Chess, Not Checkers

Although Artorias was hovering on the edge of sleepy drunk and cuddly drunk now, he was still very aware of every shift or movement of Sirius' body given how close they were lying together. His eyes were closed to block out his spinning vision, but he still took in every sound and touch, hearing the sniffle of the larger man and feeling his head tap against his. Sirius' words brought amber eyes to open once more, gazing into the sea of dark fur that obscured his vision, shifting his head just enough to peer up at Seer's face. It took a moment for his brain to wrap around the words, but each one warmed his heart more than any liquor ever could. Hearing the Warlord call him his son, an Armada Knight, it brought liquid crystals to his eyes as well, a pride for a life that might have been that he'd never know.

His mind began to wander, wondering what a world where he had been Sirius' son would look like. This sort of fatherly bonding and approval was what he had been deprived of. He hoped he'd be a good knight in his father's eyes. "I hope I'd make you proud of me. I dunno if I'll ever be as good as they were, or as good as you are," he mumbled under his breath, only just audible above the sound of the rain outside. Artorias put a lot of pressure on himself to succeed and be worthy of the reputations of his parents, and the pack they came from.

"Artorias"