Chapter Text
Though Caelid had been beautiful in its own right before the Shattering, Jerren didn’t miss the flowers that bloomed across its land. Jerren missed the tall grass that flowed with the wind, the mist that rolled over the hills and provided cover to hares and foxes as they participated in their two-way dance of predator and prey. He could relate to that, to feeling like both a predator and prey in regards to the situation with Radahn. ‘The situation’- the phrasing made it sound like he was a problem dog to be put to sleep and dumped out the back of the castle. Jerren, in sleepless nights at Redmane Castle, imagined himself as both stalking a target and being targeted in return- and the idea of a problem dog returned to the forefront of his mind.
The soldiers spoke of him in terms of an animal. That’s what he was, to them- a feral, beastial shadow of his former self that existed to bring shame to his own former legacy. It was never, never out of disrespect, no; his men knew better than to talk or think about him in a discourteous manner, just as they knew better than to let their admiration turn to pity. To know Starscourge Radahn was to love him, and those that knew him would traverse the length of the body of the Erdtree to see him die with at least a scrap of dignity.
It was why, when a Tarnished warrior spoke to him about how best to put Radahn down for good, Jerren willingly offered as much information as possible. Caelid was not a place of hope, and Jerren didn’t delude himself into thinking anything too unrealistic; but he knew, still, that this fellow was their best shot yet. Someone who wouldn’t be, who physically couldn’t be more fodder for Radahn’s unholy appetite would, at the very least, distract Radahn from further humiliation for a while, before they gave in and gave up, abandoning Redmane Castle and leaving them with the same problem, unchanged.
It was, as such, that when Jerren offered information about Radahn to the Tarnished, he expected them to walk right out the door and leave them before even trying. He wasn’t expecting a Homeric struggle between two warriors, abandoned by their Gods in two different, complimentary ways; he wasn’t expecting anything , really.
That was why, when the Tarnished had actually taken him up on the offer, Jerren was shocked. He kept his voice measured so as not to show it, so as not to let the Tarnished know they were the closest thing to a miracle Jerren had seen in a long time. Some of the men gathered behind Jerren on the high wall of Redmane Castle to watch the Tarnished track down the gargantuan, lumbering figure of their General. Together, they watched as they became a speck on the horizon- as, evidently, Radahn had wandered out further than his usual route.
Sound traveled easily over a desert. There was roaring, explosive sounds of magic battering the land and of sand presumably being whipped up into a whirlwind around them. There was the sharp, pained cry of a horse, another roar, and then there was nothing.
One of the men that had bothered to stay tapped Jerren on then shoulder, and Jerren turned to face them.
“So we just wait for them to come back?”
Jerren made a noise, one that he couldn’t easily assign an emotion to. He had leaned against the wall so as to hold his aching old bones upright, in lieu of simply sitting in his chair deeper inside the castle. Now, he looked between the soldier and the expanse of barren land, watching and waiting for the makeshift sandstorm to subside. He ultimately gave no concrete answer to the soldier, waiting and watching that it might answer the question for him.
Once the sandstorm had mostly subsided, Jerren was able to make out the form of an average height figure trudging their way back to the castle- surely, it was the Tarnished that they spoke of. Deep sighs of exasperation filled the air, some as simple as a frustrated burst of air from a soldier’s nose and some as dramatic as a restrained sob. They were unsuccessful, as Jerren was certain he was about to be told once they’d arrived here.
I did all I could, but he’s too powerful. You need to take him out yourself.
And he’d fake a tone of neutrality, trying to hide the fact that he was absolutely in tatters inside by this point. Jerren had lost the basis of himself and his identity, doomed to watch it trudge by every night and bellow at the sky. He wondered if Radahn had taken enough hits that he’d need to rest before returning to his usual path, or if he would shortly appear on the horizon once more. Words danced over Jerren’s mind as he imagined what he’d even say, this time- if there was anything to be said at all.
You did your best, after all. We’re forever grateful for that. Perhaps you can return some day and try again, but we thank you for your-
“Sir!”
A hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of his self-imposed trance brought Jerren back to the moment. He blinked, then turned to face the soldier that had grabbed his attention. Jerren’s eyes had all but glazed over, and evidently, he hadn’t been hearing them call his name, either.
“What’s the matter?”
The soldier gestured outwards. “Look.”
The sandstorm had subsided almost entirely, and now that he wasn’t deafened by his racing thoughts, Jerren was able to hear an all too familiar sound: the thrumming of General Radahn’s steps against the barren landscape. The sound, combined with the imagery that now became impossible to ignore, both assaulted Jerren’s senses. He blinked, he pulled at his ears, he did whatever he could to ensure that what he was seeing was what was actually happening.
