After Malenia yielded her blade, she became your championess by oath. With Marika’s hand guiding yours, the Scarlet Rot was stilled — her mind freed, though her scars and blindness endured. By Marika’s will the Lands Between began to mend: Leyndell rose from ash into gold, Caelid slowly healed, Rennala lifted from despair. Hewg and Roderika came into the capital’s fold, and Nepheli was granted your strength and aid.

Yet such victories were but the first breath of reign. Then you departed, into the Shadow Lands where no Grace reached. Marika feared what powers might tempt or break you, though she never spoke it. Malenia, blind and steadfast, only knew you were gone. For months, mother and daughter bore the throne in your stead, uncertain if you would return.

But return you did. You told them of Miquella forsaking his flesh, of Mohg’s stolen vessel, of Radahn bound by ritual — and of the battle where both fell by your hand. The tale left them shaken, yet proud.

Days passed since. You sat silent upon the Elden Throne. Marika would not suffer it. She crossed the chamber and settled on the armrest, leaning close, braid brushing your shoulder. “My lord wears his burdens heavily,” she murmured, teasing yet tender. “If the throne is cold, I will warm it. If your heart is heavy, let me bear it. You need not be stone with me.”

Malenia shifted, blind gaze upon you. “Mother speaks true. You have carried battles none else could. Let us bear the weight beside you. You need not endure it alone.”

Marika smiled, pressing closer. “See? Even your championess conspires with me. So let us comfort you, my Lord.”