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After that night, Wylder found himself constantly seeking out the archer. At first, he told himself only when the nightmares were bad. Only when the thought of sleeping filled him with so much dread his hands would shake and his breath came short.

But he found himself meeting the archer night after night, excuses falling short, until it became a daily thing. They would talk, or even sit in silence, watching the sun rise and break through the clouds on the start of a new day. Sometimes Wylder would dose off, and Ironeye would lead him to his room, bid him goodnight in that wonderfully soft tone, and allow him his rest.

Ironeye never seemed to mind. On the contrary, he actually seemed to enjoy Wylder's company. The archer seemed fascinated by his travels alone in the Lands Between, and every night pestered him for a tale or two. Wylder didn't mind indulging, it was nice to be on the receiving end of the archer's excitement. Ironeye often told tales in return, of hits that went awry, or that he learned much from.

It was…nice. To talk to the reserved assassin. To take his own mind off of all the memories that haunted him. Ironeye seemed fine being a distraction. And Wylder slowly learned about the elusive archer. About a custodian named Isolde, whom Ironeye respected greatly. About his first time shooting a bow. About his first contract and how nervous he was.

Their nightly bouts became something to look forward to, and even the others noticed during the day that they seemed to grow closer.

Revenant was the first to say something, as she often was. She had no qualms about being blunt or rude. She found them huddled one night on a large stone by the cliff side, deep within the garden. They sat close, next to each other, as Ironeye carefully carved each of his arrows and inspected them with precision. Wylder had been sharpening his greatsword, but was thoroughly distracted by the care the archer had for his arrows.

They both turned to her approach. Lately, she had been giving Wylder pointed looks. Wylder knew something was wrong with himself. He knew his body well enough. He was constantly tired. And the other day he fell asleep while tending to his armaments. It was getting harder and harder to ignore, so much so even Raider brought it up to Duchess in a moment of worry.

Wylder wasn't stupid, but he didn't want to dwell on it. He knew there was a large chance he wouldn't make it out of the final battle. But he would definitely drag himself to it, exhausted or otherwise.

Revenant quickly joined them with a huff. “I'm unsure whats going on between you both, but its quite rude to have secret meetings every night while I sit here bored.”

“I highly doubt you want to sit here and watch us tend to our weapons peacefully, Revenant.” Ironeye replied quickly and evenly.

“You're right, but that doesn't change the fact it gets boring.” Revenant carefully looked at Wylder. She seemed to have something to say. Wylder shook his head. He tried for subtlety, but Ironeye was giving him an assessing look. Wylder tried not to squirm as the look nearly pierced through him.

The three sat in prolonged silence, broken only by the waves crashing against the shore and the occasional note plucked from Revenant's lyre. Wylder felt the familiar pull of exhaustion hit suddenly. He had half a mind to just sleep there. Ironeye, of course, noticed.

Part of their nightly ritual was Ironeye walking him to his room. So it was a surprise after Wylder bid Revenant a goodnight, she asked for a moment of Ironeye’s time. Wylder tilted his head at her, but she immediately waved him away.

“Ironeye can spare two minutes without you. He will catch up. You can survive being separated for that long.” Wylder glanced towards Ironeye, who nodded. Thoroughly dismissed, Wylder made his way to the dining area, idly fiddling with the dishes there as he waited.

He didn't have to wait long, Ironeye was soon joining him quietly. At Wylder's questioning look, Ironeye sighed. “She had a request of me. I will handle it.”

A dismissal. Belatedly, Wylder wondered if he should worry that Revenant was seeking the help of the assassin, but quickly shook the thought. He was sure if it was a large issue he would know. Or they would go to the Duchess.

Duchess…who was trapped here.

Wylder pushed the thought back, as he was at his room and Ironeye was watching him carefully. He knew he couldn't hide his building condition for long. But…he simply wasn't ready to admit it aloud.

Eventually, Ironeye closed the distance between them and whispered to him softly. “Goodnight Wylder.”

“Goodnight Ironeye.” He whispered back, heart pounding. Wylder quickly entered his room, watching as Ironeye stepped back and turned. His door closed as the assassin walked away.

Raider, funny enough, made a comment almost the next morning about him and Ironeye and their newfound closeness.

Wylder just shuffled into the dining room when Raider cheered, “Aye! The man of the hour!”

Guardian was next to him, a patient smile on his beak. “Nice to see you up, my friend. We were talking of Raider's tournaments.”