With a considerable lead, the Tarnished warrior was nearly back to the exterior of the castle, standing where Jerren would have once watched the foxes and rabbits chase one another on misty mornings. They had stopped, as if to allow someone to catch up behind them- and Jerren realized, then, that that was exactly what was happening. As his footsteps grew louder, General Radahn grew close enough now that Jerren could see him clearly following the Tarnished, seemingly on a path right back to the castle. For a moment, Jerren wondered if they’d been betrayed- if the Tarnished had managed to sic Radahn against them, now, in a final blow to the last dregs of his men. When Radahn kept walking, closer and closer, Jerren finally managed to catch a good look at his beloved superior’s expression, and for perhaps the first time since before the Shattering, it was not one of rage.
He was confused.
Jerren turned to the man who’d gotten his attention and, breathless, found himself speaking automatically. “Gather everyone. All of you, go meet them outside.”
“Everyone?”
“Yes, did I stutter? Everyone!”
Jerren still wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was beginning to put it together, piece by piece. Radahn was distinctly, definitely following the path that the Tarnished laid out for them, and now that Radahn had grown closer, Jerren could see that Radahn had even dismounted from Leonard, and was leading him with one hand by the horse’s tattered reins. His other hand was empty, and as Jerren searched over the form of Radahn, he saw no sign of any of his weapons. Radahn was a powerful sorcerer, still, and at a moment’s notice, he could have pulled from the stars which he swore to hold in place, battering the castle with enchanted meteorites; that moment never came.
Finally, Radahn stopped a bit behind the Tarnished, looking down at the smaller figure as if for guidance. When the Tarnished gave him no cue, Radahn turned his head from side to side, looking around with wide eyes. A look of confusion was still written plainly across his face, and around the same time as the first of the soldiers began to pour out of the castle’s doors, Radahn let out a noise to match the expression. It wasn’t his usual bellowing screech, no- it was a whimpering, pitiable sound at about half his usual volume.
As the soldiers approached the Tarnished, some brandishing weapons while others walked up without so much as a raised fist, Jerren knew that he needed to be down there, and he needed to be there now . As Jerren sped away from his post as quickly as his old bones could carry him, he heard another sound from Radahn, and the buzz of chatter between the Tarnished and the soldiers. Jerren raced through the castle, down, down, and down some more, before he threw open the front gates and broke into a run. From there, he approached and then fought through the crowd before him, making his way to the front as the Tarnished continued to speak to them.
“You!”
The Tarnished shut their mouth, eyes going to Jerren as he broke through.
“You- how did he-”
A cacophony of noise broke out from the soldiers behind him, all trying to speak at once, but Jerren was solely focused on the Tarnished. They seemed to be watching the soldiers for a moment, before they turned their gaze to Jerren, extended one hand to point at Radahn, and spoke shortly:
“He’s cured.”
Jerren felt the blood drain out of his face.
“What do you mean, ‘he’s cured’?”
The Tarnished lowered their hand, nodding solemnly. “I know this sounds too good to be true-”
Against his better judgment- no, in the lack of any judgment- that line, in that context, sent Jerren into a rage. He reeled back and punched the Tarnished in the jaw as hard as he could, with all of the force in his wizened hand. They crumpled to the ground, grabbing their jaw, and Jerren pounced on them. He punched them again, and again, kicking them in the stomach for good measure before a group of soldiers descended on him to pull him off.
When Jerren first spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. “You don’t know-”
“Sir!”
More soldiers tried to pull him off, and Jerren raised his voice, now screaming, “YOU HAVEN’T SUFFERED LIKE WE HAVE!”
“Sir, please-”
“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT WE’VE SEEN! WHAT I’VE DONE!, ” Jerren was pulled back, but still he writhed, kicking his feet until two soldiers sat on his limbs to hold him down. “YOU MOCK THE SUFFERING OF THOUSANDS!”
The same soldier that had gotten his attention at the castle wall was now holding his head back, frantically trying to speak some sense to him,
“Calm the fuck down, you senile old cod! You’re going to make things worse!”
Jerren thrashed and fought more, but he had no more words to speak. Not because he was taking heed of what the soldier said, no- he was simply too enraged by this charlatan that stood before him. He’d put his trust in a total stranger, he’d ensured that this warrior would make at least an effort to put Radahn out of the misery that had consumed him and left him a shell of his former self. No words could describe the pain that Jerren was in whenever he saw what had become of Radahn, of the man he loved more than he could ever express to anyone. That was it, entirely- the emotions he felt were too much to be expressed to this bastard.
