It just happened.

   If pressed to answer when and where, Artorias couldn’t answer. Perhaps, it had always been present. Born too far back for him to remember a time he felt differently. It was a fact of life now, a constant in what it meant to be Artorias. The only true change was his awareness in it, something that had little effect on its existence; awareness did not mean it hadn’t existed prior. He acknowledged its presence, and almost wished to return to a time he was ignorant again. It brought anxiety deemed distracting and bothersome to someone who lived like him. It was an unknown he didn’t know how to approach, which made it a thorn in his side despite its purity.

   How and why, however, was something he found easier to answer once he had the courage to ponder it. People found comfort in exploring their fondness of something, and could easily explain why once prompted. Gleefully, they could list why they favorited a time of day or adorned themselves in a singular color.

   In Artorias’ case, he was not fond of something, but instead fond of someone. It was a different journey. It had history. A walk backwards with fondness led to a longing heartache, and an active imagination about what it would be like to have more. Something that people who enjoyed a mere sunset did not worry over. A sunset would always be a sunset. They did not need to imagine what more it could be.

   To say the least, love of a person was more complex than preferences and favorites could ever hope to be. It was why the answers to how and why took a special courage. It had the power to hurt, and to instill a desire that could never be met. It was easy to give into doubt and despair, and live with an emptiness that lived as long as the desire did. Even crueler, it did not stay just as history. It bled into every reminder and reinforcement why the fondness stayed. Against one’s will, it made itself known through strengthened palpitations and mysterious waves of warmth. It could force unbecoming behavior and be what makes an impulse a reality.

   After all, there was no mercy to be found in legends and stories that oft turned wise men into fools and experienced women into young maidens again.

   Artorias was not spared from these troubles except for one aspect. He had yet to make a fool out of himself. Except... degradingly, he had already begun to see his own feelings in of itself as silly and foolish. How could he let this happen? Was he not meant to be above such desire and distraction?

   But, once again, now that he was aware of it, it became harder to ignore. He wanted, as much as he tried to wish it away. He desired and dreamt. He loved, just like any common soul could.

   There was no changing it. He wanted Ornstein.

   Artorias had his list. His how and whys answered. It seemed obvious now why he was doomed. Certainly, if he ever dared to explain to another, it would only be seen as natural. Of course, you would love him. Of course, of course--- that is the best kind of love there is.

   His mind was most active at night, his back to the covers of his bed, and the cool air unable to chill his flushed skin. His thoughts were filled to the brim with reminders of why he loved Ornstein, and why the truth could never be denied again without becoming a lie instead of ignorance.

   Steely gauntlets knocked against goldened metal with the same rhythm one would use for a door, much to the irritation of the owner of the lion-shaped helmet who had been hunched over the list of duties for that day. A few lines had early been crossed off.

   “Artorias,” Ornstein grumbled with a lack of force that would surprise some. Truly, too used to such antics, and after all, this is just what it meant to be them. “Must thou intrudest upon my work? Again?”

   Ornstein’s gentle exasperation was met with a dismissive chuckle from Artorias. “If I waited until thou hast no work, no words would be spoken to thee again.”

   “Thou knowest my duties. Perhaps thou shouldst become familiar with thine own again.”

   “Completing thy duties does not mean thou canst not have a break.”

   This was their dance. Artorias knew the steps well by now. Ornstein’s chastising were hardly to be considered so, nothing but the lingering sense of professionalism being a captain brought. He teased and nothing more, and Artorias had known how to tell as such early on. It was easy to mock, and the persistent display amused the wolf knight every time. It was who Ornstein was. Change was unlikely.

   Beneath his hood, Artorias smiled as he saw Ornstein’s helmet dip in defeat--- a familiar sight in banter like this. Despite Ornstein’s resistance and contradictions, he often yielded to Artorias like he would to no one else except the highest royalty. Their bond was special, after all, forged through years and years of war and battle. They saw sides to each other that would be considered a privilege to see, aspects of personality that were near exclusive to one another.

   Ornstein sighed. “Thou hast an idea for this break, then?”

