Chapter Text
It's been a long time. The deserter thought as he entered the mausoleum. He could see the corpses of his former brethren scattered about, and bowed his head. He supposed that he would’ve considered himself lucky not to share their fate, but not anymore. He would be craven no longer.
He tossed aside the weapons that had carried him so far. The weapons of a coward. He wouldn’t need them anymore. Instead, he picked up one of the Watchers’ own weapons, the greatsword, and dagger. Hawkwood wasn’t among them anymore, but he had found purpose once again. He would follow the Path of the Dragon, and these weapons would aid him. He would honor his former brethren one last time.
He took out the Twinkling Dragon Head Stone and considered it. Such a small little rock, but it held the power of the everlasting dragons of old. He’d fought alongside that Unkindled up Archdragon Peak to gain it, and now his path was almost over. He knew that the Ashen One had received the counterpart to his headstone, and had sent them a challenge, through the blacksmith. Soon, one way or another, Hawkwood would be free from this cycle of Fire. A dragon was not bound to the Firelinking curse, but neither was a dead man.
He shook his head out of his thoughts. He needed to focus on preparing for the duel. All he could do was practice, and hope that the Unkindled One had received his message. He remembered his training with the weapon, training that had gone unused after his first few fights. Still, it was there, and he relearned the weapon after a few hours.
He rested in the middle of the arena. He wondered if the champion had really received his message, but he doubted it. That Unkindled had proven Hawkwood wrong when he’d returned three of the Lords of Cinder to their thrones. They needn’t bother with a deserter who had only just regained his confidence.
However, the sound of a bonfire flaring filled the room, and Hawkwood smirked as he rose from his position. The Unkindled had proven him wrong once again. He folded his arms. “I should have known,” he called out, and the smirk faded as he saw the knight with weapons ready, a sword and shield. He could sense the Unkindled’s distaste, mixed with wariness as he looked at Hawkwood’s own discarded weapons.
He exhaled as he unsheathed his blades. There was no turning back now. His voice became harsher. “Well, I've decided to stop running from my fate. Loathe me all you like, I shall take what makes you dragon." With that, the two warriors charged toward each other, Hawkwood swinging his blade down in a jumping slash.
The Unkindled visibly shook as they withstood the blow and attempted to capitalize on his opponent’s opening, but Hawkwood was ready. He dodged under the retaliating slash, then used the dagger to pivot as he swung straight for his opponent’s legs. They staggered back before the blow could connect, and the deserter could only chuckle as he saw the surprise in their posture as they recognized the fighting style he was using. He would honor his brethren one last time.
He didn’t let up, dashing forward with a swing that was stopped again by their shield. This time, the distance between them meant that there would be no attempted retaliation, and Hawkwood rolled forward and slashed with both sword and dagger, overpowering his opponent’s guard and biting through their armor, but they remained standing. He backstepped away before they could abuse the opening, but they anticipated the move, rolling after him and scoring their first hits, a slash to the arm, then a swing to the midsection.
Hawkwood grunted from the pain, but he would see this fight through to the end. He swung his greatsword back to keep them at bay, then took out his flask, drinking only enough to heal his wounds. The Ashen One didn’t follow suit, instead of charging forward with another slash, but Hawkwood caught the blow with his dagger and tossed it aside. He could almost see the shocked look on the other undead’s face as he slammed his blade into them once, making them fall to their knees, then again, sending them sprawling.
“Loathe me all you like, but I am the true dragon.” Hawkwood declared as he watched them fade, sheathing his weapons. He was surprised if he was honest with himself. He hadn’t expected to win, not really after the Unkindled had slain the Lords of Cinder, while he had only just begun regaining his confidence.
Still, those thoughts left him as he walked over and took the stone left behind. He could instantly tell that it was the counterpart to his stone. Its power was fundamentally similar, but its feeling was completely different. The final step to the Path of the Dragon was right in his hands.
It was time to begin again. He took out his own stone and held it together with the torso stone, and Hawkwood grinned as they began to glow. He would be free soon. However, he was snapped out of his ecstasy as he heard the sound of a bonfire flaring once more.
He sighed as he turned around to face the Unkindled once again. He should have expected this after they had no doubt died again and again to achieve their goals. With his new purpose, Hawkwood did not have that luxury. He called out once again. “Ahh, there you are.”