Wylder hummed thoughtfully, still shaking exhaustion from the corner of his eyes. “Aye. Ironeye told me of the latest battle. A victory well earned, as he puts it.”

Wylder turned to begin fixing himself a small breakfast, missing the teasing look Raider and Guardian shared behind his back.

“Aye it was.” Raider confirmed easily as Wylder searched for his ingredients. Over the last few days, the urge to make his mother's bread grew. He would have to ask the Menial if they had supplies enough to quell the thought. “I see you've been spending quite the amount of time with our resident archer.”

Wylder paused. He could hear the teasing in Raider's voice. He knew the pirate was exceptional in reading others. Especially emotionally. Raider was one of the first people to note how exhausted he was. So much so Duchess decided to find him a golden dew. Now he was mentioning Ironeye.

He felt himself warm, pushing through and continuing to fix himself something to eat. He didn't respond, knowing the two in company were more than used to his moody silence.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Guardian said thoughtfully. “I'm glad to see you getting along with the others. You push yourself quite hard.”

Wylder didn't need to be coddled, but the warmth Guardian treated them all with made it difficult to be offended or angry at him.

“I think he has been doing more than getting along with Ironeye, aye lad?” Raider didn't bother waiting for a response as he burst into laughter. It wasn't a malicious laugh, but a teasing one. Wylder took a deep breath to fight the warmth at his cheeks. If he ignored Raider enough, hopefully he would get the hint.

Sensing Wylder's flustered state, Guardian chimed in. “There's nothing to be embarrassed about. The strength of the flock comes from how deeply we care for and admire one another.”

Somehow Guardian's genuine words made the teasing worse. Wylder knew how much he began to care for the archer. He just…wasn't sure if it was right of him anymore.

He knew…deep down…he was dying. Perhaps he should put a stop to whatever was happening for the archer's sake.

Loss had a way of breaking a person. He knew it first hand.

“Aww. Don't get all bent out of shape.” Raider collected himself with a swing of ale from his mug. Wylder gave him a subtle glare, one lost behind his helmet he was sure, as he reached for a plate and began piling it with eggs and grain. “We tease. Though, if it's nothing to you, I'll steal him from you for the rest of the day.”

Wylder tensed, the warmth of the teasing turning into a twisting of his gut. Raider continued wistfully, ignoring the change in mood from the swordsman. “Aye, my final tournament approaches. I'm sure he wouldn't mind a round or two as I await my rival. Something to get the blood pumping. He's good at it.”

Was Wylder hearing things or did Raider's tone turn suggestive? He didn't dare face the pirate. He wasn't sure how he'd react if turned to be true. Absently he reached out for a mug, intending on pouring some ale so he could leave and center himself. He was not jealous. He had no right to be. There was a grin in Raider's voice as he added, “I'm sure you know first hand. Don't worry, I'll return him to you in one piece.”

The sound of ceramic shattering broke through. Wylder looked down in surprise. The mug full of ale was suddenly in pieces. He had been squeezing it in an attempt to keep control of his emotions. Seeing this, Raider let out another laugh.

“I joke, boy! It's refreshing to see you come out of your shell!” Wylder shot Raider a glare as he quickly cleaned the mess. The poor Iron Menial would lament his fine China being destroyed. Wylder would have to make it up to him.

Guardian and Raider stood and walked to him, each giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “All in good fun, my friend.” Guardian started, patient as always. “We have an expedition with him. We will look out for the Ironeye and ensure his safe return. Please, enjoy your days of rest.”

Both Nightfarers left as Wylder stiffened. A day of rest? Rare it was Wylder did not go on expeditions, rarer still that he went without Ironeye. Quickly, he set his food on the dining room table and ran towards the Expedition room, where the Priestess usually went over the target Nightlord and the expedition itself.

Empty.

He quickly rushed towards cliff-side by the sparring grounds, the one they departed for expeditions. Sure enough, spectral hawks were scooping up Raider and Guardian as Wylder ran over. Ironeye spared him a quick unreadable look before he too was taken by the spectral hawks and carried to Limveld.

Duchess stood by the entrance in her Priestess garbs, eyeing him carefully. There was a tension between them since he first discovered the crypt, since he confronted her about her fate that she accepted all too quickly.

Something they unfortunately had in common.

His weariness must have been obvious. Duchess pulled her hood down. “What is it? You can tell me.”

“…He left without saying anything.”

Duchess was too clever to pretend she didn't know who he was speaking of. “The Ironeye has a personal objective on this mission. He wished not to alarm you.”

“I should have gone with him. He could have at least told me why himself.”

