(Author's note: A big thanks goes to tumblr user oreostein for inspiring me for the name of my Chosen Undead and the title of this story. A thanks to all who send me suggestions anyway.)
Ornstein had told Gwyndolin to take a rest.
Since he had escaped death after his battle with the Chosen Undead, suffering some severe injuries, Gwyndolin had taken care of him almost every waking minute. He could see how exhausted they started to become and since he was feeling better he had told them to go rest, he would be fine on his own for a few hours.
Ornstein just laid in his bed and stared at the ceiling. It must have been two or three weeks since he had woken up, confused on why he wasn't dead, having to face the horrible truth that the one most dear to him had died in this battle. And while Ornstein knew that his wounds would heal and only leave a few new scars, the wounds in his heart felt like they would never be able to close. He missed Smough, who had been his lover, every waking moment. The executioner had been one of the few people still near to him, one of the few who hadn't died and Ornstein couldn't help but blame himself. He had at least promised Gwyndolin that he would never let anything happen to them, they were the last one left in his life and he would rather die than letting something harmful happen to them.
So he froze when he heard that ominous sound of someone crossing the fog gate that Gwyndolin had put up in front of the Dark Moon Tomb. Ornstein didn't spent a second thought about it, he got out of the bed, grabbed for his spear that leaned next to his armour at the wall and staggered towards the hallway. He hadn't heard Gwyndolin talk to someone, they were surely still asleep. And he wouldn't let someone assassinate them under his watch.
The one they had called a Chosen Undead, but actually preferred to go by the name Tempest, had decided to enter the fog gate after he had kneeled before it for an absurdly long time. He had found this ring from a trip to the catacombs earlier and remembered some of the tales of the Dark Moon Blades. Maybe.. with this ring he should be able to meet Dark Sun Gwyndolin, who was said to be the last born of Gwyn and one of the remaining deities in Anor Londo.
So after he entered the fog gate, he was surprised to see a tall man standing there, dressed in some purple robes, long red hair into a braid, clutching a spear in his hands, looking very ready to stab him with it, but also... with the slumped position he was in and the bandages around his head, he looked like he had been hurt. Tempest decided to clutch his katana a bit tighter into his hands, he had been attacked without a warning far too often in this land.
"You... don't come another step closer.", the man hissed. "I won't let you lay a single finger on them."
Tempest cocked his head, opening the visor part of his elite knight helmet to take a closer look at the man. It was obvious that he was hurt and it seemed like it was quite bad. "Um, are you sure you are up for a fight?", he asked. "Cause... you, uh, look like you should stay in bed."
"Silence!", the man shouted. "Why should you have come to this place uninvited if not to try and assassinate them?" He clutched his spear tighter, the knuckles of his fingers turning white. Tempest stared at this spear and the man, both of them looked so awful familiar... Then it hit him like a brick.
"You... you are the dragon slayer! How the hell are you still alive?", he blurted out. With a shudder he remembered the battle against the famous dragon slayer and the brutal executioner. He had died again and again. Stabbed, smashed, electrocuted, impaled, squashed, stabbed again. It had taken him an awful long time to finally get the dragon slayer down and then the executioner had smashed his head under his hammer. How sturdy must the dragon slayer have been to survive such a blow?
"I don't know why I am still alive but you certainly weren't great help in that.", the dragon slayer quipped. "Now just back away and leave or do you want to have another round?"
Tempest relaxed. "I already beat you, remember?", he said. "Besides, I really don't want to fight you in this state. Actually, I don't want to fight at all. I just don't react very kindly when someone points the pointy end of a blade at me."
"Why should I believe anything you say?", the dragon slayer hissed.
Tempest sighed. "Look, we can fight if you want, but for me it just means another trip back to the bonfire, for you it could be the end for good."
The dragon slayer just stared at him, he looked baffled that this tiny Undead even assumed that he could kill him, even though Tempest kinda had done it before. Then, something unexpected happen. The dragon slayer muttered: "Oh no, not again.", clasped a hand before his mouth, staggered behind one of the pillars at the wall and then Tempus could hear very clear noises of him throwing up.
"Yeah, definitely not going to fight you like this.", he said one more time.
Ornstein was standing there, staring at the puddle, wiping his mouth. How absolutely embarrassing. Not only did that Undead not take him serious at all, now he also had shown how absolute weak he was at the moment. But his decision still stood strong, he wouldn't let him lay a single finger on Gwyndolin. So he froze when he felt someone laying a hand on his shoulder, half expecting it was the Undead, but feeling even more horrified when he actually noticed one of Gwyndolin's snakes on the floor.
"Go back to bed, Ornstein. I will handle this.", they said and turned to the Chosen Undead.
"Thou hast intruded into mine father's tomb, uninvited, thine intentions unclear. If it is thine desire to spill blood in this place, then thou shalt be punished, accordingly." They readied their catalyst, the spell to cast an illusion on the room already on their lips, when the Undead spoke up.
"Um, actually, I came hear to talk.", he said and a clatter implied that he threw his weapons on the ground. "I wanted to make it clear to your knight there.", he cocked his head in Ornstein's direction. "But I wasn't feeling comfortable letting go of my weapons when he pointed his spear at me."
"That is... unexpected.", Gwyndolin said. "What is it thou wish to talk about?"
Ornstein's jaw dropped when he heard Gwyndolin words. "Gwyndolin, you can't be serious.", he started, but Gwyndolin shushed him with a move of their hand.
"Let us at least hear what he has to say.", they whispered.
The Undead seemed to have relaxed a bit and kneeled in front of both of them: "Dark Sun Gwyndolin, I am very sorry, but I must inform you, that I can't complete the task assigned to me. I am close to give up and will go hollow soon."
(Author's note: English is not my first language and I am pretty sure I fucked up the old english, so if anyone of you sees any mistakes, please tell me, so that I can correct it.
I decided to post this chapter already, but this is pretty much all I have. I have an idea for the story and already kinda an ending in mind, but with my writing challenge and another WIP I want to prioritize, this thing will have unregular updates, so bear with me. I promise, that I will finish it, I just can't say how long it will take.)