He put the stones back into his pockets, then unsheathed his blades. He would not let them stop him from becoming a dragon.“This shall be no petty theft. As the true dragon, I shall take what is rightfully mine." He frowned as they unsheathed their own weapons, a parrying dagger and a blackened, corrupted, greatsword. It appeared that they were out to give him a taste of his own medicine.
This time, they took the initiative, opening with a low spinning slash. Hawkwood rolled through the first rotation, but he wasn’t expecting them to spin a second time and took a gash to the front. Gritting his teeth, he kicked them away, then used the dagger to pivot again into a spinning combo of his own, slashing through their limbs and even puncturing their armor on one occasion, but they escaped before he could finish the combo, his greatsword hitting the bare ground as he brought it down in a flip.
He watched them back away, attempting to reach for their estus, and snarled. He wouldn’t let them get away that easily. He leaped forward with a plunging swing, but in a fraction of a second their posture changed, and Hawkwood’s eyes widened as they raised the dagger. He struggled to stop himself, but it was no use. That single mistake had cost him dearly.
He was knocked off balance as the Unkindled parried his attack, then, not missing a beat, ran him through with the sword. The fighting had been long, but just as Hawkwood’s brothers had been humbled, Hawkwood collapsed on the cold, dirty mausoleum floor, watching his blood leave from the fatal wound to the heart. A faint smirk breached his face. The Unkindled was a true warrior, worthy of the power of those wonderful stones.
“You are a dragon,” he breathed, as his body became extraordinarily heavy. “More dragon than I…” As he faded away, he reflected. He had lost the duel, but he was satisfied to have fallen at the hands of such a worthy being. And now he could join his brothers in the beyond.
But it was not meant to be.
Hawkwood was suddenly plunged into darkness. He could not move. He could not see. He hurt everywhere but somehow could not feel if he had a body or not. Still, even robbed of most of his senses, he could feel his souls being twisted, yanked away from their resting place at the mausoleum. He panicked, fearing that this was his punishment for abandoning his brothers, an eternity of torment.
Then, suddenly, he felt the wind on his cheek and became aware of coarse clothes against his skin. He realized he had eyes, and opened them. He was lying on a faded red carpet with golden edges.
He took in a deep breath, then groaned as he struggled to a sitting position. He looked around. He was in an old chapel, worn books and debris littering the floor. The carpet led from an altar on one end of the chapel to a pair of doors on the other. Light filtered down from a hole in the ceiling. It was daytime.
What is this place? Hawkwood thought. Why am I still breathing? He sighed. No point in thinking about it now. He checked his wrist and grunted. No Darksign. At least he didn’t have to worry about his undeath anymore.
Still, he felt different. His souls had been changed. He could tell that they were still there, but the energy was different.
He shook his head out of his thoughts. He couldn’t dwell on every little thing now. He needed to find answers. He struggled to his feet, then nearly tripped over a weapon on the ground. He frowned. It was the Farron greatsword.
It appeared that even in death, he had never left the Legion, neither in thoughts or gear. He considered the weapon. Did he even deserve it? He had fallen to the Unkindled while fighting as a member of the legion, after all. He snorted. They had failed, just as he did, in the end. He’d take it.
He strapped the greatsword and dagger of the Abyss Watchers to his back once more, and he moved forward. He shoved open the heavy doors, and he was temporarily blinded. When his vision adjusted, his jaw dropped.
It was a tree. A great, golden tree.
“The bloody hell?”
It was blooming with life, and he could feel the power radiating from it. Even more jarring was the fact that there was no sun at all in the sky. Not even the eclipse in its horrid majesty could compare to this. Still, if he had had any suspicions before, it was abundantly clear to Hawkwood now that he wasn’t in Lothric anymore.
He tore his gaze off of the tree and turned his eyes to the surrounding area. He was alone on a windy summit, fog shrouding the view. If he strained his eyes, he could see a place shrouded in the distance, far away. Still, from where he was, there was nothing but the church and a set of wooden stairs.
