Chapter Text
Mother was with child.
The celebrations must have gone well, to return to the capital as such.
She had invited me to lay on the grass in the most private garden of the keep. Time to rest was what was ordained, time she desired to spend in my company, especially after having been away so long. Feeling sentimental as a mother would. Missing me, though not nearly as much as I missed her.
She threaded her fingers through my long hair, whilst I rested my head against her belly, listening. Above us, the breeze rustled the leaves and branches; I imagined Mother basking under the light of her Erdtree with a smile. The winged serpents bathed in the rays as well as they slept soundly on the grass. Theirs was a light I saw not. Instead, I occupied myself with what I could feel, splayed fingers massaging her tender bump. Within her, a second heart beat.
“What wilt thee name him?”
“Thou art so convinced it shall be a boy?” Mother asked with humor.
“Yea. His heartbeat is thunderous. A girl’s wouldst be daintier, I imagine.”
She hummed. “I sayeth… Godwyn. After his father.”
That being Godfrey—the warrior formerly known as Hoarah Loux—as he was christened by my mother upon accepting Lordship. He would not dare object. ‘Twas a fine name either way, symbolic of their victory.
Her caresses drifted to my cheek. With a lilt, Mother spoke, “Thy skin is as soft as the day thee were born, love.”
I emitted a rumble in my chest, and tried to mask it with a press of my lips to her belly. “Mhm. I shed recently.”
“I knoweth, Messmer. I knoweth.” Just so, her voice became flat and low, and I knew the lines of her face hardened, her eyes darkened. I knew because it was an expression oft encountered before—Mother was always displeased to be reminded of my serpentine nature. Her people once spoke of dark serpents which could be found at the base of their sacred trees, gnawing on the roots, in time spelling doom for them all. In reality, their demise was met prior to my—the serpent’s—birth, but in the age of Mother’s much larger and grander Erdtree, it was a tale she preferred not to think about.
Mayhaps, in that pregnant pause, Mother hoped her new son would be blessedly normal.
Clearing my throat, I decided to distract her with other matters. “How went the tour of the lands? Didst Lord Godfrey behave himself?”
“Oh, yes!” Mother tittered, a sound I wished to capture in a bottle and keep forevermore. “He wast very chivalrous; who wouldst have guessed a true gentleman hid beneath all that brawn?”
“Well, after a few rounds of Serosh’s teeth and claws, anyone wouldst act decently.”
“Ha! Thou’rt not incorrect. At least, the beast dared not interfere with our more intimate matters.” She giggled again, then sighed. “Not all was jests and merrymaking, though. ‘Twas discovered our friends in the south were unimpressed by our victory.”
“The Academy?”
“Yea, and their foolish moon-hugging ‘queen’, Rennala. I sayeth to them, there can only be one Queen around these parts, and if they fail to pledge their fealty to me, Liurnia wilt become less than a smudge on the map. In nicer terms, of course.”
“Of course. And what, pray tell, wast their response?”
“Why, they said they would think about it. Give it a few months for them to wrap their glint-addled brains around it, and we shall have a war on our hands, I bet.” The sound of it made me weary already.
“Mm. Godfrey wouldst make quick work of it.”
“No, no, that wilt not do. He hast proven himself enough, displayed a strength that failed to sway those pesky scholars. Nay, this wouldst be a war of ideology: Gold, versus their petty little moon and crystals. We must convince them of our superiority. I think I shall send Radagon.”
My father, I would say if I did not know any better. He and Mother were one and the same: a twinned soul linked to one body, a curious deformity even by the Greater Will’s standards. He could exist in his own form for certain lengths of time, but must always return to Mother yet, to heal and so forth. I disliked him. Whilst he and Mother shared many of their ideals, his was a Gold without warmth or kindness, only Order.
I did not come about through any action of his. When Mother raised Gold aloft, she was granted a child, laden with the curses and despair of the savage horned people she had supposedly betrayed. And so was Shadow born, or more colloquially, the lightless creature known as Messmer—the serpent at the base of the sacred tree. Radagon would not allow me to exist if it were up to him, as my presence tainted and endangered his Order; but, it was not up to him, and here I remained.
As that was far too difficult to explain in one sentence and our resemblance was striking enough, father and son we begrudgingly allowed ourselves to be called.
“He hast been restless,” Mother continued, “For a victory to claimeth as his own. Considering his intellect, the subjugation of the Academy and the Carian family could not be more fitting. Wouldst thou like to go with?”
For a moment, I bared my fangs, then remembered my place. “If yond be thy wisheth, Mother, I shall go.”
