. Delia’s blade came up, blocking the blow, before she stepped forward and vanished, reappearing two paces back. She rolled when the phalanx launched toward her, narrowly escaping its beams. Rogier closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and searched his memory for any spell that might shatter this barrier. He opened his eyes.

He had nothing.

Despair filled him as he watched Delia. She fought, but defensively. She had yet to swing at the spirit before her.

“She wouldn’t hurt me,” Rogier whispered as understanding dawned. Ice filled his veins as Fia lifted her hands. Delia’s head snapped in her direction as three more spirits rose from the ground.

It gave his spirit ash an opening.

It thrust under her guard, drawing blood from her side. Rogier shouted as she flinched back, curling instinctively over the wound.

Scarlet dripped to the ground.

Rogier began to scrabble at the barrier again. He picked a direction and followed it.

It must end somewhere.

He tried to focus on finding a weakness, but he couldn’t keep his attention from Delia. She darted gracefully, backstepping and lunging, swinging her blade in wide arcs that kept the spirits at bay.

“Split them up,” he murmured.

As though she could hear him, she did.

In his peripheral vision, he saw her slide between the spirits, knocking one back with a mighty blow. The moment it hit the ground, she was upon it, severing its spine in a devastating slash downward.

She flipped backward, distancing herself from his spirit ash and the others. The glintblade phalanx rained down around her and she rolled, again and again, just out of its reach. The largest of the spirit ashes raised a staff, casting a Death spell that Rogier did not recognize.

Delia whirled from her course, only to step into the swing of a spirit ash with a vicious katana.

Rogier froze as she went down on one knee. Before he could move, she was up, spinning back and distancing herself again. She tipped back a glowing crimson flask, rolled her shoulders, and raised her sword. Rogier choked on a relieved half-laugh.

That laugh caught in his throat when Delia raised a tiny, silvery bell. Before her rose a wispy figure wielding a familiar knife and wearing a familiar hood. 

The Black Knife Assassin vanished as quickly as she’d appeared, only to reappear behind the largest of the spirits. She reached around him, blade sliding neatly between plates of armor. Delia flitted forward, swinging her sword down with both hands like a hammer. She dented the large spirit’s armor with the force of her blow. Then she was retreating, defensive again as Rogier’s own spirit ash advanced on her. The large spirit tossed the assassin aside as though she weighed nothing, turning toward Delia. 

She had turned to the spirit with the katana, trading blow for blow. She was beating it back with her heavier weapon, but was forced to dodge a strike from the largest spirit’s épée. 

There was a surreal moment where Rogier saw Delia as she had been the first time he’d seen her- a slim shadow vaulting through a window far too tall for her to have reasonably reached; a phantom flitting beneath the feet of god eatin easily thrice her size. Her movements were so fluid, so graceful, that the weapon in her hand hardly mattered. She hadn’t needed a fancy sword then, and she did not need one now. 

But to watch her wield one was a thing of beauty. 

In a flurry of movement too quick for him to follow, she’d disengaged and come back to cleave the head from the shoulders of the katana-wielding spirit. 

“Yes,” he whispered. He’d abandoned his search for a weakness in the barrier, pressing both hands against its surface with his eyes glued to Delia. In his peripheral vision, he could see his spirit ash locked in a fatal dance with the Black Knife Assassin. 

Good. 

Delia and the large spirit circled each other cautiously. Neither seemed keen to make the first move. 

Rogier was just beginning to get antsy when the large spirit swung. Delia neatly sidestepped, almost carelessly swinging her sword back. It drew blood. The large spirit raised its staff, but Delia knocked it from its hands. She flitted backward, out of range of a powerful thrust, only to burst forward with a heavy swing of her own.

The large spirit went down on one knee.

She advanced, rolling out of the way of a haphazard swing of the great épée, only to leap forward. Her sword came down with enough force to lodge itself in the large spirit’s dented helmet. It did not move.

“Yes,” hissed Rogier. He brought his fist down on the barrier in victory as Delia wrenched her weapon free from her slain opponent. Then his heart stopped.

She turned at the same moment he saw it- his spirit ash’s hat appearing behind Delia. She raised her weapon to block, but the ash thrust forward, rapier piercing her torso. Rogier shouted as her knees hit the ground, blade falling by her side. Rogier slid down the barrier, ready to vomit. She had slain gods and kings and he had done… what in return? His head was filled with a cacophony of nothing. 

After everything, after all this, was he to lose her without another word? Without an apology, without holding her again? Without begging for her forgiveness and her love? Was she to be reduced to another mark on the staggering list of his failures?

She would die because of him. And he would never forgive himself for this.

In a moment, several things happened at once.

His spirit ash arched back and was lifted into the air. Suddenly, Rogier could see the slight protrusion of a curved knife.

His spirit ash was cast aside by the Black Knife Assassin. Delia reached for it.

The barrier dissolved.

The Assassin turned to Fia, stalking forward gracefully.

Rogier scrambled to his feet, racing for Delia.

He shouted for her; she turned her head. She mouthed his name. The expression of shock and utter longing on her face nearly stopped him in his tracks, but he forced his body on.

Behind Delia, a shape rose from the ground. Rogier stumbled as it came into focus.

It was impossible.

A golden head, a silver gauntlet. A scarlet cape, frayed at the edges, and a greatsword of twisted metals.

He was dead.

Delia, still clutching at her waist, looked over her shoulder. Her body went rigid. “Devin, no!”

Devin. Not Darian.

But Devin wasn’t listening. His gaze was locked on Fia, who stared back in utter terror. What little color she had had drained from her face, and Rogier could see her hands begin to shake.

With a blood curdling yell, Devin launched himself toward her, drawing his sword. Delia hauled herself painfully to her feet, fumbling her sword hilt in her blood-slick hands. Rogier tried and failed to close the distance between them. Injured though she was, she moved with purpose toward their shared friend and foe. The Black Knife Assassin flitted in and out of sight. 

Fia raised her hands. Devin and Delia raised their swords. Rogier raised his staff. The Black Knife Assassin rose up behind Fia, lifting her sword arm. Fia flicked her fingers, spraying a black mist around herself. The Assassin crumpled and vanished. Delia swore. 

In a practiced move that made Rogier’s heart clench, Devin snapped to attention with his blade upright. Fia’s eyes widened as she turned toward him, drawing back to cast another dark spell. Rogier swiftly calculated the distance between them all. 

He cast a pebble spell, barely enough to knock Fia’s hand aside. Then, with a sharp breath in, he cast a spell he hadn’t used in an age and drew a Carian greatsword. He lifted it over his shoulder, then swung down with all his might.

