Promised Tribulation
Chapter: 8 / Acceptance Route: 2 (AO3) Chapter 1 here
Pairing: Vyke/Reader, Vyke/Finger Maiden (you)
Rating: SFW (other chapters are not)
Words: 4,250
Warnings: Mild Frenzied Flame influence, backstory headcanons for Vyke (canon compliant)
Notes: This was going to be one big chapter but I split it into two--next chapter will contain dragon communion and 🍋
Summary: A gameplan is laid out to place your new Tarnished on the throne and you set out on a new journey together.
Like a comatose princess being revived with the kiss of a prince, Vyke’s very presence has breathed life back into the Roundtable.
The other Tarnished flock to him no sooner than he appears, exuberant and flabbergasted that one of their own who was lost has returned to the flock. For the entirety of his journey, Vyke has done what the others could not in defeating two shardbearers and now he has defied fate once again to return from the fatal embrace of the Frenzied Flame.
Even in such a disgraced state, his presence commands respect.
It’s like he’s been built for the center stage of life–for the throne.
His dalliance with temptation only served to strengthen his resolve in the long run, or at least that’s the sentiment being expressed.
That consequence of that temptation now resides inside of you, too, as a result of binding your soul to Vyke’s.
You can feel it incessantly tapping in the back of your mind and it only becomes more noticeable as your frustrations resurface.
It wants to melt together everything and everyone in the world.
If everything is burning, reduced to a primordial steam, then some particles of your remains will eventually mix together with Varré’s. And then when the Flames have run their course, you can start over with him in another life.
What an insidious bribe. You push the whispering aside, wondering where the Greater Will has vanished to in your mind to allow such a thought in the first place.
Vyke has mastered keeping his grief at bay for the Flame’s influence to not overtake him.
Despite his face being concealed with his helmet, you’re already gaining a sixth sense for reading him through it.
You watch him interacting with a few of his fellow Tarnished from a distance, keeping to the corner you’d always cling to when visiting here with Varré and awaiting him to finish whatever business he conducted. It’s a habit, putting yourself out of the way, but from here you can see what Vyke cannot while he’s busy entertaining his allies with a half hearted smile and full hearted apologies for his foolishness.
Sir Gideon is waiting for him by the entranceway leading to his office, arms crossed, and you swear you can feel him glancing over at you, watching you watch the rest of the room.
You let your gaze shift back over to Vyke and the excitement he’s caused.
Even when you were freshly a maiden and corralled here to wait for your Tarnished in the early days of The Shattering, spirits have never been so determined. It was certainly more optimistic then, but not so resolute. The sad state of the world calls for a champion to rise to the occasion to repair it and Vyke has always been that champion.
Looking at him now, it feels as if no one else ever stood a chance.
“Excuse me, maiden.” A Tarnished wearing a magician’s hat concealing most of his face approaches you.
“Hello.”
“You must be Vyke’s new maiden, yes? A true miracle of the Golden Order this is.”
“Indeed.” You twist a lock of your hair around your finger, eyes falling to the floor. “A wondrous turn of events.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t come over here to sate my own curiosity about how such a thing is possible. My name is Rogier. And you are?”
You give him your name. “What is it that you need? Everything has happened so quickly and I don’t feel well.”
He adjusts the brim of his hat and laughs wryly. “I thought that I might warn you. There was a maiden found in eastern Limgrave a few short hours ago. Cut down the center from her chin to her nethers. Flayed open and all of her innards exposed.”
You clasp a hand over your mouth. “How awful…”
“Could just be an isolated incident, but I wanted to advise you to exercise caution on your travels and pass the word to any other maidens you might meet. Your kind are in increasingly short supply.”
“I-I will be sure to inform any maidens I see on my travels. Thank you.”
Not wanting to drag this conversation along any further, you excuse yourself over to Vyke’s side and resist the urge to pensively take hold of his arm. It’s a clingy habit that you don’t want to force on him. At least not yet.
He’s hiding just how much it hurt him, but surely his audience can already imagine how painful it is to lose a maiden. They don’t care, you realize, so long as they have their hero back and he has a story to tell. Those who spoke nothing but venom about him are satisfied, maybe still praying for his failure with a restrained tongue.
