Chapter Text
The first time they’d met was through the claws of battle. Blades clashing together, flame against sorcery. A dance of sorts, an embrace of honor. Fighting that way was the only thing Messmer knew. The only thing he’d so readily put his life on the line for in service for his mother. He prepared his weapon for the intruder, anticipating a glorious battle of ideals and the eventual death of his opponent.
And what a glorious battle it was indeed. She was radiant.
From the moment she’d stepped foot into her chambers, Messmer had felt his breath stolen away. Her flowing white hair matched the keen color of her illustrious staff, one he’d recognized as belonging to the Carian princess, Rennala. Her outfit was tainted with crimson stains. Blood, he knew all too well. And yet, for one who managed to slip into Shadow Keep, there wasn’t nearly enough. Did she fight at all on her way to him? Or did his fire knights simply not stand a chance against her? The questions rattled his mind, and he found himself rather taken aback. Unnerved even.
Still, he made a point to not bear any of his feelings toward her, instead keeping a slick grin fixed to his lips, one he’d worn all too often during times like these. A way to keep the hornsent fearing him, and his own army undoubting of his strength. He stood tall when he acknowledged her, holding out his hand and sparking a great flame within the grasp of his fingers. He let it grow, fueling its power, its starvation for kindling, to the point it was almost too difficult to control.
A grand show, he wished to make for her, the Tarnished who’d managed to make it this far. He wanted to set fear into her heart, etch his terror into her very soul before making good on his name and allowing her to meet her end by the marrow of his spear. The look on her face shifted slightly, but nowhere near to the extent Messmer had wanted. She didn’t seem even the slightest bit terrified of him. Moreover the glint in her eyes and the slight curve to her lips resembled… pity almost? Perhaps he was reading too much into it.
The dance began. Messmer didn’t bother in learning the Tarnished woman’s name before launching himself from his throne, cleaving the air with all the strength he could muster through his fiery will. He aimed for the Tarnished and swiftly crashed to the ground, exploding the area with his flames. Still, the woman somehow evaded unscathed, her expression unchanged.
The battle quickly hastened from there. Messmer did all he could to eliminate his opponent. His spear clashed with her blade of sorceries, a specialized Carian skill. It really was Rennala’s scepter. Just how did she get her hands on it? The question was quickly extinguished from Messmer’s mind as he forced himself to focus on the task at hand; destroying this woman. She was a steady hand, quick on her feet. Her shimmering hair soared in the wind created by his flames as she carved a path through them in an attempt to reach him.
The slash she’d made at his armor had only slightly chinked it, not even tarnishing its silver glint. Still, Messmer fell back in an inclination of surprise. No one had even managed to come close to damaging his armor, and yet, she’d achieved this with seemingly relative ease. A bitter taste had entered the Demigods mouth, and with it came hesitation, even concern. Was this where he was to meet his end? Would he truly be felled by some Tarnished stripped of grace?
No, he wouldn’t. Messmer couldn’t. Even if his mother would sanction lordship in one so bereft of light, he would do all he could to snuff it out in the embrace of his flame. It was all he could do for her at this point, her wise visage, the person he looked up to most in this hellscape of a world.
Something in the back of his eye stirred, and Messmer felt his body quiver at the immense feeling of desire perpetrating his very bones. The seal his mother had placed on him was being challenged from within, by his desperation for victory, and the very powers it kept hidden from prying eyes.
The temptation to tear it from his body, to embrace his hideous curse even his mother could not contend with, was overwhelming. Messmer staggered further away from the Tarnished, who in turn kept her eyes keen to his every movement, but stilled her blade. Odd, most would have jumped at the opportunity to lay claim to his corpse with the vulnerable state he’d presented himself to be in. But she didn’t. She stayed where she was, cautious, but the flicker of her eyes indicated a look he’d only seen in those closest to him.
Pity perhaps? Concern even? Most definitely not. What a preposterous assumption! If the situation weren’t so dire, Messmer would have thrown his head back and laughed at the mere idea. Instead, he kept his expression grim, lips thin and eye darkened to the pain he was about to endure. All for the sake of defeating this one Tarnished warrior.
Slowly, Messmer turned on his heel and drifted his gaze up towards the statue behind his throne. His mother, the one he’d spent all his life attempting to appease. And here, he would upend the whole of it, destroying the very thing she’d created in an attempt to protect him. All of her wishes placed upon him would be for naught. And everything he’d done for her would be placed on the line.
He opened his mouth to speak, the flurry of emotions welling from his heart becoming all too apparent to ignore. He wanted to beg for her forgiveness, even though she would not hear his plea. He wanted to thank her for everything she’d done for him. Mother, Marika, the giver of his life. The names mattered not. All that mattered was his will and the flames that would be unleashed with it.