The blow connected, but too slowly; at the same moment that a wave of gold issued from Devin’s blade, Fia loosed another black and golden cloud. Rogier felt his blood freeze in his veins. Delia shouted and turned, running back to throw herself at Rogier and bearing them both to the ground. She scrabbled at a pouch at her waist, pressing a dark pulp to his lips. The black boluses. Rogier’s heart swelled and he couldn’t stop his arms from clasping her tighter to him, even as Devin’s clear voice rang out. 

“You will know vengeance for Darian. The wrath of D…”

Rogier and Delia scrambled to their feet, turning helplessly to watch the scene before them unfold. 

Devin had closed the distance to Fia. He stood now, leaning heavily forward against the sword he’d thrust through her midsection. Fia’s face had drained of all color. Her lips moved frantically, but no sound came from them. 

Devin laughed breathlessly. “This is revenge, you witch!” He wrenched his sword free. Fia’s body tumbled back, unmoving. Rogier swallowed. Delia had stepped forward. 

“Devin, let me-”

Devin cut her off with a raised hand. Rogier realized with dread that he could see Deathroot wrapping itself slowly up and around his legs. 

“Now,” he said softly. “I can look my brother Darian in the eye.”

“Devin, he’s…” Rogier’s voice broke off. Devin turned slowly to face Rogier. 

“Honeyed rays of gold,” he began.

Rogier did not understand. 

Delia did.

She leapt forward with a yell that nearly drowned his next words. 

“Deliver my spirit.”

Rogier understood the moment Devin raised his sword, but was too late to stop the violent plunge of it. 

He shouted. 

Delia screamed. 

Devin’s body hit the packed earth with a sickening thud. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Rogier couldn’t tear his eyes from Delia’s face over the glow of their fire. Her eyes were dull with exhaustion and pain, her dark hair knotted and wild. Dirt streaked her face, blood coated her arms and armor, and gore flecked her from head to toe. 

She was the most stunning creature he’d ever seen. 

It had taken an age to drag her from the place Devin’s corpse had disintegrated before them, wailing in grief. 

It had taken another age to pry her apologies from her lips, profuse and wretched as they were, and Rogier was sure she wasn’t quite convinced that she’d been forgiven. With blood pouring down her side, his own apologies had been lackluster and sparse.

“Why would you forgive me? ‘I can tell a good lie when I need to’, that’s what you said before. How do I know you’re not lying now?”

The words had stung, but he’d said nothing. How could he? They were true. And as she said them, she fell unconscious into his arms. 

When he’d imagined finding her again, he’d pictured taking her in his arms of her own free will; pictured falling to his knees and begging for her forgiveness; pictured grabbing her and kissing her until she didn’t remember that he had ever opened a rift between them, ever pushed her away in the first place. 

Instead, she lay curled in on herself on the other side of the fire they’d built. He hadn’t pictured finding Fia there. He hadn’t pictured Devin's arrival or subsequent death at his own hand. He closed his eyes against the image, but it was there too. 

“I could’ve saved him.” Delia’s voice was hoarse and sorrowful. Rogier opened his eyes to see that she’d closed hers again. Tear-tracks streaked through the grime, the physical embodiment of her emotional pain. 

Rogier, perhaps disturbingly, but unsurprisingly, felt very little. He’d felt nothing but dread when he’d seen Fia, and less than that when he’d tried to kill her. He’d felt a sharp stab of pain when he saw Devin, but only because he thought he was seeing Darian.

He’d felt only terror watching Delia fight for her life.

Now, he felt empty.

What had he expected? That she would come running to him? That she would be overjoyed to see him, without so much as a trace of skepticism as to his sudden change of heart?

Not to mention the upset of watching yet another friend die.

“I know,” he said softly. “But Da-” He squeezed his eyes shut as his heart clenched. “Devin would never allow himself to be… tainted.”

He could feel the weight of Delia’s gaze on him. She said nothing, so neither did he.

With Delia’s flask empty, Rogier had been left to his own strength to carry her out of the Depths. By the grace of some higher power, he’d ended up at the grace they sat by now. Delia had come to long enough to replenish her flask and he’d sat for long minutes, tipping small doses past her lips until the bleeding slowed and eventually stopped. Selfish though the thought was, he longed for that moment of having her close.

“You’re not tainted, you know.”

He snorted in surprise. “I suppose not, at least any more.” He swallowed. “Delia, I-”

She held out a hand and Rogier’s heart sank. “You don’t have to apologize. I would have been angry, too.”

“I’m not angry. Not any more. And I overreacted to begin with.”

Delia only shook her head, and Rogier let out a huff of frustration. He stood before he could think about it and walked to her side of the fire. She looked up at him warily, raising herself onto her elbows.

“Woman, let me apologize. And…” Rogier knelt and leaned over her, movements slow enough for her to stop him.

She didn’t. “Let me…” he whispered. He reached forward, tucking one curled finger under her chin. She let him tilt her head up. She let him lean down.

She let him, finally, kiss her.

Maybe the timing was wrong; maybe she wouldn’t want him after the way he’d behaved; maybe she’d never wanted him to begin with; but no, he wasn’t imagining the hitch in her breath or the way she leaned into him.

Her lips were so soft.

His heart nearly beat out of his chest, but he forced himself to move slowly, to kiss her languidly rather than with the feverish urgency he felt. He spread his fingers down, curling them gently around the back of her neck. He braced himself against the ground when she pulled herself up by his shoulders, sliding his hand down to her waist. She’d knocked his hat off in her haste and now, she fumbled to untuck his hood from his collar.

He drew in a sharp breath as the night breeze touched his bare skin. Then her hands went to his hair and he could do nothing to stop the anguished sound that escaped him. His grip on her waist tightened as she tilted his head up, fingertips caressing his scalp. His eyes slid shut as she pressed closer, tongue parting his lips to dip into his mouth.

And now, now, she was really kissing him. 

And he was lost. 

Instinct drove him as his thoughts failed. He wound his arms about her, crushing her to his chest as her mouth moved on his. She abruptly shifted her weight forward and he found himself falling flat onto his back. Her hands protected his head, taking the brunt of the impact to the ground. Before he could worry himself, Delia was giggling, crawling forward to straddle him.

His breath caught in his throat. 

His hands roved her curves, squeezing and pulling at her as gently as he could manage. He wanted to devour her. He slid his tongue into her mouth, running it along the inside of her lip, and delighted in the shudder that ran through her

He needed her closer.

He tucked his hands behind her knees and pulled her forward, unbalancing her enough for her to stop kissing him. He took the opportunity to latch his lips onto the tender flesh between her throat and shoulder, biting lightly and sucking hard. 

She moaned, loudly enough to slap a hand over her own mouth, and Rogier felt a bolt go through him. He growled in response and, remembering his dream, he gripped her waist and rolled until his hips pinned hers beneath him.

She looked up at him, stunned and a little breathless, and he felt his heart crack with longing in his chest.