You half listen to this performance, not wanting to violate him any further than you already have, until Gideon approaches him to direct the you to the chamber of the Two Fingers to recite your vows.
* * * * *
If the Fingers can read your mind, you don’t care anymore.
You stand before them with nonchalance and it’s only Vyke gently elbowing you that forces a half hearted curtsey. He takes his helmet off.
Enia informs you, in no uncertain terms, that the Great Will has absconded from The Lands Between. The Two Fingers, too, have now left this realm of consciousness in an attempt to reach their liege.
If the Greater Will is no longer here, then what voice has been plaguing you this entire time?
This is all so trivial. This performance.
You’ve already fucked. He’s already been all the way inside of you, so what’s the point of this?
Nevertheless, you kneel before him, the ends of your cape hitting the floor, head bowed; your tongue recalls the vows of its own accord.
“I hereby swear, before the envoys of the Greater Will
Before the Golden Order,
To uphold the sacred sanctity of mine duty as a finger maiden
I vow to guide thee, Tarnished, with the discretion of Grace
To turn thy runes into strength
To serve as thy companion, thy voice of reason and fidelity
To remain faithful throughout thy promised tribulations on the path to Elden Lord
Thou shalt sit upon the throne of this favored Land
Elevated to smite our enemies and put to rights the fracture that has plagued our Order
I will serve thee until the last of my breaths
Brave Tarnished, accept mine own heart into yours and let us be bound as one in a holy assertation.”
You stand up and Vyke takes your left hand, kneels, kisses the top of your knuckles, and settles his forehead against your wrist. He’s sweating.
“I accept thy accord, fair maiden, and I hereby swear
Before the envoys of the Greater Will
Before the Golden Order,
To uphold the sacred task granted to me by the mercy of Grace
I vow to follow the thy guidance
To serve as thy protection at the forfeit of mine own life
My revivals shall be in thy service
With thy wisdom, I shall claim the Elden Ring and take the throne of Elden Lord.”
He rises to his feet and although you refuse to meet each other’s gaze, Enia is seemingly satisfied with the formality despite the Fingers not even witnessing it.
It’s back to business. She cannot advise burning the Erdtree, committing the most cardinal sin of the Golden Order’s dogma, but if Vyke can channel the Flame to gain access to it then forgiveness can be granted at a later time.
It shocks you to hear this coming from a Finger Reader, but you can’t help but think that Varré wouldn’t have been surprised. He already knew of their hypocrisy and you were too naive to listen.
Who will grant this forgiveness? You nearly scoff. The Greater Will? Centuries or thousands of years into the future? If Vyke is king, then he needs only to forgive himself, although that could prove a more daunting task.
“A part of my spirit split from me,” he says gravely. “At the Frenzied village. It’s the only reason I’m not completely mad now, but I can’t burn the thorns in this state. I’d…have to go back to retrieve it.”
Enia looks at you. “You have a maiden now who will help shoulder the burden of madness, so you shalln’t completely lose your mind. When it’s done, however, a cure must be found afterwards. Otherwise, the Elden Ring itself will reject you both.”
You politely clear your throat and look to the ground. “I do believe there is a problem. Vyke will have to burn me as to kindle the flame, will he not? To gain access to the Ring. When I’m gone, will the full scale of the Frenzy not return to him?”
There’s a thick, uncomfortable silence.
“The Frenzied Flame itself will suffice without your sacrifice,” Enia answers definitively. “There must be a maiden to take the Ring from Marika.”
“I-I did say I’d burn her if she wanted, but I don’t think I really could,” Vyke admits bashfully. “...Sorry.”
Your disappointment is immeasurable. There will be no destined death for you, incinerated by the flame, but some cowardly part of you thinks that it isn’t too late to run away from all of this.
The Two Fingers cannot torture you in their current state with the Greater Will absconded.
There’s nothing to stop you, is there? From walking out of here, hitching one final ride to a point of Grace somewhere in the woods, and dying in the wilds like an animal with some semblance of dignity? You’d be a slave to nothing and no one. You’d be depriving the world of salvation in your own way–this cruel world that took Varré from you–but hadn’t you agreed to be Vyke’s maiden to avoid that very fate?