He descended down the steps, then crossed a bridge, finding himself in a graveyard. At the end of the clearing, he could see a statue of a crucified woman
“Now, who are you?” Hawkwood muttered as he approached. He’d seen many statues before, but this was a new one. Whoever the woman was, she must clearly be someone important, going off on the long gown and size of the statue. Hawkwood’s curiosity was piqued, and he drew closer.
Only for his hand to immediately fly to his sword.
“It’s too quiet,” he muttered. He may have stayed in Firelink Shrine for a long while, but he had never lost his instincts. His eyes darted left and right as he gripped the sword tightly. Nothing.
But Hawkwood was no fool. He knew it would reveal itself eventually, and sure enough, as he made his way forward, a giant shape leaped over the statue and landed in front of him.
Hawkwood grunted as some dust was thrown in the air, then his eyes widened as the being’s features came to light. It had enough flesh for ten men attached to it, and he could hear the bones cracking in the thing. Many limbs moved about haphazardly, and throughout the confusion of its many appendages, he could see a face. It was carrying two swords as tall as Hawkwood, and a shield.
The deserter gritted his teeth. He refused to die again. He gripped the greatsword in both hands and leaped forward, slamming the blade down onto one of its arms before it could get its bearings, severing it. It screeched in agony, but Hawkwood did not stop there. He swung the blade lower this time, slashing through one of its many legs.
The being staggered, but then got its bearings, blocking Hawkwood’s next slash with a cross of its swords, and he was thrown back as a golden light burst from it. He managed to use the greatsword to catch himself, and he found himself surprised as he found it in a stance, slowly approaching. It was evidently wary of him, judging by how it seemed reluctant to attack.
Hawkwood smirked. Expecting easier prey, I see. He drew his dagger. If his suspicions were correct, this would be simpler than he first thought it would be. He took a stance of his own, and the two circled each other.
Eventually, the beast grew tired of the waiting game and leaped forward, stabbing rapidly. The deserter rolled through most of the slashes, but still found himself pierced in his midsection more than a few times, and he staggered back, panting. It began to press on, screaming and throwing him further away, towards the archway where he had first entered.
Heart pounding, he rummaged through his belt for anything and cursed. Where had his flasks gone? Still, he had no time to worry about it, and he was forced to roll away as the thing dashed toward him. He gripped the dagger tightly. This would be close.
As it came forward with a swing of its sword, Hawkwood swung the dagger and knocked it away. Gods. He could hear the bones in the thing's arm crunching as it was thrown off by the unexpected maneuver. Even then, he didn’t miss a beat as like before with the Unkindled, he slammed the blade into the thing’s head once, causing it to screech in agony, then again, knocking it over.
It struggled to get to its feet, but Hawkwood did not stop. He jumped forward and rammed his blade into the thing's back. It continued to scream as it struggled to rise, but Hawkwood gritted his teeth. He would not let it get its bearings again, jerking his blade and twisting it until it stopped moving.
He panted, as he watched it fade away from underneath him. Not the cleanest kill, but it would do. He made to leave, then grunted as he heard the clink of a sword across the ground. He looked down. The thing had left behind its sword and greatshield.
He ignored the weapons with a disdainful sniff. They didn’t work with his fighting style, and regardless, even if they did, they were clearly not made for combat. Still, he stumbled. Combat-made or not, they had done a number on him. It had taken all his power to slay the beast, and he was reminded that if he had not gotten cocky, he would have gotten away with less.
He shook his head. Still, what was done was done, and he needed to move on. He sheathed his blades, then continued through a second archway, crossing a bridge onto one last island of rock. He frowned. This was a dead end. Nothing but a long drop stood in front of him. He stepped forward, trying to see if there was any way to get down, then heard a crumbling sound.
Fuck.
The ground collapsed beneath him, and he fell to his death.
His eyes fluttered open as he heard the sound of hooves clopping across the ground. He could see that he was on the floor, in a dark place. He groaned. He was fairly confident that he was definitely not supposed to be alive now that he no longer had the Darksign seared into his flesh, yet here he was.
Body aching, he struggled to rise, eventually managing to do so with the help of his greatsword. He was still unsteady, but now he could see who was in front of him. It was a woman on a horse. She was dressed in a black traveling cloak, and Hawkwood could not make out her features under the hood she wore..
"Interesting," spoke the woman. “You recovered faster than most."