He lowered himself gently, careful not to crush her beneath him. He lightly kissed her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, and then her lips before resting his forehead against hers. 

“Tell me you love me,” he murmured. Delia’s breath caught, and Rogier froze.

He hadn’t meant to say it.

The words had been ringing in his head since Ranni had said them weeks earlier.

“She loves only you.”

It was too late now. He swallowed his detachment and his self-loathing and his fear and spoke, summoning the pitiful sum of his bravery.

“Because I’ve fallen in love with you.” He nuzzled her cheek. “You’re all I think about.” He kissed a new scar at the tip of her eyebrow. “You’re all I want.” He trailed his nose to her ear, tracing the shell of it. Delia shuddered beneath him, lighting his blood with hope and desire. “I was a fool, and I’ll never be able to apologize enough.” He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, mustering the last of his courage.

“You needn’t say anything, only please…” he took a deep breath. “I’ve no right to ask you, but please don’t make me go,” he whispered. Delia had begun to shake. Bracing himself for the worst, he pushed himself up to look at her.

Tears streamed down her face and Rogier’s heart sank like a rock.

Too little, too late.

He reached up to brush her tears away. “Don’t cry, darling. It’s okay. I don’t blame you.” He tensed himself to rise, trying to unpin his trapped arm from its place beneath her waist, but her legs came up to lock around his hips at lightning speed.

She pulled him down with both hands fisted in his jerkin, kissing him fiercely, and the embers of hope in him flickered back to life.

She spoke against his lips. “I love you.” His heart soared as she kissed him again. “I have loved you.” Her hands were all over him, running over his body and through his hair, pulling him tightly against her. “And I will love you.”

For the first time in his new life, he felt tears prick his eyes. He began to laugh. He wrestled his arm free from under her, squeezing her with all his might as he kissed her.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” she breathed.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Fourteen

Summary: Two painful betrayals have launched the future in a direction Delia cannot bear. Will her gamble pay off, or will it all be for nothing?

Author’s Notes: 4.3K words. We’re almost there, y’all. This is the chapter I’ve been dying to write for… well, quite some time now. Let’s get some answers.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically)

For a long, long time, there was only darkness. An endless, silent black, all-consuming in its emptiness. No sound, no light, no dreams. Nothing.

Then there was a reprieve- brief, and no better. He woke because something was… wrong. More wrong than the vines and thorns curled in and around the flesh of his legs, more wrong than the sinking sensation as the Blight pulled him under.

Something was wrong in his soul. It felt bruised, as though it had been battered against his ribcage, stretched as though it were being pulled out of him. He coughed. Something slimy and pungent coated his throat.

Some sound reached his ears, then- the first he’d heard in…

How long?

He struggled to open his eyes. The sound grew louder, a voice.

Delia.

The thought of her gave him the strength to finally raise his heavy lids.

“Delia,” he murmured. That wretched, soul-stretching feeling returned tenfold. He had the idea he’d doubled over in pain, but he didn’t think he’d actually moved. “What’s happened to… why am I…”

Something clicked horribly. He recognized what he felt slipping away- himself. With startling clarity, he remembered a tale Gideon had told of a sorcerer who dabbled in spells of control. Of a woman he loved, reduced to a puppet for the sorcerer’s perverse amusements.

“How, why…” His head weighed a thousand pounds. With effort, he raised it to stare wide-eyed at Delia. “Delia,” he slurred. His own tongue was rebelling against him.

“Rogier?” Her voice was desperate, hopeful. Something was wrong. Her eyes danced over him, searching for… something. His stomach turned. He had trusted her. He had let himself… He’d thought she…

She grasped his hands. It took every sliver of his fast-fading self-control to pull them back. She looked up, shock written over her beautiful features. Rogier swallowed bitterly. He exhausted the last of his energy and willpower for one word. 

“Why?” It felt clumsy in his mouth, heavier than it ought to be with his broken trust. “Why would you…”

He couldn’t get the rest of the words out; or, he’d forgotten what they were meant to be. Not that it mattered.

“No, no, no, no,” she whispered. “Rogier, no, please.” She fumbled with his shoulders as he sagged down, dragged into darkness once more.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Waking again was even worse than before. He felt searing pain like nothing he’d ever felt before- and he’d died, more times than he could count. He felt… run through. With rising dread, he found he could feel his heart pulsing weakly… around something. There was a guttural, raw, scraping cacophony of sound emanating from somewhere close by. He heard hushing. Something sharp slid from his chest. The sound cut off when he choked on a breath- he’d been screaming.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s almost over.”

Delia. His bleeding heart sang before he remembered- she’d seized his soul, somehow. Something wet and warm was pooling in his lap; something cold dripped from her face onto his hands, where they clutched something warm; her body.

“Ranni, please, hurry. He’s-”

Delia. 

He couldn’t make his hands let her go. 

His consciousness was swimming in and out of focus, the pain crashing over and through him in great waves that reminded him of the sea by the Church of Elleh. He focused every thought on opening his eyes, though it didn’t happen immediately.

Delia leaned forward, cradling his head to her chest. She was rocking frantically to and fro, humming incoherently under her breath. Rogier reached up, finally, weakly, and pushed her away.

He knew it hadn’t been a hard shove- he felt only resistance as he pushed, and had no strength to speak of. But Delia fell back as though she’d been bowled over by a knight on horseback. The bed creaked violently as she landed heavily. Tear tracks laced her dirty face. Her glowing lavender eyes were bloodshot and her dark hair was matted and knotted, as though she hadn’t combed it for an age.

Rogier’s heart clenched, and only the pain of it reminded him that she’d done this to him. “Get away from me,” he hissed. She scrambled back, nearly falling from the bed in her haste. True fear was written across her face.

“Silence, now!” He started when he saw the tall, blue woman with a snowy witch’s hat at the bedside. Two hands were steepled before her, and two more weaved magic through the air. “Thou wilt hurt thyself with this futile movement.”

Rogier’s heart was slowing, vision beginning to blur at the edges. He reached a hand gingerly to his chest and looked down at it, feeling more curious and less angry than he ought at the flow of blood that coated his palm.

“I think I can’t hurt myself more than she has,” he murmured.

From the foot of the bed, Delia let out a broken sob. “Rogier-”

“Stop,” he wheezed. “I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to see you. Ever again”

Through the blurring edges of his vision, he saw her flinch. The witch at the bedside said something softly that he couldn’t hear. Clearly, Delia hadn’t heard her either, because the witch snapped “I said leave us.” Rogier’s eyes slipped shut. “Thou knowest where to go. I will find thee when I’ve done with him.”

“My Lady-”

“Fear not, dear consort, I shall make him whole and hale. Thou wished it so, and I would not repay thine service in blood.”