Jerren spit at the Tarnished, but then finally let his body relax. The soldiers didn’t stop restraining him, nor did the Tarnished rise from the ground, and Jerren was becoming aware of the frantic, animalistic sounds he had started to make from a mixture of primal rage and all-consuming despair. It was then that Jerren realized he had yet again been so lost in his own mind that he hadn’t heard the rapidly approaching footsteps of the General- not until Radahn was standing right over him.
The soldiers that had restrained Jerren abruptly let go and fell back, some again readying their weapons. Jerren stared up at Radahn, mouth slack and hanging open as he panted.
“What did that bastard do to you, to bring you here!?” Jerren called out to Radahn. He was, in that moment, wholly prepared to have his head bitten off and his organs pulled out of his body like strings from a pumpkin. He had seen what Radahn did when he was this close to a helpless soldier, and by that point, Jerren was too tired to fight it. He shut his eyes, went limp, and prepared to meet his fate with only a single interjection- “Whatever spell he has you under, I know you want me dead. So do it! Take me from this diseased planet, that I might be with the form of you that died all those years ago and left behind this! ”
There was a pause from all parties, with Jerren hearing only his breathing and the labored breathing of his General. It stayed that way for a long moment, longer than it had any right to be, before one massive, gloved hand pressed itself against Jerren’s torso. Jerren kept his eyes shut, knowing the fate that he had fully resigned himself to was only a moment away- and yet what followed was something that Jerren could never have prepared himself for.
There was the sound of a deep, wheezing breath, of crackling not unlike that found in someone with a punctured lung. There was the sound of a wordless whine, and then-
“Jerren.”
His eyes did not fly open as rapidly as he would have thought they would, for a reason which he didn’t quite understand. Perhaps he was afraid he’d hallucinated from the amount of blistering rage coursing through his body, or perhaps he was afraid to reconcile his mental image with whatever Radahn looked like now. The latter seemed to be the most likely, as Jerren struggled to open his eyes and look up at the General, only to see a deep, twisted frown on Radahn’s face. His lips were parted as he wheezed, chest continuing to crackle somewhat sickeningly, but those same lips were pulled into an expression somewhere between confusion and agony.
Jerren’s own mouth slid open, as the corner of his vision caught the Tarnished scurrying out of the way and to their feet. All eyes were on Radahn, as his hand on Jerren was lifted once, then came back down. He repeated the action, and Jerren wondered for a moment what was happening, before he realized that he was being patted. Radahn, lost to the madness of Scarlet Rot, was patting him. Radahn, husk of his former self, incapable of stopping himself from sucking intestines out of rotting corpses like they were candyfloss, had said his name, and was now attempting to comfort him.
Jerren didn’t turn to face them when he spoke, eyes still on Radahn, but he directed his next words at the Tarnished.
“You fucking did it.”
There was a long pause, as if the Tarnished was waiting to see if they’d be jumped again, before they replied, “I made a potion out of- well, it’s essentially cave moss. I tricked him into drinking it, and it’s been working for about the past half hour,” There was another pause, before the Tarnished added, “You won’t see the full effects for a full day, though.”
Radahn kept patting Jerren, and Jerren now saw that Radahn had managed to take a knee to do so. He was trembling, hands twitching and shaking as they patted the old man’s body, but he didn’t seem like he’d stop doing it anytime soon. Jerren cleared his throat, addressing the Tarnished once more.
“I’m- I’m sorry for attacking you, but,” He looked into Radahn’s eyes, and his heart sunk as he saw the same dull nothingness from before. Even with his expression having changed, it didn’t seem to reach his eyes or eyebrows, causing a sort of strange dissonance between the behavior he was displaying and the behavior Jerren was used to. “What’s going to happen now?”
Radahn abruptly stopped patting Jerren, and he stood back up to full height unsteadily. Slowly and with some evident labor, he looked between the Tarnished and Jerren, before his eyes seemed to shift out of focus entirely. He was staring off into the distance behind the soldiers, gaze pointing in two different directions, when the Tarnished spoke again.
“It doesn’t cure any- or, most, at least- of his medical problems, unfortunately, or his brain damage. But he shouldn’t attack anyone else again, or do anything to harm anyone at all.”
Jerren briefly felt sick as he realized that, if that were true, then he had now become more impulsive and aggressive than Radahn was. He’d attacked the Tarnished unprovoked over so little as them hitting his sensitive spot with their phrasing, and he saw blood dripping from their nose as they stood amongst the crowd. The soldiers remained quiet, almost no weapons drawn now and eyes almost all fixed on the face of their once-glorious leader.
Sighing deeply and with one hand going to rest on his temples, Jerren waved his other hand and spoke up, “All of you, besides the Tarnished- get him into the courtyard. I don’t…I don’t think we have a room big enough for him save for the stables.”