The idea of him sacrificing you was just a way to subvert your own cowardice. To pass the burden of your death onto someone who is grieving just as you are. How selfish. Although no one can read your thoughts, you are ashamed.
“It’s alright,” you say, equally apologetic. “I’ll do whatever is necessary to assist you.”
He contemplates, not sure if he wants to ask anything else of you. “Then before we head back to that cursed village, I do need you to do something.”
“Of course.”
“Are you familiar with the ritual of dragon communion?”
* * * * *
It rubs you the wrong way that Sir Gideon must not only be privy to Vyke’s plans but be the one directing him and it’s almost just as irritating that Vyke falls in line without question, peering over the map laid out atop the study table and hanging onto the words of his senior.
Vyke was a knight first, so some subservience to authority must be second nature to him, but you can’t forget that Gideon wanted to toss you out to the wolves had you not followed his orders.
It’s almost as if Gideon isn’t even angry with Vyke for succumbing to the Flame–not that you think Vyke deserves to be admonished. Losing his maiden and spending who knows how long in that evergaol was punishment enough. Truthfully, you don’t believe he deserved to be punished at all, but it’s strange that Gideon in all of his usual sternness hasn’t so much as scolded him.
You stand by the fireplace and watch them from a comfortable distance, thinking that this must have always been their relationship. Certainly Varré was never afforded such friendly banter from the man who had taken it upon himself to lead the Roundtable.
It isn’t as if Varré was ever friendly, either.
That’s not the point…
Gideon calls your name and motions for you to join them. “You can’t very well be queen one day if you’re always sulking around in the corner.”
You narrow your eyes and approach the table, keeping your focus on the map. “Apologies. I was in my own thoughts.”
Vyke excitedly points to a lake in Limgrave. “Here there’s a wild dragon that frequents the ruins of the area–Agheel–and down here…” He drags his finger southwest to an island off the coast. “There’s a church where you can partake in the communion. And from there, we’ll convene with Lansseax. She’s my former mentor who taught…who taught my maiden the incantations that she’ll teach you. I’m not winning against myself or anything inside the Erdtree without those boosts to my lightning.”
“Understood.”
“I, uh.” There’s that awkwardness returning to his voice that takes you back to the evergaol–to his concern for not wanting to hurt you. “I realize that it’s a big ask of you to take communion. I hope I’m not forcing you to betray your faith or any personal beliefs with this?”
You hold a hand over your mouth and giggle.
Is it funny? Are you endeared by him? You…really don’t know why you’re giggling.
“No, no,” you answer. “Don’t worry about that. The Greater Will and the Fingers can’t bully me into submission any longer. I’ve…some reservations about the act itself, but it doesn’t taste bad, right?”
“Not at all! A little bitter, maybe, but sweet.” Vyke turns back to the map. “Anyway, I don’t know where Lansseax is right now, admittedly.”
You tilt your head. “She’s a member of the dragon cult, right?”
“She’s actually a dragon herself,” Gideon informs you. “What remains of the Cult has scattered, but don’t either of you worry about that. I’ll dedicate my eyes and ears throughout the Lands to finding her. Doubtful she’s still in Lyndell.”
You trace along the outline of Lyndell. “I’ve never been before. Is it as beautiful as they say?”
Gideon huffs. “It was. Back in its prime, people travelled all across the world just to lay their eyes on the golden capital. Looks nothing like it used to, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“It’ll take decades to restore it, I suspect,” Vyke adds ruefully. “I’ll never forget when I first walked up those steps. I thought I’d reached paradise.”
“We can worry about restoring it once you’ve taken it.” Gideon turns back to the table and glances at you to make sure you’re still paying attention. “For now, let’s focus on the communion. One thing at a time.”
You listen to them continue to lay out the groundwork for setting Vyke up as Elden Lord, fully captured as an instrument for a scheme that predates your involvement.
* * * * *
Despite the offer to have a bedroom at the Roundtable for the night, Vyke is eager to start towards the ruins as to begin the hunt for Agheel first thing in the morning.
You weren’t exactly keen on possibly ending up in the same room where you’d spent your last night with Varré, so you’d agreed that it was for the best to leave already.