Rogier’s blood turned to acid in his veins. 

Consort. Service. A puppeteer and a witch’s lackey. 

The words must have meant something to Delia. After a moment’s pause, he felt her rise from the bed. There was a soft scraping as the door shut, and then Rogier fell, again, into darkness.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

He woke with a groan, body and mind aching furiously. He raised a hand to his chest; it came away dry. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathing deeply. 

Perhaps this had all been a dream. 

“Thou’rt a fool, Sorcerer.”

He lurched up, dragging himself away from the voice. The blue witch perched on the edge of a chair at the bedside, ankles crossed daintily. A waking nightmare, then. No one else was in the room. With another sound of protest, he sat up and swung his legs over the bedside. “Yes, I am a fool,” he grumbled. 

A scoff. “If this is how thou plans to return her devotion, her tears are wasted on thee.” Rogier only stared at this woman, this stranger, at home in Delia’s room, at home in the Hold. Consort, she’d said. A pang of jealousy stabbed through him before he remembered his anger.

“She used me,” he growled. But his voice cracked, baring a glimpse of the pain beneath the rage. 

“Thou’st let thyself be used before, and for what purpose? Thou should be pleased. Thy lady has sacrificed all for thee.”

Thy lady. 

Rogier scrambled for his righteous indignation. “She sacrificed me, Princess.” He ground out the words before his voice became a whisper. “And… she is not my lady.”

“Then thou’rt a fool twice over.” The witch’s voice was cold, and her expression was colder. Rogier scoffed. He shoved violently off the bed, stalking forward to get out of this room, away from this conversation. Even now, he wanted her. Even after everything that had transpired; after what he had said; after what she had done. 

A fool twice over, indeed.

It took great physical restraint to stop himself running, following where she went. Taking her in his arms and forgiving everything. He never thought he might curse the use of his legs.

He stopped dead. His legs.

“Ah, and now thou begins to understand.”

He sat, quite hard and quite suddenly, on cold stone. He searched it for answers and found nothing.

The witch spoke again, voice lighter than before. “If mine ambitions were less, I might love her myself.” Rogier’s head snapped up at that, but she went on as though she’d said nothing out of the ordinary. “Alas, she loves only you.” 

“She loves only you.”

The witch regarded him cooly. “Besides, thou makest a fuss over nothing. Thy soul is still quite where it belongs.” Rogier’s hand moved instinctively to his chest, to the bloodstain on his borrowed tunic. “Ah, yes,” she went on. “Thine heart is back just where thou left it, cold though it be.” He felt dizzy, dazed and a little unsteady. 

“I believe I’ve misjudged the situation,” he said softly. 

“Oh, indeed.” Her voice was stormy, though her doll’s expression did not change. “Now, thou art whole and hale, as thy lady bid me leave you. Let it not be said that Ranni the Witch payeth not her debts.” Rogier blinked, mouth falling open. 

Ranni the Witch. 

He had so many questions. But Ranni raised her hands and was gone in a wash of magic before he could speak. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, staring at the floor of the Hold, before he stood on shaky legs. He looked down, running his hands over them.

No Deathroot in sight.

Delia had earned a favor from Lunar Princess Ranni. From Ranni the Witch. 

Delia… was Ranni’s consort. 

He swallowed, hard.

He had made a terrible, terrible mistake. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Oh, Rogier!” It was the young girl Delia had befriended, Roderika. Her hands fluttered at her mouth, at her sides, and then she raced forward and wrapped him in an embrace the strength of which he’d never have expected from someone so thin. Her next words were muffled against his jerkin. 

“What was that? Roderika, was it?”

“I’m so glad it worked, I’m so glad you’re okay. Delia was so worried, and so worried you’d be angry. She was positively sick with it.” Rogier was beginning to feel quite sick, himself. He removed his recently reacquired hat, worrying the sweatband with his gloved fingertips. Roderika had leaned around him. “Where… is Delia?”

He took a deep breath. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia, it seemed, had been well prepared for the likelihood of his anger. Roderika left him as he collapsed into a chair, cradling the box of things she had carefully packed. 

“She was afraid you wouldn’t forgive her.”

He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as he pulled out various items; the cooking pamphlet he’d made her; the boluses and ingredients she’d painstakingly wrapped; a strange, rather large statuette; and at the bottom, wrapped in layers of old clothes, a tiny, silver bell, glowing with a dim blueish light.

“She wanted to destroy it, but she’d been warned it wouldn’t be wise. That breaking it might hurt you, or worse. And I… I agreed.”

Roderika had looked sideways at him, gauging his reaction.

“And now?”

“Now? Well, I don't think it matters now. I’m sure you can’t be summoned with it any more.”

He rang the bell, softly.

Nothing.

He rang it again.

It chimed, but made no other noise, object, or spell.

He clenched it in his fist, and then set it aside. He turned his attention to the statuette, and noticed that there was a note tucked into the column at the base.

“Rogier,

I leave this for you without knowing whether you’ll ever wake up to use it. Although I’m not quite sure how, this trinket will lead the way to Ranni’s cursemark. I only hope that someday soon, you’ll come back and tell me. I only hope that you’ll forgive me.

I was frightened, Rogier. I was terrified of losing you forever, of letting you slip away. I did what I thought I had to in order to keep you within arm’s reach, and it’s possible that will be what keeps you from me in the end.

I cannot apologize enough for what I’ve done, only beg you to try to see things the way I saw them- that I might keep you alive, suspended for a time, in a body that could be cured and returned to you. That I might save you.

Please don’t hate me.

All my love, Delia”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Roderika!”

He called her name again as he rushed down the hall, finding her sitting at the great Roundtable. She raised her head from her hands as he skidded to an undignified halt, clattering into one of the empty chairs beside her.

“Roderika, I know I’ve no right to ask, but I must find her. Please…” He swallowed the bitter taste of begging for help. “Please help me.”

Roderika’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not still angry, then?”

His fingers twitched, itching to tap against something; to twist around themselves; anything but to rest, unmoving, on the table top.

He kept them, unmoving, upon the table top.

“I… don’t know that I have any right to be. Although I’m still unsure what happened.”

Roderika’s face twisted in some combination of anxiety and pain. 

In the absence of his own voice, Rogier was suddenly struck by the unusual silence of the Hold. He looked around, momentarily distracted. 

“Where… where is everyone?”

When he looked back to Roderika, she’d turned her face away. He could see tears pooling along her lash lines. 

“Everyone else is… gone.”

Rogier sat back, hard. “Gone?”

Roderika regarded him carefully for a long moment. “I think I should catch you up on what’s been happening since you fell asleep.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Rogier tied his rucksack across the saddle of one of the Roundtable’s horses. 

D was dead. 

He mounted up and set off North, on his way to the Academy of Raya Lucaria. 

