Facing Melina's sudden appearance, Gawain froze in place. A thousand thoughts swirled in his mind, yet he found himself at a loss for words.
Should he feel surprised, or perhaps a sense of lingering regret? Back in the game, he had often teasingly called her "Wood" or "Wooden Girl," but he knew better than anyone that Melina's emotions were deep and complex. Her concern for Boc the Seamster and her curiosity regarding the Mimic Tear in the cut content were proof enough of that.
But the mission she bore prevented her from ever showing it. In the end, that hand stretched toward the Forge of the Giants—reaching out only to be pulled back—spoke volumes of the feelings she left unsaid.
To respect her will and burn the Erdtree meant that the companion who had fought beside him from the Weeping Peninsula to the Mountaintops of the Giants would never return. Yet, accepting the Flame of Frenzy was an even greater desecration of her intent; even if one used the Golden Needle to suppress it, Melina would never reconcile with him.
This was the gods-damned Lands Between. Hardly anyone "good" ever got a perfect ending. From that perspective, the "everyone dies together" ending of Dark Souls seemed almost fairer. But now that he was here, he wouldn't let such a tragedy repeat itself.
Gawain opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to maintain a composed facade before her.
The two stood in a heavy, prolonged silence. Melina began to feel a bit uneasy. What is wrong with this man? she wondered. He was looking at her with such a complicated, haunted gaze, and she hadn't even proposed her terms yet.
Finally, for Torrent's sake, she decided to speak first.
"Do you have... some hesitation? I know the plight of the Tarnished in the Lands Between might make you wary of strangers. Please, do not worry. I can provide you with the assistance you require."
Snapped out of his reverie, Gawain suppressed his inner turmoil and responded.
"It's nothing. You just reminded me of someone from my memories. Long ago, she appeared before me just as abruptly and said the exact same thing. But she, like many of my companions, sacrificed her life to help me."
Melina fell silent. She wasn't sure how to comfort a man carrying such a burden.
"I am sorry to have reminded you of such sorrow," she said softly. "But I see that you still continue your journey, and that you still choose to help those in peril."
She glanced toward the resting mercenaries and the sleeping Irina.
"Because of that, I can offer you significant aid on your path."
"And what do you mean by that?" Gawain asked.
"As I said, I offer an accord. I mean no offense, but you are currently without a Maiden..."
Melina watched his expression. She knew that Tarnished who could see the guidance of Grace were usually accompanied by a Finger Maiden. She assumed that among the sacrifices he mentioned, his own Maiden had been lost. Fortunately, he didn't seem offended, so she continued.
"I can play the role of Maiden, turning Runes into your strength. So long as you search for the Elden Ring, this will undoubtedly aid you. In exchange, I ask that you take me with you... to the foot of the Erdtree. What say you?"
Melina waited quietly for his answer. She was fairly certain he wouldn't refuse.
In truth, Gawain had already made up his mind. He was simply playing it cool; if he acted too enthusiastic, he might scare her off. After a moment, he nodded.
"The terms are fair. I have no reason to refuse. I'm heading into Castle Morne tomorrow, and I'll need more strength to deal with those Misbegotten."
"Then we have an accord?"
"We do. I'll be in your care, my Maiden. Oh, and I haven't introduced myself. You can call me Gawain."
A faint smile touched Melina's lips. She reached into her robes and produced two bottles—one gold and one blue—and handed them to him.
"Then our agreement is struck. These are the Sacred Flasks. Take them; they will allow you to recover your stamina and focus in the heat of battle. Though you seem to have your own unique method of recovery, these flasks can be replenished at any Site of Grace. You need not fear running out. Furthermore, if you find Golden Seeds or Sacred Tears scattered throughout the Lands Between, I can use them to bolster the flasks' potency. That, too, is part of a Maiden's duty."
Gawain accepted the gifts. He finally had the Sacred Flasks. Using his Estus Flask constantly was a luxury he couldn't afford, as it drained his internal Ember energy. These "infinite" replenishment items would become his primary recovery tools, while the Estus would be reserved for emergencies—specifically for healing damage to his soul.
The "Face of the Prince of Death" beneath Stormveil, for example, was something he needed to watch out for. Those Who Live in Death dealt with things that could kill the soul itself.
With the accord settled, Melina's mood seemed to brighten. She offered her hand with a slight smile.
"Shall I turn your Runes into strength now? Your battles along the road must have yielded a fair amount."
Seeing the usually cold Melina showing such a rare, warm side, Gawain felt his heart flutter. He reached out and grasped her hand.