The fire sizzles before you in a makeshift camp off a main road in Limgrave, warm but not warm enough. What you really crave is the heat of a body next to you and the skin to skin friction that comes with the connection of sex.
You’re so accustomed to fucking Varré regularly that your body hasn’t yet registered that he’s gone and so you’re stuck feeling horny at a time like this.
Looking over to Vyke, he appears to be lost in his own thoughts, as well. Gone is all of the confidence he put on display at the Roundtable, replaced with an unblinking melancholic contemplation.
There’s a sort of intimacy in this, you think, getting to see him when he isn’t putting on a performance.
He catches you staring at him, then looks back to the fire. “Your Tarnished was a war surgeon, wasn’t he?”
“Gideon told you that?” You bite the inside of your cheek. “That’s not his business to tell.”
“I’d just like to get to know you better is all. Get an idea of your current skill set. It’s good to know you can bandage me up if need be.”
“Did Gideon offer up this information or did you ask?”
“I wouldn’t have asked. It’s not my place.”
“So you admit that it’s a violation of my privacy? I don’t want to talk about him.” Your eyes are already welling up, forcing you to wipe them away and sniffle.
“He didn’t mean anything nefarious by telling me,” Vyke says, trying to soften the blow. “He knew I wouldn’t ask, so he told me unprompted.” “I don’t trust him. There’s a treachery about him. He was going to throw me out to die if I didn’t go to you.”
“Are we all not capable of treachery in these times? I’m the last person to judge the desperate measures some of us may be pushed to, but Sir Gideon is an honorable man at his core. I doubt he would have actually cast you from the Roundtable.”
Vyke’s voice is full of truth–the truth he perceives.
It’s then that you realize there is a familiar naivete about him. The vulnerability encoded into his core long before he loved his maiden that allowed his heart to be led below the capital and into the clutches of the Three Fingers.
“What have you promised him?” You ask candidly, watching the flames reach for the night.
“My service to the Lands. Nothing more.”
“And should you become King? What position will Sir Gideon hold, hm?”
Vyke opens his mouth to answer, but doesn’t at first, taken aback. “He’ll serve as my hand, of course. He’s the most knowledgeable and capable of advising me. Truth be told…”
He sighs and scratches his head, looking away from you with indignation. “I’ve no clue how to be a king or all that it involves. I only care about restoring peace.”
You click your tongue. “So there it is. That’s what he gets out of it. Political power and demigod status.”
“Really, what does political power count for right now, anyway?”
“It isn’t what it counts for now. It’s what it counts for in the future. A hundred years from now. A thousand years from now when common humans have no direct memory of The Shattering.”
Quiet hangs in the air over the two of you like a guillotine.
Criticizing someone acting as your ally isn’t the brightest move right now, but you’re still bitter about nearly being thrown into the savage Lands all on your own. Still bitter that as soon as Varré was about to finally embark on his own heroic journey that he was snatched away from you.
He was yours. Nothing and no one else had the right to take him from you. To force you to be someone else’s maiden.
The blame is still on you.
That’s right. You were his maiden and you were meant to guide him, to steer him towards the path of Elden Lord, not enable him to idle about. It was all well and fine with you so long as Varré was doting on you, equally as guilty of getting comfortable with the safety of futility until it was taking a toll on you.
He’s all you knew. You were like a child following him.
If only you could brush these thoughts off and dismiss it as the invasive thoughts of the Greater Will or the Fingers. This voice is just you. Maybe it always has been. How could you tell the difference?
You’d been too passive with him.
But Vyke is different.
Vyke doesn’t need you to tell him to throw himself the fray, but he clearly needs your protection from those that would take advantage of him.
You think of Varré and his sweet words, searching for wisdom from the husks of empty promises.
“I’m sorry. I’m sure Sir Gideon means well,” you concede, flicking a twig into the fire. “It just still hurts, is all.”
“It’s alright.” Vyke isn’t angry at you. He rubs his neck. “I doubt it will ever stop hurting. Nothing we can do about it but try to move forward.”
“I really was content to die, you know.”