Fia had killed him and fled. 

He pulled himself into the saddle, settling back and picking up the reins. He clicked his tongue and squeezed his knees softly. 

Diallos had turned to the Volcano Manor. 

He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself as he rode on.  

Nepheli had parted ways with her father, and thereby the Hold. 

Roderika had told him everything she knew; that Delia had depaired of finding the boluses and had made the decision to feed him the potion; that she hoped to wake him after curing the Death Blight; that the sorcerer who’d given her the potion had been killed before telling her how to do it.

She told him that Delia had fought the gods themselves to earn Ranni’s favor, carving the bloody path for her lady’s ascension to the throne. She’d fought Ranni’s mother and killed both of her brothers, scoured the underground cities, and slaughtered their denizens for just the chance to heal him.

And it had worked. 

But she’d already used the potion. 

Roderika had been at a loss- she worked with the spirits of the dead, not living dolls. But Ranni, a doll herself…

Rogier touched his chest, pressing his fingers to his beating heart. 

That had worked, too. 

Roderika couldn’t answer what he was now, but Delia had mentioned a sorceress she’d befriended who might know.

Sellen, the Graven Witch. 

Last Roderika had heard, the witch had moved to the Academy. And that seemed as good a place as any to start looking for Delia, so that was where he intended to go. 

The ride North was wet, but uneventful. In fact, it was so suspiciously quiet that it set Rogier on edge. He saw neither hide nor hair of any living thing until coming across a ramshackle lean-to near the outskirts of the Academy Gate Town. 

A blackguard stood by it, kicking dirt over a fire. He looked up when Rogier approached. 

“What are you lookin’ at?” he growled. “You trying to start something, mate?”

Rogier lifted his hands, shaking his head. “No, no, just traveling through to the Academy.”

“Academy, eh?” The blackguard scratched his chest. “You’re Tarnished, ain’tcha? Can you see it too, then? The guidance of grace, I mean.”

Too?

Rogier’s heart sped. “Did you say ‘too’? Have you met a woman, Delia?”

“Aye, that’s the one. Says she can still see the shine. I can’t see it at all no more. Makes no bloody sense anyway, why some no-name shithead like me should get called to the Lands Between. Cruel bloody joke, you ask me. But that girl…” He shook his head. “You a friend of ‘ers?”

“Yes.” Rogier spoke before he could question himself. “I’m trying to find her. When did you last see her?”

“Oh, mate, it’s been awhile. ‘Elped her fight one o’ them big wyrms up North, I did. But that’s been some weeks, now.” 

Rogier deflated, the spark of hope he’d felt dying out just as quickly. The blackguard stared into his dying fire, either lost in thought or unsure what to do with the morose sorcerer. “You want some of me prawn? Freshly cooked it is. It's yours, if you can meet me price.” Rogier’s mouth watered despite himself. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The meal lifted Rogier’s spirits enough to continue the damp ride North. The Academy gates loomed over him, dark against the setting sun.

He hadn’t crossed a single guard. 

The only threat he���d seen was a group of Albinaurics patrolling some distance away. They hadn’t seen him, and he hadn’t chanced moving any closer. 

Now, as he pushed the heavy Academy doors open, he could see why his journey had been so quiet. Bodies lined the Academy halls. Some lay in dried pools of blood, some hung partway out of windows

Rogier drew his rapier, proceeding with caution. 

An expansive courtyard held more corpses, sorcerers and Nobles alike, and impossibly, a mangled abductor virgin. 

Rogier felt dizzy, imagining Delia hacking her way through these forces. 

For him. 

And he’d told her to go.

He berated himself ferociously as he scrambled up a crumbling staircase, peering over the side. More bodies. He moved carefully along a covered catwalk, stepping into an alcove filled with greenery. When he peered further ahead, he could just make out an elevator. He hurried toward it, eying the nearby knight’s corpse suspiciously. 

He felt much less anxious when the elevator began its ascent, cocooning him within its stone walls.

It rose to a massive doorway set into the wall of a courtyard. One door was cracked open. Rogier squeezed through, mouth falling open at the sight that greeted him: books. 

Towering shelves were jammed full; precarious stacks tipped against every piece of furniture in the room; loose pages littered tables and desks and chairs and even the floor. 

He peered around in awe. 

“Tarnished, are we?” A clear, lightly accented voice rang out. Rogier whirled toward it to see a sorceress standing mere feet away, a heavy tome open in her hand. “Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for someone, a sorceress as well,” he said, gesturing to the glintstone crown she wore. “Her name is Sellen. Do you know her?”

The sorceress's already straight posture, impossibly, straightened more. “I am Sellen.”

Rogier felt his breath catch. “Have you seen Delia?” He’d meant to ask what she knew of primal glintstones, what she could tell him of his new existence. He’d meant to make small talk of sorcery and studies before asking after Delia. But the question burst from him before he could stop it. 

“You must be Rogier. A wonder you should turn up here.” He stared blankly as Sellen padded toward him, depositing her book atop a stack between them. She circled him slowly, tilting her head to and fro. “How did she do it?” she murmured. 

Wordlessly, Rogier unfastened his jerkin. He withdrew a small, wrapped parcel and held it out. Sellen took it, unwrapping it carefully. Her head snapped up when the colorful blade came into view. 

“Well, well. I suppose this wasn’t her first choice.”

Rogier swallowed. “What did it do? What… am I? Now?”

Sellen gestured to him, head still tilted down toward the blade in her hand. “This body, is it your true one?”

“My-” Rogier sputtered. “My true body?”

Sellen made an impatient noise before reaching up to remove her glintstone crown. She was a striking woman with fine features and dark hair. Her noble air was broken only by the scowl she wore. She waved a hand at her own body testily.

“This body is not my own. My true body lies dead, chained in a cellar miles from here. But from your reaction, I presume that body is yours.” She turned, stalking through the bookshelves. Rogier hastened to follow. “My apprentice must have then had help.” She cast a sly smile over her shoulder. “As I’m sure you know, she has no inclination whatsoever toward sorcery.”

“No,” Rogier answered distractedly. “No, she hasn’t. So then how did she do this?”

Sellen had stopped at a tabletop littered with scrolls and lenses, vials and herbs strewn over the desk and in bowls. She raised a lens to look down at the knife.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked. Rogier shook his head.

She scoffed. “This is a primal glintstone blade. The sorcerers of old would cut their own hearts with it, would transfer their souls to primal glintstones. No longer bound by death, they could choose a new body nearly at will.” She looked toward him. “Although I can see why Delia was so attached to that body.”

Rogier felt his cheeks flush. “So then how did she keep my body, if she pierced my heart?”