‘Yes, sir!’ echoed behind him, and the soldiers approached Radahn slowly, gently, as if trying not to startle him. He still looked out blankly, not acknowledging them until one of them touched Leonard’s reins. At that point, he blinked twice before turning to face the perpetrator- but there was no look of anger on his face. Instead, he let out a noise that seemed to be something akin to garbled speech; no soldier answered him. As they started trying to usher him into the gates, Radahn, at least partially to everyone’s surprise, followed where the crowd led him.
Once Jerren was alone, he sat up and made eye contact with the Tarnished.
“Here,” The Tarnished produced a slightly crinkled paper from one of their pockets, and handed it to Jerren. “If you ever need more of his cure, which you shouldn’t , unless he goes back out there and gets infected again. I have the feeling that I’m not welcome here.”
“I didn’t mean-”
They shook their head. “This isn’t my business. I’ll leave, it’s fine.”
Jerren nodded, though he didn’t completely agree. “Will you be alright?”
The Tarnished wiped some of the blood off of their nose before answering,
“Me? I’m fine,” They paused, then continued, “Promise me you’ll take care of him, ok?”
“Of course.”
From there, the Tarnished turned on their heel and headed out into the wastes of Caelid once more. Jerren watched them leave for wholly too long before he remembered the situation at hand. He scrambled to his feet, dusted himself off a bit, and headed for the now-closed front gates. All the way to the interior of the castle once more, where Radahn was being taken to the courtyard closest to the gate, Jerren had a predicament.
The impossible, the supposedly impossible under any circumstances, had happened.
Now what?
A single word echoed through Jerren’s mind as he made his way to the courtyard. In another circumstance, hearing your own name be repeated endlessly through your mind might have been a sign of vanity- or, at the very least, a sign that you had a few screws loose. While Jerren wasn’t arguing with the latter, that didn’t change the fact that all he could focus on was the way that Radahn had said his name.
Jerren.
Wheezing, whistling, crackling like a wooden stove in winter. He heard the thickness behind the word, likely from Radahn struggling to move the half-tongue he still had left in his mouth. Jerren had seen, but hadn’t processed, a strand of drool beginning to run down Radahn’s face after he said the name, though Jerren wasn’t sure how he would have taken it in the moment. Even more than that, Jerren had at some point caught a glimpse of Radahn’s open mouth, as the General had looked onto the gathered crowd, bewildered.
From what Jerren had seen of Radahn, now that they were up close, he wished that he hadn’t seen it. He wished that Radahn had stayed at a distance. His head spun at the thought that now Radahn was here , not out in the dunes, not separated from his men. He was here , and he was Jerren’s responsibility, and Jerren would somehow have to pull a miracle out of a man whose skin was so badly damaged that it looked as though he had been submerged in a vat of degreaser for months on end. A man whose teeth had passed yellow and even a gangrenous green, and now had a grayish tint to them that belayed their dead nerve centers. A man whose eyes were so beyond overworked that the sclera were nearly black with blood, and whose vision was almost certainly nearly gone or going soon.
Now he was back in Jerren’s care, back being Jerren’s responsibility. He was Jerren’s to fix. Jerren thought back to that trembling, twitching, shaking hand that had jerked uncontrollably even throughout the simple act of patting someone, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to get Radahn to hold a fork, or a pen, or anything he’d need to take care of himself. Jerren’s head spun, sinking deeper into despair. What was left of Radahn to fix? What was left beneath his armor, if there was anything, or would they be degloving him to remove it? Once more, Jerren wondered if Radahn would ever be able to feed himself, or bathe himself, or even if he would be able to maintain the ability to walk on his sloughed-off stumps.
Jerren leaned against a wall, hyperventilating. His hands went to his face, gripping it tight as he leaned over to retch, losing the contents of his stomach from that day. He kept going until nothing but spit came out, then wiped off his mouth with one trembling hand. Just like Radahn’s. He bent over and spit again, then again, before straightening back up and trying to force the images out of his mind.
It was all that Jerren had ever wanted to see Radahn put out of his misery- and now, instead, Jerren and Radahn’s remnants were solely responsible for managing to find some lesser humiliation in the life that Radahn was doomed to live. Jerren wondered how long the other man had left to live like this, if not sustained artificially by the Rot. How much had been healed, physically , when the curse was lifted? Radahn’s skin still looked bruised all over and bloated, and that couldn’t be a good sign of what lay internally.
Jerren managed to collect himself enough to take a deep breath and head for the courtyard. Sound traveled easily, here, and so he was relieved at the apparent absence of more whining or whimpering from Radahn- until he got close enough to hear the other man’s wheezing once more. Jerren braced himself as he turned the corner, and when he came face-to-face with Radahn, he was…not as startled as he could have been.