“As was I…”
“Well…since we’re staying alive…” You scoot towards him, closing up a few feet between you, and to your relief he doesn’t move away–wait, that’s crazy; why would he? This man has already came inside of you. “I suppose we do owe each other transparency. I don’t know what Sir Gideon told you about him exactly, but yes, my original Tarnished was a war surgeon. He didn’t care about becoming Elden Lord and he didn’t give a damn about the Two Fingers or the Golden Order.
“He was the total opposite of you and most everyone at the Roundtable didn’t like him. As a result, I’m not used to people treating me like I matter. That’s why Sir Gideon’s change of attitude towards me struck me as suspicious. I am also a pure maiden and so my Tarnished was all that I knew. There’s much I’m ignorant about. I don’t even remember where I was born or where I came from. Not that I care. Whoever she was, she threw it away, so I chose to honor her wishes and be a new person.”
“She was pure, too.” Vyke shakes his head, recalling his original maiden and her dedication to him. “If she wasn’t, she probably would’ve gotten sick of me. I’ve never been good with women.”
You sneer before you can help it and playfully elbow his arm. “Surely you jest? As handsome as you are?”
He laughs nervously. “I’m serious. It’s hard for me to turn people away, so the ladies at the capital would get the wrong idea. I was sworn to knighthood in my youth, thus it was out of the question before The Shattering.”
“Are you telling me none of your associates would lie with women in secrecy?”
“It didn’t matter what they did. I wasn’t going to break my vows. My focus was solely on my knighthood and serving the Golden Order.”
Aside from you, Varré had never solemnly swore to anything.
Vyke continues, taking a breath as he prepares to open a wound long sealed shut. “I…I actually was an orphan before a scout from Leyndell so happened to measure potential in me. They paid a sum to the church that housed me and off I went, but don’t get me wrong–I was happy to go.”
He lays on his side and props himself up on his elbow, looking up at you with a newfound spark in his clouded eyes. “The capital had so much that my shoddy little village didn’t and I was given a purpose. But most importantly? Dragons.”
You hum and lay next to him. “That’s when you joined the Ancient Dragon Cult?”
“Information was sparse, but I’d held a love for dragons since the first time I read about tales of Godwyn as a boy. I’d wanted so badly to meet them and learn from them the secrets of their kind, of this world...I was lucky that Lansseax saw something in me and inducted me so quickly. All of this good fortune is why I owe it back to the Lands Between to fix it.”
You’re at something of a loss, befuddled at just how his life truly sounds like a fairy tale.
For once you’re glad that Varré never disclosed to you the details of his life before as the comparisons would be too cruel.
“What about the Long March?” You ask, freeing a morbid curiosity you’d long held.
“Dreadful.” He frowns. “That’s all there is to say about that.”
“Has anyone ever told you that your life sounds like a fairy tale? Going from an orphan that loves dragons to a knight blessed by them?”
“I’ve heard it before. I was lucky with the opportunities I had, but they were just that: opportunities. Had I squandered them spending all of my time drinking or visiting brothels like my associates I wouldn’t have had anything handed to me.”
“That’s…a really good way of looking at it, actually.” You roll onto your back and look up at the night sky, feeling humbled and a little ashamed although of what you can’t exactly place. Is it because you don’t feel worthy of him? Are you worried that you won’t be able to perform as well as his first maiden–his real maiden?
“We should get some rest.” Vyke pulls your cape over your shoulders. “I can, uh…I can hold you. If you want. It’s best we sleep close together, at least.”
You faintly nod, rolling over and closing the space between the two of you so that your back is resting against his chest.
He drapes an arm around your waist. “I’m a heavy sleeper, so if you hear anything just shake me awake.”
You idly rub his forearm, fatigue catching up to you.
“I mean it. I don’t want to lose you, too, least of all to some common thug.” He gives you a small squeeze.
“U-Understood. I wake easily, so…”
As you lay there, closing your eyes and waiting for sleep to take you, you can feel his breathing slow.
The ground is hard against your cheek through the fur of your cape and there’s a cold breeze rustling the leaves. The warmth of Vyke’s body allows your consciousness to slip away, comfortable and safe.
The fire crackles and pops in a pleasant dream of a smoldering devastation.