Duchess tilted her head in thought. “You both have gotten rather close. I would have assumed he told you the context. But I understand his reasoning.” Duchess then pinned him with a stern look. “You're exhausted. You need rest.”

“I'm fine.” Was the answer that came automatically. Duchess's look didn't falter. Wylder resisted the urge to squirm. He'd been on the end of that look many times, from their own mother. Duchess didn't even realize she was doing it…

“You can confront him when he returns. I try to give you all your space, but I know the others have also made note of how close you both have gotten.” Wylder's cheeks warmed at her observation, a small smirk pulled her features before she quickly schooled it. “Rest in the interim. I know you definitely need it.”

He did need it. He could feel the pull of exhaustion even now. Wylder nodded to his sister, going back to the dining room to finish his meal and find something to do for the day.

The three days passed quickly. And all the while Wylder found himself slipping into unconsciousness more and more. It was alarming, to try and force his body to move but find his limbs weighed like lead. He needed to hold on. At least until he completed his mission. Until the Night Aspect was dead.

Some of the others made passing comments about his moodiness and condition. A worried look from Executor. A rude complaint from Revenant at his pouting without Ironeye by his side. A polite query from Recluse. Worried inquiries from Duchess and the Menial. Wylder waved them all off.

While he did find himself nodding off at random times, it felt like he wasn't truly resting. Without Ironeye to help occupy his nights, they turned long, torturous. Nightmares once again coming to the forefront of his mind. Had he really been so preoccupied with the archer? That a few measly days without him and he was lost again?

Instead he tried to use the time separate to think. To reflect.

Wylder wasn't an idiot. He knew his body well.

He was dying.

He could accept that. He didn't think he'd make it this far, after all. Death didn't scare him. He'd been introduced to it as a boy, and surrounded by it since the fateful night he lost his tribe. What truly bothered him was the idea of his sister, trapped here until the Night was extinguished, dying as well.

There had to be a way. He pestered the Menial and even Recluse, wise beyond his years, of a way to save her. He had to. She was the only one left. They had no results, but Wylder would not stop looking for a way.

He stared at the ceiling of his room late at night as he pondered this. Ironeye and the others should return soon. Would Ironeye have an idea? The assassin traveled much for his work. Surely he had seen something, learned of something that could help his dilemma?

Even if Wylder didn't live, even if Duchess accepted her fate, if he would find a way to save her…

Wylder found his mind wandering to the archer. Ironeye was sharp. Keen, as his moniker suggested. It wouldn't surprise Wylder the assassin knew of his ailment. But he knew the assassin would have confronted him already. Most likely, he was still trying to pry the information from Wylder himself.

Wylder wondered if Ironeye would be upset. If he would fight, the way Wylder was for Duchess. If he would curse him for not telling him sooner. If he would feel the despair Wylder felt.

His stomach twisted at the thought. No. He didn't want to hurt Ironeye. He didn't want to hurt Duchess. Which is why he did not confront her more than he already has. If she doesn't remember him as her brother, then perhaps that is for the better.

Would it be better, then, for him to put a stop to their nightly meetings? It would surely hurt them both. But when the time came…hopefully Ironeye wouldn't care about him and he could pass easily. He would rejoin his clan, and leave no one behind here in pain.

Again, his stomach twisted at the idea. He had come to enjoy the archer's company. He had come to care for Ironeye as more than a simple teammate. He knew Ironeye cared, he wouldn't have invited him in the first place if it was otherwise. And he had become adept enough in reading him to know it was reciprocal. The depth of his feelings for the archer grew the closer they became to one another.

But often the best choices were the most difficult. If he could spare Ironeye the pain of losing someone he held dear…he would be more than happy to make the sacrifice.

His thoughts circled until eventually he slept. Restless, as always. But he was awoken by the sound of his door opening and shutting.

Wylder sat up quickly, hand shooting to his greatsword on instinct. There was no one here anymore…but someone left a key. He remembered seeing a chest…in the crypt.

Ironeye returned with two new teammates in tow.

Undertaker was quiet. Almost shy. But she was strong, deceptively so. Wylder always appreciated a strong warrior.

Scholar was calm, soothing, analytical. His strength lied in his analysis of everything, his intellect. And while his swordsmanship differed from Wylder's, it was refreshing to see.

They settled easily. Wylder saw less and less expeditions. But no amount of arguing his case with Duchess would change her mind. And Ironeye…Wylder was grateful avoiding the archer seemed to be doing the trick.