Radahn was sitting on the ground, legs in front of him, splaying slightly in different directions. Leonard stood behind him, leaning over him, and Radahn seemed to have a handful of the horse’s hair. To Jerren’s surprise, the men seemed…at least mostly in good spirits. Some had crouched down to sit around Radahn, and others still were pacing around him. Those who paced had their weapons out, but there was a distinctive air that they were there to protect their General- not protect from him.
Once Jerren had approached the crowd, he cleared his throat, trying to garner the attention of those still transfixed (and who could blame them?) by Radahn. It had the unintended effect of causing Radahn himself to turn and look at Jerren. His mouth was parted a bit, teeth not visible but with a conspicuous trail of drool coming from the corner of his mouth. Jerren briefly felt thankful that it seemed clear- no blood, no Rot juice, no dead flesh- before he considered the absurdity of feeling thankful for that.
“All of you, thank you for your cooperation,” Jerren put his hands together in front of him, looking around the crowd from behind his shroud. “I’m sure this outcome is…far from what any of us were expecting. I ask now that you all give me some time to get this sorted, and I promise you, I will deliver our General to you in as best shape as I can manage.”
One of the soldiers sitting closest to Radahn spoke up, first, “I don’t want to abandon him again.”
There were murmurs from the crowd in agreement. Jerren tried to stifle a sigh. The Tarnished had said that this wouldn’t cure Radahn’s physical health, nor would it return faculties he had lost- and that left Jerren with a predicament. He didn’t know how long Radahn had left in this world, and he could ensure that the General had that time with the remnants of his men; but at the same time, hadn’t Jerren sworn never to let him remain in this state?
The latter won out, and Jerren took a few steps forwards.
“We all swore to him that we’d take him out of his indignity. Sitting around with him drooling on himself and not recognizing what the hell is happening- that’s indignity.”
Another soldier spoke up, “I’m not leaving his side that easily.”
More murmurs affirmed what had been said, and this time, Jerren couldn’t stifle his sigh.
“I won’t be taking him anywhere. Where do you think I can even go with him?” The mumbling turned more affirmative, to the point that now there were hardly any dissenters at all. Jerren continued, “He doesn’t fit anywhere in the castle proper, and anything outside of the walls might as well be Hell- we can’t go out of here. Just- just give me some time with him, before we all start to crowd him.”
Before the murmuring could start up again, Leonard made a noise, a sort of nonsense, animalistic noise. Heads turned to face him, seeing that Radahn had let go of him- and he made his own nonsense, animalistic noise. He looked slowly between the men and Jerren, as if he sort of half-understood what was happening. The men that had been sitting began to stand up, and a few of them patted Radahn on the side as the crowd dispersed and retreated deeper into the castle. Radahn didn’t acknowledge them individually, and instead, seemed just to be watching them leave. Finally, once the last of the men had trudged away, Radahn turned back to look at Jerren.
Jerren opened his mouth, then shut it. He repeated the action once, twice, three times. Finally, he took a few steps towards Radahn and then reached out for one of the man’s gargantuan hands. Radahn looked over Jerren, feet to head, and then seemed to pause as he looked at Jerren’s face.
“I know you recognize me,” Jerren’s voice was breathless, coming out much quieter than he’d hoped. He cleared his throat and tried again, “You still know my name. I wasn’t expecting that.”
Radahn was silent, but slowly unfurled his clenched hand. Jerren patted it, and experimented with pulling it closer to himself- and Radahn offered no resistance. His expression was impossible to read, and though Jerren told himself not to expect much, he was left hoping for something, anything from the other man. Against his better judgment, Jerren felt more words fall out of his mouth sloppily, giving light to more emotion than he ever would have wanted to show.
“I never- I never stopped trying to find someone to help. I didn’t think that this would happen. To be honest, I didn’t know how successful we’d be, but I didn’t- didn’t think this would happen. I didn’t- I thought someone would come by once we were all dead and finish you off then. I didn’t know there was a cure.”
Radahn’s lips parted, and Jerren’s heart accelerated in anticipation of a response. After a moment of waiting, though, it was clear that Radahn had nothing more to offer. Jerren shook his head.
“Right, that’s- that’s alright,” He retracted his hand, and when he did, Radahn clenched his fist once more. ‘Frustrating’ didn’t quite cover it, but it was… something , seeing Radahn react, yet not in a way that made sense. Jerren shook his head. “Can you stand? Do you need help?”
Radahn’s mouth closed once more, and he seemed to be thinking for a moment. Then, he pushed himself slowly to a standing position, clearly unsteady as he stood there. He turned and grabbed Leonard’s reigns, and seemed prepared to mount his steed once more when Jerren interrupted-
“Ah, no- no. Why don’t we take him to the stables?”