She chuckled at my aggrieved response. “Is wartime not the most wondrous time for bonding between you two? Ah, I jest. If Radagon wishes to prove himself, then alloweth him prove himself alone. ‘Twill be interesting to seeth how he approaches it.”
“Mhm, far too slowly and cautiously, I reckon. The glint-addled sorcerers wilt be a perfect match for him.”
She lightly slapped me on the shoulder with a laugh. “Sayeth the impatient one who chargeth in spear first! Think of the libraries that must be contained within that Academy that wouldst be harmed by thy reckless flames.”
“I shall keep it in mind,” I grumbled, but she was not finished.
“Look at me.” I tried my best. Humor drained, her tone became deathly serious, “Knowledge ought to be preserved, Messmer. So the mistakes of the past art not repeated. Even that of our sworn enemies, aye? The dead may lie, but their writ word doth not, and within them lieth proof. Dost thou understand?” I nodded, and she considered me for a moment, rubbing her thumb beneath mine eye in an irritating manner. As if caught off guard, she whispered, “Thou’rt truly blind, art thee not…?”
Somewhere deep within me, that stung. She had not believed my words after all. I gulped the feeling down. “Aye. Forgive me—the seal didst not take.”
“Nay, the fault is mine… I hope thee may forgive me for not crafting a better one. I didst not wish to damage thee; neither didst I wish to lose thee entirely. Have I only cursed thee further, my heart?”
I cupped her hand in mine own. “No, fret not. I shall always forgive thee, Mother.”
Serpents were crawling inside of me.
Sliding beneath my skin, slipping between my organs and shifting them out of place, squeezing them, constricting them. Threading around my bones—crr—bending them—rrr—breaking them—rRCK! Killing me slowly. Crack-!
Resurrecting me in their image.
I could see the bulges in my flesh, my arms and thighs splitting apart. Snap-! I could see my swollen abdomen, pulsing, a womb full of snakes.
I knew it was not real. You must wake up, Messmer. Wake up, wake up, wake up!
Yet, I could not wake. Could not tear my gaze away, no matter how much I begged. Please, I did not wish to see it anymore, desired desperately to claw my eyes out, DO IT-
I felt suddenly a sharp sting in my shoulder, and awoke with a start, gasping for breath. One of the winged serpents had bitten me. I thanked them profusely as I lay shaking, aching, whimpering.
The world was dark anew, but I could yet see in my dreams. My—the serpent’s—mind discovered how to use this fact against me, by conjuring the most horrific visions that would likely come to pass should I give in to its wishes. To remove the seal—I would never.
Though my hands ascertained my body was as it normally was, the feeling of slithering snakes remained like a terrible aftertaste. Especially in my gut, where nausea churned. “Ough…”
I dry heaved over the edge of the bed. There was nothing in my stomach. Two evenings of supper in a row I lasted before discovering the hard way I could not handle that much. I had not wished to disappoint the girl servant, Wren, but only ended up creating a bigger mess. Classic Messmer. Since then, I had only eaten a meal once, some days prior to Mother’s return. How long ago that had been, I recalled not; I heaved again.
It was not enough to feel. A sense of paranoia overtook me, that my fingertips could be lying to me, that the serpents underneath the surface were merely evading my perception. The crawling sensation was unbearable. I needed to be absolutely certain. I needed to see.
Carefully, dreadfully, arms clasped tight around my body as if to hold myself together, I crept towards the mirror in my chamber.
The winged serpents were distinct, and it was Sevika, the upper one, to offer me her sight. It took some concentration, but an image began to form out of the darkness, then a series of images, slowly strung together.
A clear picture formed, of a ghost: a pallid, frightened thing, aghast at the man before him. His eye glowed golden, stark against the bruise-colored shadows of its sunken nature. His hair hung around his angular face like a willow set ablaze. Sevika’s gaze trailed down to his naked body: hollow, dulled grey, and tightly wrought with tension. No particular bulges or extra serpentine forms caught her eye, which ought to have reassured him.
Yet, the man’s breaths became sharper and less controlled, rattling rasps in his chest. It felt strange. I was watching it happen to someone else. For what did the man feel such sorrow, for himself? Although his worries were unfounded, the pain remained. Pain, in multitudes.
When he was a child, his eyes were a kindly green, like a forest in dewy morn. They saw the world in bright colors, but were wont to turn red and narrow, and strike fear in the hearts of men. When he was a child, he would crawl into bed with his mother, on those nights where he felt afraid. She was there for him and no one else, and her arms made him feel safe, until he singed her one too many times. When he was child, he would sit for hours, staring into open flame…
The first tear fell, and the fleeting image faded.