“My apprentice has made some powerful friends in her journeys. She must have found a sorcerer with magic potent enough to break the puppeteer’s spell.” When Rogier said nothing, Sellen spared him another glance. “You were marked for death. I presume she used the potion she asked me about and found a cure later. Since your soul had already been parted from your body, she would have needed to remove it entirely in order to ready the corpse. I admire her greatly, but as I’ve said, I believe she has no skill for sorcery. Someone else must have performed the necessary rituals so that she could replace your primal glintstone.”

Rogier found his hand once again clutching at his chest. Sellen spared him another glance and scoffed. “You’ve already been branded a heretic. Why does an immortal soul upset you so?”

He sucked in a breath. “Immortal?”

Sellen had begun chipping pieces from the glintstone blade, dropping them into vials and bowls. “Yes, immortal. Weren’t you listening? Now leave me to work in peace.”

Rogier took a step forward. “Please, just tell me where to find her.” Sellen straightened and turned to face him for the first time since he’d handed her the blade. She studied him for a long moment.

“She was to go to the Capital. I know no more than that.” 

Rogier breathed a quick thanks, turning for the door.

“And sorcerer?” He looked over his shoulder at Sellen. Her gaze had fallen, an expression of concern marring her otherwise pretty face. “Please do make sure no ills fall upon her. I’ve grown… quite fond of her.”

Rogier nodded solemnly, cast one last, longing look around the library, and then raced from the Academy.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

He couldn’t say exactly how he’d gotten here- following the path of least resistance, following the path he could best imagine Delia taking. 

Some remnant of Grace, perhaps. 

He put the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter. 

He was on the right track. He had run and crawled his way through sewers and tunnels, over pipes and under gates, down halls and past a towering set of doors to stand at a ledge overlooking a great system of roots.

He could feel her here, as though her presence tugged at the root of his soul. More than that, he could see where she had been- not only in the blood and corpses that littered the path she’d made, although there were certainly plenty of both. 

He could see echoes of her everywhere. Fighting, climbing, dropping from root to root. 

She’d been here, and recently. 

He made his way carefully down until reaching solid ground, only to find himself climbing again not long after. He followed his gut up a precarious path leading from one massive root to another. At the top, he took a moment to look out across the underground expanse. The towers, the lakes, the roots themselves- all of it would be beautiful, if not for the putrid yellow mist that permeated the depths.

He turned again, stepping through a yawning gap in the roots, and felt his heart turn to ice. In the distance, he could see the heinous, melted face of the Prince of Death, grown into and through the Erdtree’s roots. And at the foot of the roots…

Delia.

His heart skipped back to life. She was fighting, locked in a vicious dance with a shade whose features he couldn’t see. He cried her name, running forward as he drew his rapier. 

He came to an abrupt, painful, and undignified stop halfway across the space. Some unseen barrier blocked his way forward. It wasn’t quite invisible; the scene before him was slightly warped, nearly opaque in comparison to its backdrop.

He scrabbled at it desperately.

He called Delia’s name.

Then, behind the chaos, he made out a pale, slim figure in a dark robe.

Fia.

She’d already seen him, it seemed. Their gazes locked as Delia swung her weapon in a powerful arc.

The specter’s head fell from its shoulders.

A slow smile spread over Fia’s face. She flicked one slender wrist.

Rogier pounded on the barrier, shouting.

He watched in helpless horror as Delia recoiled from the spirit that rose.

The spirit with an all too familiar spellblade’s set.

The spirit with his face.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Twelve

Summary: Time marches ever forward. Delia can feel it- racing beneath her skin, hounding her every step. She can feel it sliding between her fingers like sand through an hourglass.

Author’s Notes: 3.4K words! No real notes for this one. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically)

Liurnia was strange. It was cold, wet, and generally gloomy. Delia rode hard, hoping to find this manor and be done with the place so she could return to the Hold again. She’d only been gone a little over a day, but she missed Rogier fiercely. 

So far, she’d run into a strange girl, the strange man from one of the many caves of Limgrave, and the thieving Tarnished who’d stolen the strange girl’s necklace. There were strange frog men, and crustaceans larger than shacks. She tried in vain to keep to the dimly visible trail of strange lanterns in view as Torrent carried her through the dreary lands. Lucky for her, his step never faltered. 

She fixated on what little horizon she could see above the fog and the treetops, to almost no avail. And then the trees broke, revealing a crumbling and sunken village. She felt her hope rising before she heard a familiar voice. 

“Lanya... Lanya... It's me Diallos. Answer me, would you?”

Her heart sank when she caught sight of the body, and even more at the look of misery on her friend’s face.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

It was a mad dash North that found her gaping around a spectacular library. The Carian queen sat, stroking her strange egg, murmuring in her melodic, strange voice. She’d put up an incredible fight, but now sat docile and distracted. And Rogier had been right. 

Ranni was here, somewhere. 

The disembodied voice had sent chills down Delia’s spine. 

“Upon my name as Ranni the Witch, Mother's rich slumber shall not be disturbed by thee.Foul trespasser.Send word far and wide of the last Queen of Caria, Rennala of the Full Moon, and the majesty of the night she conjureth.”

Delia had searched the Academy top to bottom to no avail, and Rennala seemed unable to hear her queries. She left frustrated, casting a final glance back to the overflowing shelves and their contents. 

Rogier would love this place.

She only hoped she’d be able to make good on her promise to him. 

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

To think, she’d never have found this place if she hadn’t been rolling away from a stray spell. A great castle loomed, ramparts high enough to blot out the sun in the distance. She stood in awe. 

“Well. Look at you.” She spun, hand going to the hilt of her greatsword. “We don't receive many visitors. I presume you are a Tarnished. What brings you here?”

A great troll, sat by a great anvil. 

“A venerable blacksmith who's a little on the large side”, Blaidd had said. 

“Oh, pardon me. It's hardly my place to ask, is it. I am Iji. A blacksmith who once served the Carian royals.” She perked her ears at that. “An old codger who refuses to retire his rusty hammer. So, here I am, still quietly plying my trade, on this spot. Perhaps you'd like a display? These bones are old, but still able.”

“Iji,” she bowed slightly. “My name is Delia. Blaidd sent me.”

The troll recoiled slightly in shock. “Blaidd actually did that, did he? Quite a rare occurrence, for such a guarded soul as he. Perhaps he sensed something unusual about you. At any rate, if you're friendly with Blaidd, I've something else that might suit you.”

And with that, she’d made another new friend. 

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Iji had not exaggerated the manor’s defenses. Without his warnings, she’d have woken at the nearest grace numerous times. Even with the knowledge, she'd nearly been knocked from Torrent’s back repeatedly. He seemed to have a sixth sense as to where the beams would crash down, skillfully dodging each and every one while Delia held on for dear life. 

The manor grounds were no better. They crawled with grotesque, disembodied hands that scuttled over the paths, leaping this way and that and casting awful holding spells. 