Radahn looked between Leonard and Jerren, once, then twice. He seemed to pick up what Jerren had said, and started walking towards the oversized stables at the very furthest edge of the castle’s inner walls. Jerren led the way, though he knew that some degree of it must have been muscle memory from Radahn putting away his beloved horse every night.
The stables were, by far, the tallest building inside of the castle. Though Radahn had shot upwards in height directly after the Shattering, he’d already been well-known for his tremendous size, as had Leonard (at least in comparison to other horses); thus, the construction of Redmane Castle had taken care to create a space that was easy for the General to mount Leonard within. The ceilings and door frames of the rest of the castle were generally all taller than usual for the Lands Between, but none of them were large enough to accommodate Radahn at his current height- leaving nowhere except the stables for him and Leonard.
Once at the stables, Radahn stepped before Jerren, pushing open one of the doors and leading Leonard inside. As Jerren stepped inside, too, Radahn wasted no time in leading Leonard to one of the stalls, taking off his riding gear and letting the overworked horse loose inside. Leonard seemed to relax, and Jerren wondered if the animal could sense that he was finally free. Another part of Jerren wondered if Radahn felt the same.
“Thank you, General.”
Radahn turned to face Jerren, mouth closed in a still-unreadable expression. Jerren made eye contact with those same bloodshot eyes, still visible as such even in the unlit, previously unused stables. Radahn’s purplish skin seemed to soak up any of the light that seeped in through the crack in the door, and Jerren found himself wondering if Radahn’s skin would improve at all now that the Rot wasn’t flowing through his veins. There were a lot of questions running through Jerren’s mind, almost all of them about Radahn’s health and future state, but he knew that he could only find the answers as time passed by. He would have to wait and see- as painful as that was to consider.
Jerren’s eyes traced over Radahn’s form once more, and a light went off in his mind. Behind the stables, through a door that Radahn should just barely be able to squeeze through, there was a large, metal basin that had once been used for collecting rainwater. In practice, though, it had last been used as a makeshift washing tub for the General once his height had begun to skyrocket, in that brief sliver of time before he fought the Blade of Miquella and before Caelid was turned to its current state. It would have been at least partially filled, Jerren thought, as this area of Caelid got sparse but surprisingly not corrosive rain.
“Can you follow me?” Radahn cocked his head, but Jerren pointed at the tall door that led outside. “We’re going out there. Come with me.”
As Jerren took off, the resonant beat of Radahn’s footsteps told him that the other man was following him. He held open the door, and Radahn fit himself through with a grunt of what Jerren thought might be frustration. The two of them made it to the space behind the stables, though, and Jerren saw that his assumption had been correct- the basin was filled up to what would likely be Radahn’s mid-leg. Jerren turned back to Radahn, who seemed to be just about to sit back down on the ground.
“No, hold on-” Radahn stopped, listening. “Alright, good, er…I’ll need you to take off your armor.”
Radahn’s hands went to his chest, but then didn’t move. Jerren shared his hesitation- he wasn’t sure what he was going to see beneath it, or if he would be harming Radahn in the process. Jerren knew, though, that he couldn’t just let Radahn stay in his filthy, blood-soaked armor, nor could he refuse to do things for Radahn’s sake out of fear of harming him. Radahn was back- and, as strange as it might be, he would have to adapt to his surroundings as best as he could.
“Do you need help?”
Radahn stared at the ground for a moment, and Jerren saw more drool gathering at the corner of his mouth. Jerren cleared his throat and repeated himself,
“General, do you need help undressing?”
The other man looked up, blinking, as if he’d broken out of a trance. He paused for a moment, like considering what Jerren had said, but then began to remove his bracers. The first hit the ground unceremoniously, and now closer to him, Jerren could see that the fur on the bracer was matted with blood and crusted with sand. The second hit the ground, before Radahn’s hands went to the bottom of his chestplate. There, he seemed to struggle a bit, and Jerren came closer. The smaller man’s hands went to the gap between the chestplate and Radahn’s actual body, and with both of their efforts, there was a click before his abdominal armor slid off in two parts. It, too, hit the ground.
“You-”
Jerren’s words died on his tongue. The skin beneath the chestplate was a mottled purple, too, with old scars now raised in white and gray tones. There were no newer-looking scars, with the only sign of a new injury being a recessed, deep cut that would have lain right at the segment between the chest plate and the lower bit of armor that covered his stomach. Jerren thought back to Radahn’s fight with Malenia, and compared the memory of her blades to the wound that he now saw- and it was an exact match.
“Does that hurt?”