I knew that something would always rule me. I knew the burden was mine alone.
Instead of returning to bed that night, I wept.
In her spare time, Mother wove me an illusory cloak.
‘Twas to hide the winged serpents’ forms from public view, but it still allowed them to see owing to being translucent on the inside. The cloak was lightweight and finely textured, so I did not mind wearing it. I knew she wished for me to be involved in matters around the capital, matters that were not war. I knew it was for the best.
I fear the cloak made me seem too approachable, though, as when I sat for a spell in the armory to sharpen my spear, a gaggle of knights came asking for a sparring match. Although I had been practicing, I had not fought real fellows since the seal was put in place. Unfortunately, these fellows were particularly insistent.
“Fine, but doth not expect me to go easy on ye.”
That was how I found myself surrounded. My blindness in combat was irritating, and potentially fatal, but the winged serpents did their best to provide me with the enemies’ positions. Three in front, two behind; I had sustained a handful of blows already, with only one enemy elimination to show for it. We would have to work on this more, the serpents and I, but for now I did not fault them.
I crouched low then launched into a mighty spin with my spear—three clangs off shields and a crash. One eliminated, four left to go. The three in front still stood, so I focused a series of thrusts in their direction—another down, and two with broken stances judging by the yelps. I thrust my weapon into the ground, but something stopped me from summoning my field of spears. I could not discern if it was my better judgement—it would have caused legitimate harm, as the technique was designed to target a certain lower weak spot—or some extant force, but I yanked it back out with a frustrated grunt. A wave of flame marked my retreat. Three enemies remained.
They were encroaching upon my position, but I discouraged them with a wide sweep, and as they stepped back, I sent a fire coil to knock out another. I was informed the last two were on either side of me. I charged towards the one on the right, suffering a minor blow from the other, but securing the elimination nonetheless.
And then there was one. This knight seemed the most promising of the bunch, keeping up the attack whilst using his shield strategically. Mayhaps I was only partial to him because he wielded a spear as I did. I ducked out of the way of most his thrusts, though I traded a glancing hit for a sweep at his legs to disrupt his balance. With the opening, I dashed behind and grabbed him, throwing him into the air.
And I braced myself, for my—the serpent’s—jaws to open wide, for the flexing of bone and muscle associated with melding into my other form—a transformation that did not come.
Instead, the clanging of heavy bells split my ears.
I clutched mine eye with an anguished scream, dropping my spear to the ground. The knight fell in a heap nearby as I fell to my knees, the seal burning—the serpent within recoiled and slithered away to hide. For a time, all I could process was the throbbing in my head, though certainly some pitiful noises escaped my lips.
As soon as I wrangled my breaths, I cursed myself. And the serpent. I peered into the abyss behind the seal, and the abyss peered back with a hundred blood red eyes. Looking for a way out, are you? Too bad—you are stuck in here with me, you bastard.
With a huff, I grasped at the air to my left, attempting to summon my spear to my hand. Once again, it failed. I must have looked ridiculous. Growling, I sifted the arena sands until I found it, then stood in an attempt to reclaim some sort of dignity. What a mess. We severely needed to work on this more, but for now, I offered a hand and mine apologies to the knight.
“Aye, no worries, sir. ‘Twas a fine fight!” He seemed in good spirits, despite the nasty fall. “Though, are you-?” Something stopped him, and the sound of his clanking armor plates preceded, “Your Majesty!”
It was Mother. She approached us from behind, and my grip on my spear tightened. She must have waved the man away, for he left quickly as she addressed me with humor, “Messmer, my love, for what dost thou torment our knights?”
“No reason, Mother. My apologies.”
She tittered, “So serious! I shall have to ask my Lord to train better men for thy dueling pleasure.” As she spoke, she circled me, and set a hand upon my cheek. After a moment, I realized she caressed me not, but merely checked the integrity of the seal. “I hath felt this,” Mother continued, “Or rather, thy brother did. Wee Godwyn is adept at sensing grace already, and delivered quite the ferocious kick when this wast struck. Wherefore wast the reason, hm?”
I pressed my lips together in a thin line; although she likely had not meant it, I felt scolded. “I lost mine inhibitions for a spell, and thought that knight wouldst make a fine meal. The seal repelled it, that was all.”
“Mm. I see. Even without it, yond creature wouldst not dareth show itself, not under the light of mine Erdtree.”
Ah. Right. This arena lay directly below the boughs of the Erdtree, and according to the complaints of the winged serpents, it was tremendously bright. As such, there was hardly a shadow with which to summon my spear, of course. Mine abilities derived from the serpent within depended on such. Mother’s very own light rendered me at a disadvantage; I attempted to ignore the feeling that simmered in my gut at the thought.
