He had returned to the Roundtable Hold as Rosalind had instructed, the frost having barely dethawed upon his cloak when he embraced his wife. Her warmth was all the reinvigoration he needed, before informing Alina of what had happened. It was now or never; they HAD to catch up to August.
“Th’ trek’ll be treacherous. Th’ Giant’s ‘re no more, but th’ cold’ll bite y’ as hard as any o’ th’ wolves out there,” he had warned the Fingermaiden. However, he was her champion and not even the chill of the mountains would claim her if he was nearby. Even still, despite his distaste for the freezing temperature, Jarrod was hardly bothered by its icy sting. The fight ahead was no longer about saving Alina or saving the Erdtree--he had accepted the fact it must burn. His mind was preoccupied as they traveled, focused on replaying August’s motions again and again in his mind. It was the only way he and August ever understood the other. They were warriors, and champions of their ideals: Life and Destruction.
He barely even registered the ever familiar surroundings, or even the frozen over Giants--the remnants of that useless war. Why did the gods thrust such trials upon them, when they had such power at their fingertips? What was the purpose of all their suffering? Power? And even still, Queen Marika had exiled Godfrey’s own and sent them afar to the Badlands, where they would wage war, grow in strength without the grace of gold, and then die. Suffering for these gods. From the tilled fields of Caelid to the bloody battlefields of the Badlands, he had his fill of it. It was here that he understood August, and agreed with him. The world was broken.But the slate did not need to be wiped clean, but learned from. He had faith that one day, the Age of Love would come to pass.
Jarrod walked between Rosalind and Alina, gripping their hand in each of his as they crossed the snowcrusted ancient chains crossing a chasm, the wind blowing against their faces. And as they approached the hill, Jarrod could see a lone figure in the distance, running across the top of it, a tattered cape fluttering behind them as they evaded and ignored the much larger figure behind him.
Jarrod’s heart stopped as he processed the scene before him. Fiery red hair and a hulking form. A massive plate in hand shoveled an avalanche of snow and Ice towards August, before sending tremors into the ground in frustration. His heart pounded in his chest, as the giant’s far-seeing gaze turned to their direction.
“Jarrod, Rosalind, remember this. There is no justice in war. No heroes. Only a clash of ideals above our own.” Akaki had said those words to them, in a very similar scene unfolding. “But our comrades and friends… we can protect them with our swords.”
They had charged forward atop their horses, the old ronin letting his arrows fly at a speed the pair had never seen before. Each one thunked against the massive eyelid, but not sinking deep enough as it opened
“Break!” Akaki barked as Jarrod’s spells broke against the thick skin of the giant.
Jarrod tried to stay close to Rosalind as they split, the eye of the Giant slowly opening.
“Rose…!” he had called out over the howling wind.
The Giant was crawling around, its leg having been severed… did August manage that? As they approached, the massive mouth on its chest opened up and heaved. Explosions from its belly ejected balls of fire and lava and sent them crashing down all around them, melting the snow and burning the soil underneath.
Jarrod pulled Alina with him to a rock, placing a hand on her head as the air around them became like fire, when the ejecta smashed into the ground with hisses of steam. He looked at his wife, feeling fear clench at his heart for not himself, but for her. For Alina, who did not know how to fight.