   “When do I not?” Artorias returned before he took lead. Ornstein followed without resistance, ever curious about what they would do this time.

   The pointed tip of a spear was held up to the vulnerable skin of a throat shrouded by a hood, while the end of a greatsword was slid beneath the rounded ends of a golden helmet. Both weapons stopped short of actually doing damage, serving their purpose of bringing thoughts of a loss and death as they pressed against such vulnerable places.

   “So, is this to be considered a draw then?” Artorias asked.

   There was a pause before Ornstein relaxed and pulled his spear away from the wolf knight. “I suppose so.”

   Artorias breathed. Mirroring Ornstein, he relaxed and pulled away his greatsword. Another draw, he thought. Disappointed that it had been some time since he was able to hold a victory over his friend. Better than a loss, he went on to reason to himself.

   When time allowed for it, sparring matches between the two knights was not uncommon. When a soul was warforged, it lived off the thrill of a good match as if it were a sport. The complexity of their challenges to one another ranged from hand-to-hand to full equipment. Their competition even reached more grandiose levels, bordering on pretentious, when they sought unorthodox methods to show off. Tests of accuracy with bows and arrows for example, a weapon neither of them favored.

   Artorias learned that if he were to hope for a victory, it was best he decline all challenges of jousting from Ornstein. Each time, he found himself upon the ground and with a lion knight whose ego was fat with satisfaction. The only perk to the loss was bearing witness to Ornstein’s pride and rare attempts he gave into temptation to show off. So rare of the captain to give into that it made Artorias laugh despite his wounded pride.

   It was one way to learn Ornstein could ride horseback standing.

   Artorias was brought back to the moment when Ornstein’s helmet thudded against the sparring room table. Artorias looked over just in time to see a bead of sweat roll down the creased brow of his friend. He also noticed that the fine line of Ornstein’s jaw flexed, a tell that he was deep in thought as he worked to remove his armor.

   They lived so much in their armor, it was a delightful surprise whenever their kind was not confined to ornate layerings. Not that he was to forget Ornstein’s features any time soon. It was merely… a treat to see them again, when he could.

   A treat? Why did he have such a peculiar thought? Artorias already found it strange enough he took such detailed notice of said details--- like how aesthetically pleasing Ornstein’s jawline was carved or the admirable condition his hair was kept in. Now he deemed it a treat. It was troubling, but he had yet to know why.

   “Thou leftest thyself vulnerable,” Ornstein spoke up suddenly, thankfully pulling Artorias away from his thoughts.

   “And I could say the same to thee. ‘Tis why it wasth a draw.”

   Ornstein grunted before he resumed stripping himself down to the leather he wore beneath his armored suit. Artorias did the same, devoting more focus to doing just that. Silence returned between them again. It was not until they were both left in just their leathers and neatly sorting their armor that the quiet atmosphere was broken by Artorias.

   “I want thee to accompany me to Royal Wood.”

   Ornstein slowed to a halt in middle of making his layout of armor neater. He looked over his shoulder. “Pardon?”

   “Next time there is more time to spare, I want thee to accompany me to Royal Wood,” Artorias repeated with louder clarity.

   “I did not mishear thy words--- but why?”

   “For a proper break. To be free from our duties, if only for a day or two. For… fun. Surely thou hast not forgotten the meaning of the word. A visit had already been planned. Only fair to invite thee.”

   “And what dost thou plan to do in Royal Wood?”

   “Speak to Alvina. See how her new hunters fair. It was my home before Anor Londo. ‘Tis a beautiful forest. I think thou wouldst think the same.”

   “This is something thou canst do alone?”

   Artorias sighed, disappointed the offer could not be simple to Ornstein. What else did he expect? He placed his hands on his hips and turned to face Ornstein. “I will not force thee to come, but it would be greatly… appreciated.”

   There was a stretch of silence as Ornstein turned back to his armor. Artorias prepared for a final decline, feeling that he had pressed his luck too much. He turned his back to Ornstein.

   “I will come,” Ornstein agreed suddenly.