“Thou’rt yet thin, love,” Mother fretted over me. In her new age, it was said, no one would ever go hungry. She herself had grown a bit plump, though mostly heavy with child. “Hast thee not enough to eat? There is plenty.”
“Forgive me. I am not accustomed to such abundance.” There was the war, of course, but even before then I would hunt and spearfish for my meals. Some would say I preferred providing for myself.
Mother hummed softly whilst tucking a strand of my hair behind mine ear. “I knoweth how thee feels. We hast worked hard to attaineth this bountiful life; I regret only I couldst not provide it for thee sooner. Do not feel as though thee doth not deserve it, alright, my heart? There shall always be a place for thee at the table, and at mine own side. I… Although the Order ist the way it is, I hath built this city so thee couldst feel safe. I am sorry, that thee yet feeleth otherwise. ‘Twas not my intention…”
“‘Tis alright, Mother.” I had never heard her so weepy before. Mayhaps the sudden emotionality was due to the burgeoning babe, but nonetheless I wanted nothing to do with it. Apologize to me, for what? She was a god, her word was both law and scripture. If not for the fear ingrained into her, she could have made me a saint- No, I should think not. That thought alone disgusted me even more. I tried to hide it with a flat inflection, “I shall grow used to it, as I always have.”
“Thou maketh it sound burdensome.” I shrugged one shoulder. “Just try, for me, okay? I wilt not have my most handsomest son waste away.”
“I am thine only son…”
“For now,” she corrected. The mere mention of her baby was enough to lift her spirits. “Here,” she guided my hand to her large belly, “Feeleth for a moment.”
Immediately upon touching her, Godwyn kicked me. Mother gasped, then laughed. “Ah. I doth not believe he likes me, Mother.” She laughed harder.
“Thy palm,” she said between giggles, “‘Tis too hot! That must be it.”
“Oh, indeed. I wast using my flame earlier.” I stooped to speak to the baby personally. “My apologies, wee Godwyn. I shall be certain to not singe thee in the future.”
Mother harrumphed and stated, “Most certainly! Thee wilt be extra careful with that flame whence he ist born, understood?”
“Of course, Mother.”
We spoke a spot longer until she recalled she had something to attend to—being scatterbrained had also to do with the baby, I had learned—and left.
I was thankful for the encounter to be over, in truth. No amount of newborn pleasantries could do away with the writhing within me. I paced back and forth, drawing lines in the sand with the tip of my spear, the area all but vacated due, mayhaps, to the intensity of my stare. It was resentment brewing, one that fed upon itself, as I resented myself for feeling it. A never-ending cycle.
I stopped in my tracks to take a deep breath—I had to be better than this. In an effort to channel this foul energy into something productive, I asked the serpents for the direction of the arena’s wall, and threw my spear at it with all my might. The size of the crack upon impact mattered not. I held my hand out and focused, trying to summon it back despite the scant few shadows to pull from.
The spear returned, but enwreathed in fire. I considered it a moment, before a realization struck me.
Being an extension of myself, Messmer’s flame cast its own shadow.
Lord Godfrey returned to Leyndell in time for the birth of his son.
He and a small contingent of the army had been completing their tour of the Lands Between, establishing the current bounds of the Queen’s kingdom and identifying potential threats. Tallying the names on his list, “To Be Crushed Beneath Godfrey’s Boot”. The list could wait, though. As soon as he arrived, he took on the glow of a new father, and Serosh purred all the while, pleased.
As if his affinity for the grace of Gold was not apparent enough, Godwyn chose the most holy day of the week to be born, what was colloquially known as Erdsday. Mother left Radagon in charge of the less important matter of public upkeep whilst she retreated to her bedchamber to deliver the child.
I had arrived for the event a tad later than I had hoped. From the strong scent of dog, I knew it was Maliketh that blocked my path to the bedchamber. He greeted me with his usual stony silence. Maliketh was good to me. We were both creatures bound to Mother’s shadow, and Death I feared not. Plus, I knew the secret code to get past him: a good scratch behind the ears.
“Have I been away overlong?”
Maliketh leaned into my scratches as he rumbled lowly, “No. But, thou’rt needed. The midwife requested a man with smaller hands.”
“Ah, I shalt not tarry, then.”
The beast made something of a disappointed hum, but allowed me passage into the chamber. Stepping through the veil, the first thing that struck me was the smell: copper of blood, tinged with a scent almost sweet. Then, my mother’s pained groans, and rhythmic grunting. I wondered for a moment if I had walked into a different scene entirely.