The nights were still long, eventually bleeding into the days. Wylder busied himself with baking his mother's pita bread. The Menial mentioned the recipe offhandedly, and Wylder happily took the spare ingredients off his hands.

He was grateful, as his discovery had his mind spinning. He needed to clear it before he made his decision. It would change everything.

The rich aroma filled the garden, and he settled by the fallen stones near Executor's easel, right behind the dining room.

Wylder listened to the sounds of bustling and eventually found himself blinking away sleep. Duchess stood in front of him, frozen, caught with a slice in her hand, brought to her mouth. He couldn't help the warm chuckle that spilled from him. Did she even remember…? She may not, but he was happy to share it with her, nonetheless.

“That’s how we make it…back at home. Good, right? I'm glad you like it. Have as much as you want. I made more than I need.”

He pushed the plate towards her, filled with several more slices of his pita bread. Duchess nodded, now taking a full bite with a pensive look on her face. “Where…I didn't know you could bake.”

Wylder gave a soft sigh as he closed his eyes. He was tired, still. An image of his mother appeared in his mind. “My mother taught me the recipe. It keeps well, and won't leave you hungry. Just something I like to do. To remember. And to clear my mind."

To remember it wasn't all bad. To remember his mother's smile. And his father's warmth. They were a happy family, once, long ago. He opened his eyes to look at his sister. His sister, who didn't even realize who he was. Who fought for the side of righteousness, like their father. Who was quick and intelligent, like their mother. Doting, like them both.

He had to protect her.

His choice was made.

He would get his vengeance, yes. But he had to make sure she lived.

He had to sacrifice himself.

He missed the way Duchess's gaze flattered, a revelation he already knew and she was just placing together. By the time he opened his eyes again, Duchess was composed once more, although he did note she was watching him more carefully.

“I see. My thanks. I…have another matter to attend to. If you'll excuse me.”

Duchess left before Wylder could say more. Perhaps it was for the best. He closed his eyes again, letting his thoughts wander. Did she remember the bread from their childhood? Perhaps not. Surely she would have said something?

A tickle gently went up his spine, and Wylder opened his eyes to see Ironeye crouched in front of him. His heart skipped a beat, his breath hitched, all at the sight of the archer.

“You've been avoiding me.” Ironeye began without prelude. “If you expect an apology about the expedition, you'll be disappointed. You needed your rest.”

Wylder exhaled harshly out of his nose. “I was more upset you didn't tell me yourself.” He pushed the plate of bread towards Ironeye. “Help yourself.”

“Ah, I suspected you were the cause of that rich aroma. I should have known you could bake.” Ironeye didn't reach for it, despite his words. Wylder would be offended, but he suddenly realized he couldn't recall a single time Ironeye ate or drank anything outside of an expedition. Peculiar.

“Aye. My mother taught me. We would cook together sometimes, when I was a boy. I…needed to clear my head. And to remember. To remember without the nightmares.”

Ironeye invited himself next to him. Wylder didn't move, allowing Ironeye to settle next to him and mimic his position. Together, they watched the clouds roll by.

Ironeye eventually broke the silence. “The nightmares are still bothering you. Why have you not come to me? Surely you would not hold a grudge so long for me leaving without you?”

Ironeye was right. Wylder wouldn't hold it against him. Or Duchess. He knew it came from a place of concern. He should tell him…he should tell Ironeye that he was dying.

For some reason, the words were stuck in his throat. He knew Ironeye would more than understand. Perhaps it was best to keep silent about it.

Ironeye clicked his tongue. Wylder must have been silent for too long. “If it's any consolation,” the archer began, “I plan on going on another expedition. I have a personal objective with the centaur that makes the next Nightlord target. I would like you to join me in hunting him down. You are my first choice for a teammate.”

Wylder turned to Ironeye, his heart pounding. “Of course I will. What personal objective do you have?”

Ironeye seemed to debate with himself before he sighed. “I need a fragment of his spear. It's…part of a mission of mine. I can't go into too much detail.” The archer turned away at the very end. A tell that he wasn't telling the whole truth. The elation he felt at Ironeye asking him to join him soured a bit.

“One of those secrets you would have to kill me for?” Wylder asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone. Ironeye, of course, caught it.

“I ask you to be with me on this expedition because I trust you. Do not take it to heart. It's part of my work. And I fear…the repercussions of everything once we are free from this place.”

Wylder paused at that. Ironeye was quite tightlipped about the Fellowship itself. With a heavy sigh, Wylder nodded. “Of course I will join you. Forgive me. I meant it when I said I wish to know you, truly.”

