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Sometimes, specially when his lambkin is in service of Lord Miquella and thus away from him, Varré dreams of her.
In most of those dreams, she is still his gentle lambkin, and they are together in that strange place in Liurnia that she fashioned herself as a home.
She holds him in her arms, and the Blood of the Luminary is still setting inside her. She is still soft, despite all the bruises that adorn her body. She clings to him as if he were her only means of salvation.
In a certain way, he misses those days. His lambkin is different now.
He wonders if it is the influence of Lord Miquella. He has never been privy to any of the times they have been together.
And yet…
He regrets getting her embroiled into this. Sometimes.
Much as he knows that this was their destiny. Much as he knows he had to shape her into this.
Sometimes, he has other dreams.
In them, he is brought to a tree. No, not the Erdtree, but what he believes to be the Haligtree.
He is thrown at the feet of a woman and a man.
When he is able to look at them, he sees first the man. Tall, with long, blonde and straight hair. Preternaturally beautiful. Looking at him with golden eyes that cut like knives behind a façade of pleasant curiosity.
“He is all yours, my love.” He says, taking the woman’s hand and kissing it.
It is then when Varré sees the woman.
Muniadona. His lambkin.
Standing beautiful. Not soft, not anymore. And he understands.
That man was Lord Miquella. And she is now his Elden Lord. Or Lord of the Haligtree. Or whatever.
There is rage, and anger in his heart. He remembers the last time he saw her, also standing at his side. That time, he had been bleeding to what should have been his death.
And yet he is there.
Her hair is undone, and longer than what he remembers. A cascade of dark curls tumbles upon her shoulders.
Her dark eyes look at him with the same sadness of that last time.
It is probably what hurts the most.
But she kneels at his side, holding him in her strong arms.
His lips should not search for hers. And yet he does kiss her, clinging to her as if she were his only means for salvation.
“Varré…” she whispers, and it almost feels wanton.
At this time, he usually wakes up aching with a want that his lambkin takes care of in the waking world.
His lambkin that is no longer just soft, but neither a completely hardened woman.
She is what she is.
And yet, when he dreams of that lambkin that could be, sometimes he wonders what would it be if he wrapped his hands around her throat.
If he stopped that could be from turning into an is.
He has to guide the world so it becomes shaped in the image of what the Luminary desires. And that includes her .
(He regrets it)
One day, they escape to that ruinous place she once called a home. And his hands wrap around her throat.
Even if he can see the suprise on her face, she does not fight him. She does not fight for her life.
The only thing she does is touch his masked cheek. And for some reason that he cannot understand, he can feel the warmth of her touch on his skin.
He can also smell blood. And for some reason, he knows it is his own.
I am sorry, my love.
Her voice sounds very far away. As if it were inside a cave.
As if she were towering over him instead of under him.
He can see a shadow above him. It is as if that shadow were trying to not crouch. To not hold him.
As if it… as if she was trying to step away.
He begs, to Luminary Mohg, for this to be some nightmare. Even if he knows this to be the truth.
He is killing her.
He only needs the strength to give her to him now completely, now fully.
I have given everything.
Her hand falls, and her eyes cloud under a white akin to that of his mask.
Bless the Mohgwyn Dynasty… with love!
He falls. But there is no one under him.
There is only a cold stone ground that should not be there.
He had never actually left the Mohgwyn palace. He…
He is dying.
She is crouching by his side. But he is not looking at her. He barely has the strength to do so now.
I am sorry, my love.
She sounds too far away. He barely listens right now.
He could not stop this from happening.
Perhaps it is for the best.