Though he wasn’t expecting a response, Jerren was met with a soft sound from Radahn, not unlike a sigh. Jerren’s eyes widened.
“I’m sorry.”
Radahn looked away, and Jerren knew that he had to stay focused on the task at hand. His hands went to Radahn’s lower armor, and the two of them began to pull off the legs and hanging skirt of Radahn’s armor. He made another soft sound as he was undressed, but to Jerren’s relief, there seemed not to be any new wounds here. That left just Radahn’s boots- what was left of them, at least. This was where Jerren hesitated, as he knew that he was going to inevitably come to face the injuries on Radahn’s feet from where he had worn himself down pacing. As the leg armor snapped off, Jerren knelt down beside Radahn’s lower legs, getting a better look at the issue at hand.
“General-” His words died on his tongue once more. Radahn had managed to wear the flesh down to nothing more than stubs, walking directly on the now blunted bones of his ankles. It looked not unlike he’d been wading in something corrosive for months on end, leaving Jerren to wonder if there was something inherent to the land of Caelid that had helped to cause this. Jerren’s hands shook as he tried to remove the armor that was now partly fused to the flesh of Radahn’s ankles, but as he did so, there was a cry of pain from Radahn.
“I’m sorry, I don’t-” Jerren stepped back, and one of Radahn’s hands, now free of its armor, rested on his back. Jerren’s lips parted as he tried to think of what to say, but he was, instead, distracted; there were tears visible in the corners of Radahn’s eyes, and his grey-black teeth were gritted shut in a grimace of pain. “Alright, I’ll stop. We’ll come back to that.”
Jerren stood up a bit further, setting one hand on Radahn’s bare thigh. Between the hand on his thigh and Radahn’s own hand on his back, Jerren could feel that he was shaking. Not exactly sure what to do, Jerren decided to pat the bare skin there, before reassuring Radahn,
“It’s alright. I don’t want to do anything that’s going to hurt you.”
The shaking seemed to grow weaker, and Jerren continued, “You’re alright. You’re alright now.”
Radahn shut his eyes, and when they reopened, the tears were gone. He seemed to take a deep breath, no longer grimacing, and Jerren patted him once more. Jerren figured that it would take a moment for Radahn to calm down, and instead, he tried to turn Radahn’s attention to the last of his remaining armor. Jerren tapped Radahn, and Radahn bent down, allowing his helmet to be removed in one swift motion. His billowing mane of hair stuck out in several directions, also matted and coated in sand. From there, Jerren set down the helmet, and then tapped the side of the basin beside them both.
“Do you want to try and get in?"
There was a pause, before Radahn cocked his head at Jerren. He murmured something, not quite too quiet to be heard but just not enunciated clearly enough.
“I’m sorry?”
Radahn sighed. He gestured, but Jerren wasn’t sure what he was getting at.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
There was another pause, before Radahn shook his head. His lips parted, and he sighed, before speaking again with visible effort:
“Cold?”
Jerren’s eyes went wide. “Um- no, probably not. It stays humid around here, I’d- imagine it’s warm enough. Do you want me to test it?”
Radahn nodded, and Jerren did so, too. He got on his tiptoes and leaned over the basin, then stuck one hand in- and, as he’d thought, it was fairly warm. Jerren nodded at Radahn, and Radahn seemed satisfied with that answer, as he took a few steps up to the side of it before stepping in. He moved slowly, still trudging along, but once he’d gotten halfway into the basin, he was quick to get his other half in. As Jerren had also figured, the water came up to about Radahn’s mid-leg.
From there, Jerren lifted up a finger to Radahn, signaling him to hold on a moment. He scanned around the tiny courtyard for signs of what used to be there, and what should have still been there- after all, he hadn’t taken anything out of it since they’d last used this space. Jerren finally came up on the slightly worse-for-wear chest in the corner of the yard, flung it open, and grabbed an oversized (but still miniscule in comparison) bar of soap and a rough rag. He returned to Radahn’s side.
“Do you need my help for this?”
Radahn looked down at Jerren, and Jerren found himself looking down at the ground. His eyes went back up, though, and he sighed- not quite at Radahn, but at the situation as a whole.
“Hold on.”
He wasted no time in stripping himself undressed, clothes falling to the ground before he gathered back up the soap and the rag. He scurried over the side of the basin, nearly losing his footing, but soon he was standing in the tub with Radahn. He waded over to the mountain of a man that was taking up most of the space, and he began to lather the soap onto the rag.
“I can’t help with all of this, but if- if you can get some , that’s fine.”