Lord Godfrey, mayhaps noting my awkward stance and the warmth rising to my features, called out: “Boy! I am giving thy mother a good massage on the back. Come lend a hand.” And, addressing her, “Thy son is here, my Queen.”
“Oh, great!” She said between grunts, “Messmer, love, be sure to have thy nails clipped- Ack!” Wise as ever—my nails always grew out sharp, and the last thing I wanted was to harm the newborn. I chewed them blunt as I approached the pair. “Lower, lower, Godfrey, yes, right there, ah… Ah!”
She suddenly cried out, and the coppery odor became very fresh. Another woman, the midwife I guessed, spoke in a worried tone, “Oi, there is usually not this much blood…”
Mother panted heavily as she spoke, “He’s- He is coming! The bed, now, now!”
Thus began the commotion. Godfrey gracefully carried her to bed, laying her on her back; he remained by her side to offer encouraging words and a steady shoulder to hold on to. In the meantime, the midwife guided me to where the stench was the strongest. “Come this way, Sir Messmer, you are going to catch.”
“Catch?” I repeated dumbly as she had me kneel.
“Yea, catch! My hands are too small, the Lord’s too large, yours are just right. ‘Tis easy, but be wary, the babe will be slippery!”
“Oh.” Of this I was not informed, for the record. But, there I was, face-to-face with a birthing canal, and Mother was pushing.
“A-Ah, ow!”
“Push, keep pushing!”
“Thou’rt doing so well, my light. Stay strong.”
“Ahh!”
She had the best motivational speaker in the land supporting her already, so I kept my mouth shut and stayed on task. I had to feel a bit to tell what was going on—apologizing to her internally for every stray touch—but soon, finally, a bulbous orb breached the canal.
“Yea! Sir, would ye support the babe’s head- Good, good. Alrighty, a big push now, three, two, one!”
“AGH!”
Wee Godwyn’s head popped out, fitting just so in my palm. He was indeed slippery, though whatever fluid covered him at least smelled pleasant. The midwife leaned in to wipe the baby’s face, and within a few seconds, Godwyn took his first breath. I could not help but smile at the sound. Life, just like that.
“Wonderful, he is breathing, alive and well,” the midwife proclaimed, almost weepy. “I will never get over this part. Well, let us give another push, pop the rest of him out!”
Mother, who may have been actually weeping, gave her best effort, but the baby appeared to be stuck.
“Oi, he’s a bit too big, innit?” The midwife hummed in thought, before whispering to me, “Sir, if you could push back one of the babe’s shoulders, that may help.”
I grimaced, “Thou’rt certain?”
“Oh yes, just stick yer fingers in there and give him a wee little shove. Don’t make that face, it won’t hurt a bit!”
It won’t hurt a bit, she said. As I did exactly as I was told, I wondered what incorrect decision I had made today that led me to this moment. Mayhaps I stepped on one too many Erdleaves on the way here. I tried to not think about the feeling of it, or the noises my mother failed to smother—tried to convince myself these hands belonged to someone else.
This seemed to work. I had a whole newborn baby in my arms very soon after that. I held Godwyn to my chest, dimly aware of the excited clamoring around me. I thought I heard the midwife asking me to tug at the ropy cord attached to him. Well, alright. On the other end of the cord, as it turned out, was the source of the dizzying stench that engulfed me. It fell on the ground with a wet squelch.
“There we go! It’s ruptured a bit, but looks whole. Just a wee snip here…”
Before I completely lost my wits, I thought I ought to take a look for myself. I borrowed the winged serpent’s sight for but a second, enough to notice the little flaxen hairs on Godwyn’s head, his bright blue eyes, and the blood. It was everywhere: staining the front of my cloak, my arms, hands, the baby, the bed, my mother’s legs, groin, and the gory mass of flesh on the floor. Oh. I felt a tension in my stomach, a twisting, a pang- Eat it.
I handed Godwyn off to the nearest person and mouthed something like, “Congratulations,” before scooping up the sack of Mother’s viscera. I slipped away, cradling it just as I had the babe. The unperturbed sounds of joy assured me I had not been caught. I staggered outside—through the other door, not the one the beast stood guard at—and pressed myself into a corner, and gorged.
I will not describe the taste—so rich and earthy and gamey- I will not describe the chewy texture, nor describe how I sucked at my fingers and clothes until every last drop had been consumed. I mourned for what remained pooling in the bedchamber, such a bloody waste. Ah well. At least I had gathered the most of it. Feeling warm and full, I settled into a more comfortable position to digest.
For the first time in a long time, the serpent within me lay still, rumbling with satisfaction. What a relief, it was.