   Artorias did a double take, head lifted suddenly. He was surprised and his follow-up was to give a doubtful “Really?”.

“Yes, I will.”

   There was a flood of warmth in Artorias’ chest. He knew how Ornstein felt stepping away from Anor Londo, and the importance was not lost on him. He swallowed. “Thank you,” he said with heavy sincerity.

   Ornstein waved, most likely to dismiss the knight’s flood of emotions, and continued on as if the conversation never happened. It seemed that was that to him, and Artorias said no more on the matter.

   Now that was a memory Artorias did not dare dwell on. It was not a disaster by any means, really the opposite. The time spent with Alvina was pleasant and her hunters were turning out to be true warriors. The forest thrived and he even showed Ornstein the peculiar white flowers that glowed in the distance.

   The one complaint he had that caused the memory to be avoided was that it was a hot, muggy day. They were in no danger of being harmed by it, but that didn’t mean it was not uncomfortable. In the last hours they had, remembering simpler times of swimming in the cool, crystalline water, Artorias suggested just that without thinking much of it.

   He didn’t have second thoughts until he was in the water himself and Ornstein stripped down to join him.

   Here he had been fretting over his notice of Ornstein’s jawline. Now, he had fixated on much more than that of Ornstein’s, and had to avert his gaze plenty of times over to keep his dignity.

   It was here he learned he was capable of such... base desire.

   Not to say he was depraved or drawn to those aspects of the body. His eyes kept above the other knight’s waist. The mere shape and definition of Ornstein’s muscles, the expected physique of someone of their kind as active as he, was what earned so much notice. Some would say it was hardly a scandal, but with the way Artorias had slowed and gawked in the waters, it was a blessing that Ornstein’s attention had not been on him. He couldn’t live it down if the other knight actually saw how Artorias looked at him.

   As a flush threatened to warm Artorias’ face, he took a deep breath and pressed his pillow to his face. Now he knew why he had such odd quirks for Ornstein and only Ornstein. He felt stupid about it now, the answer feeling obvious.

   Of course, you would love him. Of course, of course.

   The moments between Ornstein and Artorias began to feel less natural. Convinced that there was no chance, that he was simply a lovestruck fool, Artorias did not pursue Ornstein. The negativity burdened him, and without his knowledge at first, had begun to leak into his behaviors.

   It took time for him to see that his reception to Ornstein had grown colder, more distant, than either of them were accustomed to. Each draw and occasional loss drew more bitterness from the wolf knight. Their touches lingered less. He had stopped showing up to bother Ornstein during his duties, and spoke formally as a knight should when he conversed with Ornstein.

   In an ideal world, Ornstein would not have noticed.

   He did.

   It was evening hours when Artorias found himself sat upon his bed, puzzled and feeling as if he had been caught doing something illicit, with Ornstein stood in his doorway with a wide-footed stance and a frosty look in his eyes. Ornstein took one step forward and shut Artorias’ door behind him, and even turned the lock on the door for good measure with a hand behind his back.

   “What is wrong with thee?” Ornstein interrogated, tone ladened with accusation and topped with a cutting edge.

   Artorias blinked, uncomfortable shuffled his feet, and cast his gaze downwards. “I know not what thou speake---”

   “Do not,” Ornstein cut off with a fire that Artorias was not used to having directed at him. “Do not play these games with me, Artorias.”

   It has been a long time since he had seen Ornstein mad with such spark, and it left the wolf knight wondering why. Had his behavior been worse than he thought? Or perhaps he truly believed something had gone gravely wrong with the wolf knight and hunted the problem as was his duty as captain, dedication seeped into the bone.

   Artorias kept silent. Words did not come easily. It was hard enough to think of the truth, how was he to be expected to actually speak it?

   The continued silence and lack of response was not received well by the captain. If anything, it only served to vex him further. He took a few heavy steps towards Artorias until he towered over his seated position. He looked down, a crease between his brows and upper lip almost twitched into a sneer.

   “Well? Am I to guess?”

   Silence.

   Ornstein growled. “Have I done something to anger thee?”

   Artorias shook his head.

   “What is wrong then?”