Ironeye looked up at him once more, eyes crinkled in warmth. “And you will. You already know me more than anyone here.”

The words warmed him. It was incredible how much he truly cared for the archer.

So much so, he knew bringing distance between them would be difficult.

“I will also need your expertise. Soon. When the eternal city rises. I am on the hunt for something. I found a clue in the crypt and-"

“The crypt?” Ironeye interrupted, voice clipped. Wylder nodded.

“Yes. There's a crypt below the Hold. I found it…the day I figured out Duchess's fate. I…can't tell you exactly, but I think I have an idea of how to save her.”

Ironeye studied him for a moment. “I will, so long as you promise not to go back down into the crypt.”

Wylder frowned. “You can't just-"

“I'm serious.” Wylder suppressed a shiver at the way Ironeye's voice dipped as he tried to convey the severity of his warning. “Promise me.”

“…No.”

Ironeye stiffened at the blunt refusal. “Stubborn man-"

“Whatever it is you're hiding, I can take. I can defend myself if you think it's too dangerous. And I would never judge if you think it is too strange. I have already made my stance clear on this.” Wylder didn't raise his voice, didn't change his tone. His voice was soft as ever, but he knew Ironeye could pick up his determination. “You've learned much about me but I feel I still don't know enough about you.”

“I've told you plenty.”

“And yet I crave more. I've grown fond of you.”

“…You know it comes at a price"

“And you know it is a price I will gladly pay.” Wylder reached out again, and sure enough, Ironeye gently caught his hand and pulled it down.

The archer studied him for a moment before sighing in defeat. “A bit unfair, isn't it? You want to see my face so badly and yet you've yet to offer yours.”

Wylder didn't have an answer for that. It would be the last thing he have to present the archer: his face. His likeliness to Duchess.

“You'd be impossible if I truly didn't marvel at you.” Ironeye spoke with mirth. “When the time is right. For now I need you to trust me.”

He did. Easily. Wylder nodded at that, and the two of them settled into silence as Wylder once again leaned back and drifted off into sleep again.

The fight with the centaur, Fulghor, came and went. Explaining the object he needed to get was difficult. Ironeye was perceptive, but the archer helped him easily and soon the Silver Tear was safely tucked in his pocket.

And still, Wylder avoided the nights with Ironeye.

The archer continued to try and corner him, and Wylder allowed for their contact during the day. They were still teammates after all. But it was for the best.

Wylder truly missed their time together. He had come to enjoy the archer's company more than he could admit. But he was a dead man walking. And even more now…

He was going to betray everyone.

So Duchess could live.

There was no other choice.

The nightmares never truly went away, but Ironeye's presence made them easier to deal with. Made it simpler to replace haunting memories with warmth, gentle coaxing and teasing words. Wylder was already having trouble sleeping. The quick naps throughout the day could only do so much, and even those were constantly haunted with the memories of his sister and tribe.

So it was no surprise when one night the nightmares took a harsher turn.

This time with Ironeye.

Wylder found himself once again amongst the corpses of his tribe. He couldn't make out any of their faces anymore. But he'd recognize the armor and symbols woven into the tunics anywhere.

Carefully, he made his way through, doing his best to avoid stepping on those he once held dear.

A noise of shuffling behind him and his hand flew to the handle of his greatsword, heart pounding. Carefully he turned around, and a figure rose from the many corpses, familiar green armor instead of his tribe's armor.

“Ironeye?” He tried to ask, but his voice seemed low, swept away as a harsh wind blew through. It wasn't out of the ordinary, Windwail Knoll was known for it's grassy plains and windy nature.

Ironeye didn't answer, instead pulling out his dagger and launching at him. Wylder's instincts were the only reason he was able to pull out his greatsword and deflect the strike with the broad side. Before he could ask what was wrong with him, Ironeye turned and struck again.

This time, a flash of pain went through his side, and an angry red ‘x' was left in it's wake. Ironeye marked him. Right where his wound that never fully healed was. Wylder placed a hand over it, pushing in the wound and trying to even his breaths, which began to come up short.

Dread filled him as he realized what was happening. Ironeye was going to try to kill him. Was he a target?

No, he realized as he looked back up at the assassin, who was aiming his bow at him. There was a blue sheen around him. Wylder has seen this before. It was on the other condemned, too.

The influence of the Night.

“Ironeye-" he tried, although he knew it was pointless. He had to try. An arrow was let loose and he dodged it. “Ironeye!”