Taken aback by the warmth of his palm, Melina instinctively tried to pull away. She was conscious that her scarred hands were far from beautiful.
But then she saw him. Not just his hands, but his entire upper body was covered in the same ugly, jagged heat-scars. They hadn't been as noticeable when she checked him while he was unconscious, but the recent battle had clearly aggravated them.
"Those scars... do they not hurt?"
Gawain gave a wry smile. "Every time. But I've grown used to it. To me, the fire isn't a taboo; it's something warm, something to yearn for. Perhaps that's just the instinct of an Ashen One."
"Ashen One? Is that what you call yourself?"
"Yeah. It seems you and I have similar histories. We are both cinders from a fire that has passed. But a mission has a way of making the embers rise again."
Melina's eyes dimmed slightly at the mention of a "mission." She could only remember being born at the foot of the Erdtree and having a purpose. She had forgotten the reason why, after losing everything and having her body burned away, she was allowed to persist as a spirit. To find out, she had to reach the Royal Capital.
"I hope both our missions meet with success," she said. "I can feel over 5,000 Runes within you. Which attribute would you like to bolster? Just tell me. But be warned: as you grow stronger, the cost in Runes will increase. You should plan your growth carefully."
Gawain thought for a moment. He didn't dump everything into Vigor. This was the Weeping Peninsula—the "starting zone." He didn't have to worry about being one-shot before he could even trigger his Embers. For the upcoming battle at Castle Morne, he needed the stats to pull off wide-area skills.
"Put four points into Intelligence. The remaining two into Vigor."
"As you wish."
Under Melina's guidance, the Runes within Gawain were drawn out and reincorporated into his being, converting into raw power.
Starting with the Knight class base and aided by the Sage Ring, his Intelligence reached 18—surpassing even his Vigor of 17. He could now use a very specific, very effective pyromancy.
Melina withdrew her hand. Having it held for so long made her palm feel a bit damp, but his scarred hand didn't repel her. There was a sense of shared suffering between them.
She then took a ring from her left hand and gave it to him.
"Keep this ring safe. It houses the soul of a spectral steed named Torrent. Should you need to travel great distances, whistle with this, and he will appear. Please, treat Torrent well. He seems to be quite fond of you."
With the whistle handed over, Melina didn't linger. She vanished from sight, though Gawain knew she was still there, just out of phase with reality.
He found it strange. As an Ashen One who spent his days absorbing souls, why couldn't he sense a spirit? Was his perception too low, or did Melina have her own ways of hiding?
Regardless, it didn't matter. He didn't want to die to see if he could respawn, but carrying so many Runes was a burden. Now they were part of him.
Setting the Sacred Flasks aside, Gawain changed into the gear he'd bought from the merchant: Scaled Armor, an Iron Helm, Iron Gauntlets, and Leather Trousers. These items weren't actually as expensive as the game made them seem. In fact, after sharing some of the loot from the Misbegotten with the merchant, the man had basically given them to him for free.
He finally looked like a proper warrior. No, he thought, once I get to the castle, I'm getting a set of Banished Knight armor from the Castellan.
Fully geared, he hooked the flasks to his belt and kept the rings on his fingers. After recovering at the Grace, he emerged from the spiritual space.
Outside, hardly any time had passed. The mercenaries were still clearing the battlefield. Gawain looked up at the stars, waiting for dawn. His hand flickered with pyromantic flame as he practiced his forms. He was much weaker than he used to be; he had to adapt his combat style.
Inside Castle Morne, Castellan Edgar leaned against the ramparts and sighed. He had just led his men in repelling another Misbegotten ambush. He felt no relief—only a numb fury and a body at the brink of collapse.
A soldier approached with a torch, reporting the casualties.
"Castellan. We were prepared, so losses were light. Four dead, ten seriously wounded. The Misbegotten retreated, leaving thirty corpses behind."
"Understood. Tend to the wounded. We fight again tomorrow."
The soldier hesitated. "Forgive me, sir, but our supplies are gone. Weapons, medicine... most were lost during the retreat to the ramparts. We can hold for two days at most."
The soldier looked at the survivors huddled further down the wall. "If we redistribute their rations to the soldiers... we could hold longer. Or we could arm them with the cleavers we took from the corpses. They could help us fight. Maybe then we could hold out until reinforcements arrive to reclaim the treasure."
Edgar remained silent. He neither agreed nor disagreed. Finally, he sighed and dismissed the soldier. He wasn't ready to make that choice—not yet.
He stood up, looking toward the direction his daughter had fled.
"Irina... whatever happens, please, just stay alive."
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