And at the end, a spectral knight on horseback with a bow twice as long as Delia was tall. She found herself battered, panting, and bloody by the time she dropped her weapon, collapsing into the shallow pool. She tossed back her strange, magical flasks, letting their healing properties bolster her as she lay in the water. 

She couldn’t help imagining collapsing into her own bed beside Rogier. He’d touched her so tenderly when she’d returned from the catacombs with the Black Knife Assassin with only scrapes and bruises. Would he fawn now over her cracked ribs? Would he hasten to bind the cuts that lined her arms, oozing blood? Would he take her in his arms and press her to his chest?

She groaned as she pulled herself up, making for the archway across the courtyard. She rolled her wrists and shoulders, turned her head each direction. 

She stopped dead at the edge of the parapet. A great hillside with soaring towers rose above the mist before her, ethereal and haunted.

Ranni would be here, somewhere. 

She took a deep breath and stepped forward. 

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia felt a sense of sickening dread. Rogier listened as she breathlessly recounted her encounter with the lost demigod, but seemed absent and listless. The smoke green of his eyes was vaguely clouded and he didn’t track her hand motions as keenly as he was wont. He was too pale.

“I see... When Ranni shed her flesh, she shed the cursemark, too.” He paused, blinking slowly. “You know, not everyone would trust such a tale… But, if she in her current form is nothing more than the living doll you profess… Then perhaps it's true after all.”

His voice was soft. Thoughtful, but not his usual quick self. She knelt, reaching forward to stroke his cheek. He turned his head sharply, focused again. 

“Can you become Ranni's vassal to advance our agenda? While in her service, you'll be able to take a poke around on the sly and determine the location of her original body that bears the cursemark.”

Her shock must have shown on her face because his lips quirked in a brief smile as he looked down.

“I realize that I'm asking you to put yourself in grave danger. But I know you've got what it takes.” He looked up through his lashes. “Quite possibly the only one, in fact.”

Delia was already nodding. “I’ll do it.”

Rogier reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you.” His energy seemed to be bleeding out, concentration waning just as quickly as it had come to him. 

“Rogier?”

He looked up, eyes searching nothing before focusing in on her again. He grimaced. “I… don’t think I have long. It’s become… quite difficult. To think, to stay awake.”

She took a shuddering breath, drawing him to her chest. His fingertips skimmed her shoulders, her waist, resting tentatively at her sides. “Please…” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Please do be careful. If anything were to happen to you… I could never forgive myself.”

She pressed him closer, curling protectively over him. “I’ll be careful.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Oh, is that so? Thou wouldst render me aid, is that thy proposal? Affording thyself opportunity to grope about for the cursemark's location, no doubt?”

Delia stood very still. The witch’s mocking tone and templed fingers made her anxious, and she did not know what to expect.

Did not know what to do, should this fail.

“Very well...” She breathed out a silent thanks. “There's nothing wrong with a well-laid scheme. What's more, if my past and past wounds beckon to thee,I am curious enough to see what thy destiny portends…I'll allow it. Enter my service.And good hunting to thee.”

That made Delia’s skin crawl. But she masked her discomfort, drawing from her observations of Rogier to smile easily as she bowed. “My lady,” she said. “What would you have me do?”

Ranni waved a dismissive hand. “There is, in my service, a half-wolven warrior by the name of Blaidd.” Delia could not mask her surprise at that revelation. If Ranni noticed, she gave no indication. “I would have thee join him in searching for the hidden treasure of Nokron, the Eternal City. I have called for Blaidd to greet thee below. Take from him the particulars.”

Delia bowed again, taking her dismissal. But the witch spoke again. “Ah, and there wilt thou find Iji, my war counselor, and Seluvis, preceptor in the sorcerous arts, also.” Another shock, but this time her face was turned away.

“Heed not their peculiarities; feel secure in gaining from them what advantage thou canst. I am sure the others will be doing just the same. Thou needst not indulge them unduly, but they too wish to appraise thy worth.It hath been a passing long time since a newcomer entered my service, after all.”

Delia looked back over her shoulder, gaze slanted down in deference. “My lady, I am honored.” The witch said nothing, and so down the tower she went. 

She was startled to see a projection, rather than Iji himself. Ranni must be quite a powerful sorceress, indeed. He looked up from his reading at her approach. 

“Oh, so you were the one. Lady Ranni has explained everything. Again, I am Iji. The Carian royal family's dedicated blacksmith, and Lady Ranni's war counsellor. I am told that you are searching for Nokron with Blaidd. I will give you whatever guidance I can. And pray for your success. My apologies for the misleading words of warning. I never imagined that an audience, let alone service to Lady Ranni, was in your fate. I, for one, should have seen it, but I did not. Do forgive me, my fellow. Let us give all that we can of ourselves. Together, for Lady Ranni.”

This she accepted with grace, and continued down the tower steps. She was slightly less shocked to see Blaidd’s projection, but no less impressed with her new patroness. 

“Ahh, long time, friend. Blaidd, if you’ve forgotten.” 

Delia found herself grinning. “I could never forget you, Blaidd.”

He grinned back, toothy and lopsided. “Glad to have you in the service of mistress Ranni.” He straightened himself, smile falling from his jaws. “Well. Getting right to business… I’m still in Limgrave. The eternal city of Nokron lies somewhere at the bottom of this land. I’m planning to go below through the well in the Mistwood. See if I can’t find the road to Nokron from there…”

Delia nodded. “I’ll see you there soon.” Blaidd bowed slightly and turned away, and Delia went down the last flight of steps. 

“I see... You must be Ranni's new hireling.Yes, yes, I've heard all about you.I am Seluvis, preceptor in the sorcerous arts.I don't know what it is the mistress sees in a provincial Tarnished like you, but since we have the misfortune of serving the same Lady,I ask that you kindly try not to drag us all down with you.”

Delia bristled. “I wouldn’t concern yourself with me. I find it hard to believe we’ll cross paths… as I’m not certain how your services benefit our Lady.” She could sense the mage’s lip curling as he spoke.

“I reside… in another tower, close by. Come and pay me a visit… Should you wish to be of actual service to Mistress Ranni.If it were up to me, I wouldn't waste my time on the likes of you. But who am I to stand against the wishes of my Lady?”

She turned to leave, unwilling to pay another moment’s attention to the preceptor. But she found the doorway blocked by a thick, white mist. She scowled, turning up the stairs. Perhaps the Mistress had some final command for her. 

Indeed, Ranni raised her head as Delia crested the steps, fingers still templed before her. 

“Ah, allow me to forewarn thee.I shall soon enter my slumber. And it will be some time before I wake.” Delia’s blood ran cold with a sudden thought. “This doll's body is not without its hindrances… Still, I have high hopes for thee.I look forward to the good news when I arise.”