Another arrow was fired, this one whizzing past his helm at frightening speed. Ironeye was well and truly trying to kill him. Wylder had to subdue him. He had to-

An arm emerged from the ground, gripping onto his leg tightly. Wylder tried to shake it off, looking down to see his own father pull himself towards him.

Wylder's breath came short again. No. He knew what he had to do. But his own father? Would he have any choice in the matter?

A stinging pain caught his shoulder and Wylder cried out as his free hand went to grip it. Ironeye was still firing at him. He had to move. He had to get out of here, his instincts were screaming at him to leave.

He gripped his greatsword painfully tight and swung down. He didn't look at his father, who gifted him the very weapon he was using to cut him down. Instead he yanked himself free, suddenly knee deep in corpses. The bodies of his people.

With effort he moved forward, towards Ironeye, who was watching him apathetically. He felt his strength fail as he clawed out of them. Poison?

But he had to survive. He had to save her.

With determination he clawed towards the archer, free of the numerous bodies weighing him down, escaping on his hands and knees. A hand roughly grabbed his helm and tilted his head back, and a curved dagger was pressed to his neck.

“Ironeye…” he tried again. Nothing. The assassin didn't even flinch at the pleading. His breath shuddered into a sob. Was this truly his curse? To lose everything, over and over again to the influence of the Night?

Before the blade could slide against his throat, Ironeye suddenly was yanked back. Wylder scrambled as a greatsword suddenly pierced the assassin's chest.

No. No no no no.

The assassin fell over, bleeding as Wylder threw himself down to try and stop the bleeding. Wylder looked up at their foe, and stopped short when he realized he was looking at himself.

His doppelganger watched passively at Wylder's panicked state, and slowly started to move closer. His vision warped, and suddenly the Night was swallowing him whole, crushing his body and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe he had to claw his way out-

“Wylder!”

Wylder's eyes snapped open and he gasped harshly, pushing whoever had him by the shoulder back. His greatsword, where was it-

“It’s me! Calm down!”

Wylder recognized the voice. He forced himself to breathe, vision focusing. Worried blue eyes came into focus, and slowly his surroundings started to make sense. He was in the Hold, in his room. Safe. With Ironeye. Who had no sword sticking out of his chest.

He rested his head on his pillow, damp with sweat, and closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing.

“Nightmare.” He eventually panted out, swallowing to ease his dry throat. More clarity came slowly as he opened his eyes and glanced around. He remembered tending to his shield and greatsword in the comfort of his quarters. He must have fallen asleep…

His eyes landed on his helm and his heart raced once more.

His helm.

His room was dark, lit by a single candle shining over by his helm. Surely the assassin could see his face, even if not clearly.

As if answering his worry, Ironeye spoke softly. “I didn't mean to intrude. You were having a nightmare. I could hear you struggling. You called out to me. I didn't think.”

The image of Ironeye with Wylder's greatsword piercing his chest flashed behind the swordsman's eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut to rid himself of the image.

Slowly, Wylder gathered his bearings enough to ask. “You heard me?”

“I was walking by. You were screaming.”

Wylder supposed he understood. If any of the others, especially Ironeye, was screaming in their sleep, Wylder wouldn't hesitate to try and help.

Then he realized something. He looked at the assassin carefully. “You were checking on me?”

Ironeye stiffened, before a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “You've become too adept at reading me. But yes. I was. You continue to avoid me at night and I wanted to make sure you were resting peacefully.”

The admission made his heart flutter. Even without knowing why Wylder was trying to put distance between them, the assassin still cared about him enough to check on him.

“Thank you,” Wylder whispered earnestly. Ironeye's gaze fluttered between his eyes, memorizing, observing.

“Of course. I admit hearing you scream my name worried me. What did you dream about?”

Wylder sighed as pieces of his dream came back. Ironeye, who still had his hands on his shoulder, squeezed. Wylder let the motion calm him.

“It started how it normally does. The aftermath of my tribe's massacre. Digging through body after body. But then you showed up…corrupted by the Night. I didn't want to fight you-”

“I wouldn't want to fight me either. In a serious battle I'd destroy you.”

Wylder wasn't sure why, but Ironeye's competitive remark had him chuckling. The archer squeezed his shoulder again and released him now that Wylder was calmer. Ironeye sat atop the edge of his bed, beckoning him to continue.

“You nearly did have me, yes. But then…I killed you. Not me. Another me. Corrupted by the Night. He stabbed you clean through the chest. I stabbed you. I killed you.”