   More silence.

   “Artorias---”

   The wolf knight twiddled his thumbs.

   Ornstein stomped once on the carpet to demand Artorias’ full attention, another growl rumbling in his throat. “Artorias, as thy captain, I demand thee to look at me and tell me what is wrong!”

   “I’m--” Artorias felt like he was going to burst beneath the scrutiny. The pressure was felt on his sternum and around his poor, aching heart.

   “I’m what?!”

   “I’m in love with thee.” How fast it came out. A wonder how unrefined, how raw, how scared one sentence could be! The moment it left his lips, Artorias’ hands shot up and covered his face, elbows rested on his knees, as if he expected Anor Londo to crumble above his head.

   Now they were both silent. Artorias could not see Ornstein’s face nor reaction, but he felt and heard the uneasy change in step in the carpet. Hah, he morbidly thought, he did a double take… Oh, what a mess. He prepared to hear the worst, or for Ornstein to simply leave; far too above such lowly things to even deal with the situation anymore.

   He didn’t.

   “... thou speakest the truth?” Ornstein asked quietly, hesitantly. To Artorias’ trained ear, it even seemed that there was a waver. A sharp contrast to the blazing fire. The lion knight was unsure of what to make of the situation, and for once, proceeded blind--- Artorias knew this much.

   “Indeed and… I’m sorry.” The apology felt necessary, whatever it may be taken for. Artorias was sorry for the other’s treatment, sorry for having such feelings in the first place… he was sorry for anything Ornstein needed him to be sorry for.  

   Ornstein himself was at a loss of words, if the spaces between his sentences were to mean anything. Against his better judgement, Artorias looked up from his hands to see the emotions on Ornstein’s features, but the other knight was looking off to the side. His eyes were no longer so cold. The enraged spark that had guided his actions prior had dissipated entirely. Now, he looked deeply contemplative, if not still reeling at the sudden confession.

   “How long?” Ornstein asked just as hushed before.

   “Too long.”

   There was a small hum of acknowledgement from Ornstein. His stare shifted to the floor. Artorias had the slightest idea what that meant, let alone what he thought.

   The silence grew along with Artorias’ anxiety and impulses. “Believe me when I say that I expect nothing from thee. It is foolish, I know. Thou hath no obligation to meet my desires.” The words bumbled out without caution, messy. He bursted with energy to salvage what he could of the situation, to rectify as what he saw as a mistake. “Thou---”

   Ornstein held up a hand to cut him off. “Artorias, stop. Please.”

   Artorias felt like a scolded child. Embarrassed, his shoulders sunk as his hunched form curled even more. There was so much more he wished to say, but he dared not to defy Ornstein at this point. He kept his silence.

   For a couple of more seconds, Ornstein continued to merely stand and say nothing. Then, he moved towards Artorias’ bed and sat next to him. The mattress sunk into the frame with both their weights. Out of the corner of his eye, Artorias cautiously watched him. At least it seemed he had no plans to walk away.

   “I am not upset at thee,” Ornstein began. “But I will be honest. ‘Tis… not something I have thought about before.”

   Artorias let out a lengthy sigh. It hurt to hear. His chest ached and it was entirely unfair. His mind, his body, had betrayed him. He was supposed to be a knight of Gwyn? “I know, I know. I expected as such. ‘Tis why I wanted to keep it secret, so thou---”

   “Artorias,” Ornstein cut off again. However, this time, the name was said much gentler. Almost sweetly. It saved Artorias from aggravation at the insistent interruptions. Ornstein’s hand reached out and slid underneath Artorias’ arm, thumb circling over the wolf knight’s bicep. To Artorias, it was close enough to a comforting caress, but he knew better than to let his mind insert its wants. Still, a pleasant touch that sent electricity up his spine. “... I did not say ‘twas a thought I am opposed to.”

   “Excuse me?” Artorias’ back straightened out, an eyebrow quirked in pure puzzlement. Was this a trick? Did he mishear? Could Ornstein possibly mean what he thought he meant? All at once, he felt dizzy and sick to his stomach as the situation felt more uncertain. Yet, closer to his dreams.

