Chess, Not Checkers

Artorias listened quietly to Sirius tell him he was already proud of him, then went on to call him the best of them. The young wolf stared blankly into the black fur he was nuzzled into while his groggy mind tried to sort out the Warlord's words and his own feelings on the matter. Artorias had never set out nor inspired to be better than anyone, or to be any sort of leader or role model or hero. His only wish had been to be someone good enough to do his mothers and their legacy proud, to leave the world a little better than he found it. Now he felt the pressures of responsibility and leadership weighing on his shoulders and he felt wholly unprepared for any of it. Wolves would be looking up to him for guidance, for confidence, for answers and protection and purpose. What if he did them wrong? What if he let them down? Artorias' mind was a swirling pool of light and dark, and self doubt has always lurked in the back, that nagging feeling of what if he wasn't good enough. Now it had begun to rear its ugly head more prominently.

"I have to be this way. I wanna make my wolves' lives better," he mumbled as sleepiness began to creep over his brain while the alcohol got a more thorough hold on him. Black eyelids began to droop over hazy amber eyes while he struggled to stay conscious and conversational. He thought of the wolves in his life. His family, his pack, his friends... his Briar. He would make the world safer for them, make it perfect for them. Just like Seer, everything he did was for the benefit of his wolves—but they would be his in turn. "I can protect them, give them everything... all of them. Mine..."

"Artorias"