Delia bowed, mind racing. “My Lady, I would ask… this sleep… how will you wake from it?”

The cold eyes studied her for a long moment. “And why, pray tell, dost thou asketh me such a question?”

Delia swallowed hard. “My friend said… he believes he’s falling into a ‘fathomless slumber’. I… am trying to save his life.”

The witch hummed. There was another long moment that she studied Delia with a calculating gaze. “Mine own ambitions are mine only focus.” 

Delia’s head and heart sank. She squeezed her eyes quickly shut to stem the flow of tears. 

“But render me thine aid, Tarnished. And when mine goals are achieved, I shall see to thine friend.” Delia’s head snapped up in disbelief. “For I know the worth of a loyal companion, and wouldst aid thine campaign if thou proved thyself to me.”

Delia went down on one knee, clasping her fist to her heart. “Thank you, my Lady.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Siofra was stunning, untouched in a way the Lands Between simply were not. The water glittered, the expanse above was powdered with a thick dusting of what appeared to be stars, and the flora was abundant and lush. 

Delia wandered around, searching for Blaidd, lighting braziers and fighting the occasional beast who crossed her path. She eventually found him atop a hill overlooking the cliffside. 

“Ah, good to see you. Apologies mate, but I don’t have much to report. I can see bloody Nokron, right above me, but I’m absolutely stumped. I’ve tried all the gateways, to no avail… Perhaps it’s time to ask Seluvis? I recall that spiteful little rat acting like he knew something… Let’s give him a squeeze. Show him just how sharp my teeth are…” At her menacing smile, he grinned back. “I jest, I wouldn’t go that far. Besides, I should check on some things here. Leave this place to me. You just do what you feel is right. If either of us learns anything, we tell the other. Right?”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Seluvis was as condescending and spiteful as she and Blaidd remembered him to be. 

“Well, well. You're asking me about that, are you? The task was left to you and the mongrel, was it not? Not only are you incompetent, but shameless to boot. Well...there's no helping it. I'd like you to find a woman called Nepheli, to administer a potion. Even you can do that much, can't you? Find Nepheli, and ensure she drinks it.I except glad tidings, and soon. Then I will give you the answers you seek.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Something was off about the draught. 

Delia knew nothing at all of potions, healing or otherwise. But something was wrong with the one Seluvis had given her. She could feel it in her bones.

She paused at the Roundtable, looking toward Gideon’s office. 

She’d never liked the man, and her dislike had only intensified after he’d disowned Nepheli. 

Gideon Ofnir, The All-Knowing. 

She certainly hoped he’d know something about this. She forced herself to hold her head up as she walked into his library. He was, as ever, engrossed in his research and took no notice of her presence. 

“Gideon,” she said. He grunted, looking up at her. 

She held out the potion. 

“Is that potion what I think it is? Bloody Seluvis. I suppose he's up to something again.” He shook his head, looking up at her. “Oh, I won't interfere. You go ahead and do what you must. The Roundtable has no code to speak of.But, I ask you this. Are you really going to do the bidding of that twisted dolly botherer?”

Dolly botherer?

“Or would you rather hand that potion to me, and see if we can't get one over on the bastard?” 

There was a creeping feeling of dread filling her chest. It had been there since her last trip to the Hold, and it only intensified now. Her hand unconsciously curled around the vial, drawing it to her chest. Gideon scoffed. 

“Well, I won't force you. But I think your plan would be a dreadful waste. She's not herself right now, and though I have no need for her, she still has potential. Certainly more value than she'd have as a bloody puppet.”

A puppet. 

Delia recalled the basement chamber she’d found, littered with odd corpses in strange positions. 

Not corpses. Puppets. 

She felt her gorge rise as she stood, unseeing. 

She had to get out of this room. She turned, stumbling through the doorway. Gideon called after her, scornful words falling on deaf ears.

Rogier. She had to see Rogier. He would know what to do. 

She made it past D without any questions, barely noticed that Diallos hadn’t returned since his invitation to the Volcano Manor. Roderika looked up with concern as she made her way into the hall, but said nothing. 

Then she heard Fia’s soft voice from her chamber. 

“My dear? Might I ask something of you?”

Delia stepped warily into the room, keeping a short distance from the other woman. Fia gave her a strained smile. “Could you please find the owner of this dagger, and return it to them? A certain person gave it to me as a gift.” She held out a small blade made of twined silver and gold. A great portion of the blade had been eaten away by something corrosive and dark. Delia hesitated. 

“It's a very precious thing. It must have a special place in the owner's heart. So I would like for the owner to have it back, if you wouldn't mind.” Reluctantly, Delia took the dagger. Fia was giving her a strange look. 

“Is that all?”

“You dislike me,” Fia said bluntly. “Why is that?”

Delia blinked, pondering the question. She had no answer other than the feeling of constant deception. Finally, she said “I don’t know.” She turned, tucking the dagger into her satchel as she went. It reminded her of D’s armor. Perhaps he could help her find its rightful owner. 

She offered a soft hello to Hewg as she went, churning the potion and the dagger and the sense of impending doom in her mind as she let herself into her room. She expected Rogier to look up as she entered, but he didn’t. He lay on his back, facing the door with one hand resting on his abdomen.

She called him softly. “Rogier?” He didn’t move. 

Her blood froze. 

She darted across the room, barely checking herself from flinging herself onto the bed. “Rogier,” she repeated, more loudly. 

Still nothing. 

“I should tell you. Lately, I feel I'm on the precipice… of falling into a deep… fathomless slumber.”

“No,” she whispered.

She shook him, gently, then harder when he didn’t move. She called his name, a sob creeping into her voice as desperation set in. 

She sagged onto the bed, laying against his chest. It rose and fell, but slowly. Shallowly. 

She squeezed her eyes shut as the horrors of the day piled onto her. The potion, the puppets. Fia and that dagger. Rogier. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel hopeless and terrified. She clutched Rogier’s shirt as her breaths came too quickly. He groaned after a moment, barely audible, and Delia flew up. She watched him closely, but there was no other sound or movement.

She studied him carefully for a time, memorizing the planes of his face. She found her fingers dancing over his tanned skin and the dip of his cupid’s bow, over the tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth. Over his straight nose and straight brows, into the hollows beneath his cheekbones. 

She ran her hands through his hair, noticing the auburn in it for the first time. How had she never seen it before? Her eyes squeezed shut of their own volition. 

She couldn’t lose him. 

She wanted him always, longed to hear his rich voice and the excitement in it when something piqued his interest. She was desperate to watch the spark in his jade eyes dance when he spoke of histories and conspiracies. 

She should have kissed him when she had the chance. 

But she hadn’t. So she lay her head on his chest and wept until exhaustion overtook her.