   “I said I… I...” Ornstein stuttered. He truly, undeniably, stuttered. Artorias could hardly believe it. Now that he was not some overcome with his own shame, the tells of embarrassment and shared awkwardness in Ornstein was more apparent. Not surprising when thought upon, for Ornstein was entirely outside his element. Even the best among them would stumble in such a foreign, yet delicate predicament. “Yes, it is not something I considered before. Now that I have, ‘tis not an… an unpleasant thought. Being something… more,” Ornstein finished with a sudden haste.

   “Oh,” was all Artorias could reply at the moment. It took time to process, and the silence they had seem to become so fond of came back. Ornstein now twisted the ring on his own finger. “And now it is thou who speakest the truth?” There was a breathy chuckle afterwards, a noise of unsure disbelief.

   “Doth thou believe I speak lies?”

   “No. Forgive me. I confess I… do not know what to say to thee anymore.”

   “How does thou thinkest I feel?” Ornstein anxiously chuckled.

   Artorias worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He merely stared and stared at Ornstein now, lips slightly parted. It was enough to draw a look of expectant confusion from Ornstein.

   While Artorias was being bold…

   “May I… may I kiss thee?” the wolf knight tentatively asked.

   Ornstein balked. He gave another chuckle like before, except this time it hitched and sounded more nervous. “Thou movest fast.”

   Artorias’ dipped his head, a bit of shame. After all, he did not want to do anything to unsettle the other knight so early on.

   Ornstein looked at Artorias, then the walls, Artorias again, and then to the floor. “If it is thy desire…” he murmured.

   Artorias’ heart skipped a beat. Alright then. The wolf knight tried to swallow the nervous lump in his throat. He angled himself to face Ornstein better, and reached up to cup his face in his hand. A glance off to the side by Ornstein betrayed his embarrassment as the sudden sweetness.

   Artorias leaned forward, hesitated, and then continued. His fingertips trembled against Ornstein’s jawline, and he hoped that the lion knight did not think too badly of him for his nerves. With a deep breath for confidence, Artorias pressed his lips against Ornstein’s.

   It was a soft kiss and short-lived too. It did not have a fever to it like many stories would try to tell. The only heat between them was the blush that spread across both their faces. In all meanings of the word, it was a gentle action. Simple. The kiss had newfound innocence in it and a purity that neither of them had felt in a long, long time. He felt young.

   When Artorias pulled away, Ornstein returned to looking away. It was… disheartening, to say the least, for there were no tells of enjoyment or satisfaction.

   “I’m sorry,” Artorias apologized.

   That brought Ornstein’s attention back. He flinched as if struck, and his eyes were widened with an almost angry confusion. “For what?”

   “I… do not know. ‘Twas deemed fitting.”

   “‘Tis I acting like a blushing virgin, not thee. Thou hast done nothing wrong.” Ornstein self-criticized with a sudden frenzy, hands clenched into tight fists in his lap, and cheeks slightly puffed. Angered by what he deemed his own inadequacy.

   Oh, Artorias thought. That’s… cute. He laughed and shook his head, wondering why he was surprised by Ornstein at this point. Lanky arms wrapped around the lion knight’s midsection and pulled him closer. Artorias bent down and rested his chin on Ornstein’s shoulder. Ornstein tensed at first, then relaxed, not used to such touch. He finally stroked Artorias’ arm with a hand. The silence was comfortable for once.

   “Perhaps we both need time to figure out what this means,” Artorias murmured against Ornstein.

   “Maybe so… but thou knowest it needn’t change much.”

   It was a point that deserved contemplation. After all, it was everything before the allure of romantic implications that caused Artorias to love him as so.

   “Wouldst thou like to return to thy duties?” Artorias asked.

   Ornstein huffed and shook his head with disbelief. “Of course now is when thou seekest to send me off.”

   “Surely Lord Gwyn would miss thee. Thou is eager to returnst any other time,” Artorias teased accompanied by what could be described as a small nuzzle.

   “I will finish my duties for today. But later… later we talk.”