Ironeye was quiet a moment, blue eyes wide, before another chuckle sounded from him, evolving into full laughter. Wylder looked the the assassin incredulously.

“I think I'm more upset my dream self managed to get defeated in such a way.”

“Ironeye…”

The archer sighed heavily, rising from Wylder's bed. “I suppose its about time I told you. Where's your greatsword?”

It had been on his bed. Wylder searched the area, finding it on the floor. It must have fell in Ironeye's struggle to awaken him. Wylder easily presented the weapon to Ironeye, curious as to the point the archer had to make.

He nearly dropped it when Ironeye began unbuckling the chest piece of his armor. His mouth ran dry as it fell to the floor with a thud. The archer had a simple black shirt beneath it, which clung to his chest and abs. Wylder swallowed, ripping his eyes away as warmth filled his cheeks.

“Watch,” came the command, Ironeye’s voice going deeper. Wylder suppressed a shiver as he glanced back. The assassin took his greatsword from him. Curiosity turned into horror as Ironeye plunged the weapon deep into his chest with a sickening squelch.

Wylder quickly rose from his bed, hands flying to the handle of his greatsword. Ironeye stubbornly refused to move.

“Are you mad?!” Wylder hissed as he tried to get his weapon.

“No,” Ironeye chuckled. He sounded winded, but nothing else in his voice wavered. “But I'm quite dead.”

Wylder's attempt at grabbing his greatsword paused. “Dead?”

Ironeye nodded. “I'm dead. I belong to a group known as Those Who Live in Death. The entirety of the Fellowship does. I'm a walking corpse.”

Wylder watched the way Ironeye's chest didn't rise and fall, the way he stood with his greatsword in his chest as if it was a mild inconvenience.

Wylder suddenly understood. The reason Ironeye didn't eat, didn't take the bread he offered. Why he didn't sleep, hesitant to tell him why he was constantly awake every time Wylder sought after him.

He was already dead.

Gently, Wylder pried his greatsword from Ironeye's flesh. Ironeye gave a grunt, but showed no other signs of pain as he unhooked a flask from his belt and turned to take a quick sip. Wylder watched the wound mend itself closed.

Shakily, Wylder placed the greatsword down by his bed. “You could have just told me. Surely you still feel pain, yes?”

Ironeye nodded. “I do, but I imagine it's much less than you feel. Holy magic hurts, but I do not get poisoned. My heart doesn't beat. I do not need sleep. I do not eat. I do not die easily. I make the perfect soldier.”

Idly, Wylder raised a hand to the ripped portion of Ironeye’s shirt. The flesh beneath it mended, no trace of scar. Ironeye stiffened, but made no other move. Carefully, Wylder pressed his hand to Ironeye's chest. Cold. There was no motion of inhaling or exhaling. He pressed harder. He couldn't feel a heartbeat.

Ironeye was well and truly dead.

“I'm sorry,” he said, because he had no other words.

“Don't be,” Ironeye replied softly. “I was born into it. Into the Fellowship. It's all I know. Better me than anyone else. There is no place for me or those like me in the Lands Between. I'm grateful my work allows me to see it at all.”

“Nonsense,” Wylder disagreed. “You deserve to live a full life, undead or otherwise.”

Ironeye chuckled, and Wylder could feel it under his fingertips. “I told you, kind and gentle despite how fierce you are. Not everyone agrees. This predates from over a thousand years ago, when the God Marika shattered the Elden Ring and hid the Death rune. There is nothing we can do.”

“I don't believe that,” Wylder refused softly. It wasn't right, for someone like Ironeye, or anyone for that matter, to have to hide who they were, hide something they couldn't help.

“My custodian would have liked you.” Ironeye said in a tender tone. “You'll have to bare with it. I assumed you went down to the crypt again, and the traitor told you. I thought it was why you didn't want to spend nights with me anymore.”

Wylder looked up at Ironeye at that, head tilted.

“I came here to hunt down a traitor,” Ironeye clarified, eyes soft. “He was injured, but I couldn't kill him right away. I needed a Holy weapon.”

“Fulghor's spear,” Wylder said, realizing. Ironeye nodded.

“Yes. In the interim, he was trapped in the crypt.”

“You didn't want me to come across him. Why?”

Ironeye didn't answer. Wylder sighed, coming across his own realization. Ironeye thought he was avoiding him because of his nature. “This changes nothing for me. That wasn't why I pulled away.”

“Then why?” Ironeye's voice was carefully level. Wylder found he could no longer meet his eyes. He pulled away, sitting on his bed. Ironeye followed, sitting next to him.