Radahn nodded. The degree to which he did or didn’t understand what was happening seemed to be varied, and seemed to be tied intrinsically with the trances that he found himself falling in and out of. Right then, Radahn seemed to be picking up a fair amount of what Jerren said to him. He stiffened up as Jerren approached him with the rag, and Jerren began to clean the layers of blood, sand, and general muck off of where it was caked onto Radahn’s thighs.
He was a naturally hairy man, but it seemed that he’d lost some of the bushiness that had once covered his legs and arms. There was still a scattering of coarse, wiry red hair there, and Jerren caught some of it with the rag as he cleaned the other man. There was, of course, the elephant in the room between them- or, in this case, in the tub. Jerren tried to avoid touching Radahn’s hanging cock, which was an easier feat said than done; he was well-endowed even for his size, which was definitely saying something, given that he was nearly 30 feet tall.
Once before, Jerren wouldn’t have hesitated to brush over it- it’d be easy enough to deal with. Radahn was somewhat sensitive, and predictable- he’d either let Jerren get him off, or he’d get himself off in a moment’s time. Now, though, Jerren purposefully avoided his cock as best as he could, simply out of the fact that he had no idea how many of his faculties Radahn still had left. It would have been disgusting of him to touch the other man sexually if he no longer understood what sexual boundaries were .
Radahn seemed either oblivious or completely unaware that it was an issue- likely both, Jerren realized. The water was beginning to come away a mottled reddish brown by the time that his thighs were done being cleaned, and from there, Jerren paused for a moment. He would have to ask for Radahn’s help to go any higher, but if he went lower, he’d have to deal with causing Radahn more pain. At the same time, he had to clean Radahn’s injuries, now that he didn’t have constant movement to keep them held intact. Jerren patted Radahn’s thigh once, trying to get his attention.
“I’ve got to get your feet. Er- your ankles. I know you don’t want me to, but-”
Radahn shook his head, and let out another noise not dissimilar to a sigh. Jerren lowered himself down, going beneath the water. He first attempted to free the twisted flesh from the warped metal that was left there, continuing even as it drew a long, whining noise of pain from Radahn. The first piece came loose easy enough, but the second one took Jerren digging his fingers into the sides to free it. He ripped it off as gently as he could, but it still took considerable effort, and there was a bloom of fresh blood in the water when this side was freed. Jerren tried to waste no time in bringing the soapy cloth to the wounded stubs. As he cleaned, though, Jerren had the horrifying realization that he was taking away some of the flesh with him.
“That’s no good,” He murmured, sitting back up. He tossed the rag off and over the side of the basin, and then climbed out after it to go and find another one. He returned to the chest, grabbed a clean cloth, and then climbed back into the tub. “Here. You should do the rest.”
He held aloft the soap and the rag, waiting for Radahn to take them. Radahn paused for only a moment before taking them both and, to Jerren’s relief, he seemed to know well enough what to do. He began to scrub over his chest, even over the wound that he’d received from Malenia, as Jerren stood beside him and watched. Once Radahn had cleaned his chest, he looked to Jerren, as if for approval; Jerren nodded, and Radahn moved on to his arms. He repeated the process, looking to Jerren for approval when he was done, before finally repeating the process on his face once more. He seemed to start to touch his wild mane of hair before deciding against it, and Jerren couldn’t help but chuckle at that.
“We’ll get that once you get out, alright?”
Radahn nodded, and dropped the bathing supplies into the basin that he shared with the smaller man. He began to climb out, and Jerren followed, though Jerren didn’t stick by his side for long; he scrambled back to the chest to try and find something to dry them both off with, coming up with a towel that seemed sized only for someone slightly taller than Jerren. It would have to work, he figured, and he returned to Radahn and handed it to the other man. Radahn wiped off his chest and arms, then a bit of his legs, before dropping the now soaked towel to the ground.
“Right, it’s not the greatest. Look, I’ll go get you some clothes in a moment, and maybe something to help with your hair- can you stay here?”
Radahn nodded once more.
“Good. Thank you for your cooperation, General.”
Radahn reached down and patted Jerren’s shoulder, and Jerren briefly gripped his hand in acknowledgement. He couldn’t maintain the pose for long, though, as he broke free to go and get dressed himself. From there, he made his way through the stables and into the castle proper, working on autopilot.
The absurdity of the situation hadn’t yet set in for him, and he doubted that it would anytime soon. It hadn’t been… difficult , all things considered. What gnawed at Jerren the most, what made his stomach twist itself into knots and what made his footsteps just that bit more unsteady, was the idea that this would become their new normal. Not difficult, per se, but grating in other ways that Jerren already dreaded.
It was there that he found himself at: the intersection between love for Radahn, and realism in the face of adversity. Not knowing which direction to go in, Jerren continued on his search for clothing large enough to fit the General, and he told himself that he’d handle it all when it hit him next.