Hawkwood studied the woman in front of him. She was cloaked possibly concealing weapons. Though he felt no ill intent from her, he couldn't afford to let his guard down.
"Don't come any closer." Hawkwood gasped out. He could barely breathe after that fall, and speaking was no easier.
"You have no reason to fear me, tarnished, I mean you no harm." the woman tried assuring him.
"Tarnished," Hawkwood panted. “What kind of insult is that?” He'd been called many things in his life: fool, bastard, failure, but this was new.
The woman cocked her head. She seemed confused by his remark. She opened her mouth when all of a sudden Hawkwood fell to his knees.
It seems that fall did a bigger number on me than I had guessed , Hawkwood thought to himself, struggling to stay conscious. Everything was starting to get blurry, but he could see the cloaked woman dismounting, and a single eye staring at him in a mix of worry and fascination.
She then grabbed two flasks, one crimson and one blue, from the horse’s saddle. She forced them into his hands.
“Drink the flask of crimson tears,” She instructed, and Hawkwood did so, picking the red flask up and downing it in one go. He grunted. It wasn’t enough to completely alleviate his weariness, but breathing came easier at least.
“Do you feel restored?” The woman asked upon seeing his condition somewhat stabilized.
Hawkwood grunted. “A little, I suppose, but not nearly enough.” He gripped the empty flask. “I need more.”
“That’s all, I’m afraid.” The woman replied.
Hawkwood sighed. “It can’t be helped.” A thought came to him. “You said flask of crimson tears?”
“Indeed,” The woman replied. “They are used to heal Tarnished.”
The deserter frowned. This seemed too familiar. “Just what are the Tarnished? You never clarified.”
Melina raised a brow. “You must be new to this. Just who are you?”
Hawkwood grunted. “My name is Hawkwood, and I hail from a land called Lothric.” He raised his greatsword. “But what is your name? You have avoided my questions about this place so answer my questions about who you are at least.”
“Forgive me. I should have gotten to this sooner.” The woman replied, and lowered her hood, causing her features to come into view. She was youthful, and her hair was a light shade of red. Hawkwood had apparently not hallucinated her having one eye either, and a tattoo ran over the lid. “I am Melina, and I am afraid that I have not heard of this place you speak of.”
“Okay then. What about the First Flame?” Hawkwood pressed, and Melina shook her head.
The former watcher stared at her. “Then where the hell am I?”
“You are in the Lands Between. The land of Queen Marika and the Elden Ring.” Melina answered plainly
“Never heard of it.” Hawkwood said with a shrug.
Melina cocked her head. “You do not know of the Elden Ring? Even those from beyond the fog know of it.”
Hawkwood said nothing, and she frowned. “Well, your appearance here is most mysterious. But perhaps there is a reason for your presence. I offer you an accord, Hawkwood of Lothric.”
Hawkwood raised his eyebrows. “Oh? For what purpose?”
"To seek the Elden Ring." Melina said.
Hawkwood’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you get out of this?”
“You will take me to the foot of the Erdtree.” The brunette replied.
Hawkwood stroked his chin. The Erdtree must have been what he’d seen upon exiting the chapel, but still, there were many questions left unanswered. “Why search for the Elden Ring? You never told me of this.”
Melina sighed. “It's the purpose of a tarnished to search for the Elden Ring. The Lands Between are currently in chaos, and only one who is chosen by the Ring and the Greater Will–an Elden Lord, so to speak–may restore order.”
The gears turned in Hawkwood’s head, and he adopted a pensive look. He wondered what god would be desperate enough to make a failure like him a Tarnished. While he knew this was his chance to redeem himself, something nagged. “I assume that there will be a great many challenges ahead?”
The woman nodded. “You are right . Yes, there will be a great many challenges ahead, some even seeming impossible. Still,” She looked him up and down, and at his greatsword, still painted red with the blood of the creature. “You appear capable enough. I have faith in you.”
Hawkwood blew out a breath. He doubted faith alone would carry him through the day, but he would try, at least. If he could not become a dragon or a Lord of Cinder, then he would pursue his new purpose with as much zeal as he could muster. “I can’t promise that you’ll get the results you want, but I’ll try.”
Melina gave a slight smile, then offered her hand. “Then we have an accord?”
Hawkwood sheathed his blades, then accepted it. “We do.”