“I'm dying,” he eventually said softly. “I will not survive the end of the Night.”

“Ah…so that's why Revenant has been pestering me to keep a closer eye on you and making me report back to her," Ironeye hummed thoughtfully. “I had an inkling. But I figured you'd tell me when the time was right.”

The statement made Wylder stiffen, guilty. Ironeye clarified. “You're entitled to your privacy, Wylder. I figured you didn't want to admit it, but I know you aren't afraid to die. Most likely, you're afraid to leave Duchess behind.”

“I'm afraid for her fate,” Wylder clarified. Ironeye nodded.

“Ah, she's trapped, right? Until the Night is extinguished.”

“Yes. But once the Night is extinguished, the Hold will have no use. It will disappear. And so will she.”

Ironeye didn't take long to put everything together.

“The silver tear. Whatever you're planning is for her sake.” Wylder nodded, not surprised Ironeye knew what he took despite his best efforts to hide it.

“It's too late for me. But if there is a chance I can save her…”

“It's alright,” Ironeye said softly. “At least you have the freedom to do as you feel is right. Once I am done here, I will be disposed of.”

Wylder startled at that, but Ironeye was quick to continue. “I know, now, that I have a choice in all of this. You taught me that. The Hold will not be forever. But…perhaps it is reasonable for me to be a little selfish. For me to choose as my heart desires. After all, we are dead men walking, are we not?”

Wylder's heart pounded as Ironeye carefully and gently hooked a finger under his chin, forcing Wylder to look into those pretty blue eyes. His breath hitched, and Ironeye's eyes crinkled in amusement.

“You really are beautiful, Wylder.” Ironeye's voice took a wistful tone. “Does it make me selfish…to want you all to myself?”

“No,” Wylder whispered back. “Because I want you to myself too.”

Carefully, Ironeye took one of his hands and moved it to hook his finger in the archer's mask. Ironeye hummed softly. “I supposed we have to keep it even.”

Wylder took the invitation, slowly pulling down the assassin's mask. His room was dark, but Wylder could just make out dark skin, a strong jaw, and lips curled into a soft smirk. Ironeye pulled down his hood. Wylder could barely make out silver hair pulled back, a few strands framing his face.

“You're so handsome,” Wylder whispered, eyes greedily taking in whatever of the archer's features be could see in the candle light.

Ironeye's smirk widened before he leaned in close, breath ghosting against Wylder’s lips. “May I?”

Wylder nodded, and soon soft lips were pressing against his own. Gently. Like Ironeye wasn't sure if he could have this. Wylder responded in kind, threading his fingers into Ironeye's hair, careful of the tie, and pressing his lips back. Not too hard, just enough so Ironeye knew Wylder wanted this too.

Then the hand on his chin moved to his hair and held gently. A tongue pressed against his lips, and Wylder parted them to allow access. Ironeye immediately pushed his tongue in, humming as he tasted every inch of Wylder's mouth. His tongue was cool, compared to Wylder's. Not at all unpleasant. It made Wylder curious if he could warm him up with his tongue alone.

Wylder pressed against Ironeye’s tongue with his own, whimpering when the hand in his hair tightened. They moved in tandem for a moment, tasting, exploring, enjoying each other.

Ironeye pulled back, immediately going for Wylder's pulse point. The swordsman panted onto the air, letting out a soft moan as Ironeye latched onto his pulse point and sucked. Ironeye released him to bite gently at his flesh before pulling back.

“You make such sweet noises,” Ironeye whispered, voice rough in his ear. It made his body warm. “I knew you would. Your voice is rich like wine. Can I have you, Wylder?”

Wylder nodded enthusiastically. He didn't think he was capable of telling the assassin no when he said his name so sweetly. Spoke to him in such a tone. He was putty in the assassin's hands.

Ironeye gave him a harder bite, and Wylder whimpered as heat built in his core. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” Wylder hissed quickly. “Please. Ironeye, take me.”

Wylder didn't have it in him to be embarrassed, especially feeling the full body shiver the assassin gave. He felt himself being gently led to lay on his bed, and as his head hit his pillow he suddenly remembered something.

“Wait!” Ironeye paused at the word. “It's too dark. I wish to see you.”

He could see those bright blue eyes blink at him in surprise. Before Ironeye could refuse, Wylder continued, heat going to his face.

“I wish to see you. Completely. I don't know if I'll ever get another chance. Please Ironeye. I'm already dying. Let me see you.”

Ironeye leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before whispering softly.

“As you wish.”