He was ready to destroy it all.
But before he could, a small voice piqued from behind him. The Tarnished woman. Messmer had turned around, only to find the woman had tossed her scepter aside, letting it collide with the ground in faint sparks of blue. She clung to the fabric of her makeshift skirt, her hair spilling over her shoulders, obscuring her face and along with it, her expression.
For a moment, Messmer was quite utterly perplexed. This woman spoke to him, though it was too soft of a murmur for him to pick up. Though, he could’ve sworn it had sounded like a plea of some sort. And to coincide with that, her very own staff had been cast to the side, signaling her unwillingness to carry on the fight. And while part of him was pleased with this, seeing as he was at his own wits end, it also irked him to a certain degree.
Why? Why was she already so willing to give up when most would’ve jumped at the chance to lay claim to his corpse? He’d already presented himself in that light; a monster at his end, ready to be run through by a Tarnished’s sword. And yet, the very moment he’d shown signs of being maimed, she’d tossed aside her victory. Perhaps she knew of the serpent that lay behind the very eye his mother had plucked out? Impossible, only his most trusted subordinates knew of it. And even under the most egregious torture, they most surely wouldn’t give it away, would they?
Then why did she cast away her weapon? Why did she allow a mutter to pass through her lips that Messmer could only discern as a plea for mercy? None of it made sense. “Tarnished,” the Demigod spoke with a certain edge to his tone, “repeat thyself.” He took the care to avert his gaze from hers, knowing that through the white sheets of her hair, she was peering directly at him. If he were being honest, it made him quite uneasy.
The Tarnished woman seemed to take a moment to suck in a breath, preparing herself to speak with the serpent-ridden man before her. After a few seconds had passed, she released the breath. “I said ‘stop’,” she replied. And just as Messmer’s own eye drifted back over to face her, her own eyes locked onto it.
In that moment, Messmer felt as though his entire body had been encased in ice.
The gaze she bore him was not one of contempt or hatred. Nor was it of the pity he’d initially considered it to be. No, it was of a fervent determination. The oceantide ripped through her eyes, meeting his own golden grace and perpetrating through it. And as Messmer stood there, utterly captivated by the way she presented herself, the Tarnished began to take a step forward.
And then another. And then another. Right up until she was standing a mere few feet away. Her scepter was still laying on the ground where she’d left it, indicating she meant no harm as she approached him. Still, Messmer felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up, and he instinctively backed away from her.
The Tarnished seemed to notice this reflexive action of his, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Please, do not worry,” she said. Her voice was rather on the soft side, something that Messmer hadn’t expected upon their first encounter when she’d entered his chamber. “I will not harm you. I only wish to speak with you.” She then slowly raised her hand, palm down and fingers lightly curled, as if she were talking to a dog.
Messmer began to feel a bitter taste encroach on his tongue. Was she making a mockery of him? Insulted, he moved to quickly swat her hand away, perhaps singe her flesh along with the movement to teach her a lesson. His palm emitted a touch of warmth as he raised it. But before he could carry out the motion, another had already made a move towards her hand.
One of his serpents, to be more exact.
Messmer faltered in his movements, hesitation seeping in while he watched the creature approach the Tarnished woman’s hand in a curious manner. It used its tongue to feel along her skin, each groove of her finger and the smoothness of the hand itself. Eventually though, it felt comfortable enough to settle its head against her hand. The Tarnished’s smile had widened at this, while Messmer’s hackles only raised further.
“What sort of mockery is this?” Messmer asked, his brow furrowing.
“I am merely showing I mean no harm,” the Tarnished replied. Curt, yet simple was her tone. The smile she bore was soft as she resorted to sliding her hand across the serpent’s head in a repeated fashion. She was petting the creature. “He is rather adorable. Does he have a name?”
“Thou didst not answer my question,” Messmer’s voice grew in aggravation. “Thou enters my chamber, presumably after having slain my knights. And now, ye maketh a mockery of me. For what purpose doth thee have to be here?”
The Tarnished’s hand ceased its actions, and in the back of Messmer’s head, he could feel the serpent’s frustration over this. But still, he said nothing. After a moment, she resumed petting the creature and opened her mouth to speak, “For one, I did not harm any of your knights. I slipped right past them. A simple task, truly. If I had wished to bring harm to any of them, we would not be speaking. I could measure their strength the moment I clashed with the first one who spotted me. A mistake that was never to be repeated once I felt the force of their blade against mine.”
The look in her eyes indicated the truth, and yet Messmer had found himself wary of her words. Had she been speaking true, then her blade would not have felt so steady against his as they battled. “And two,” the woman continued, drawing her eyes back up to face his own, “had I any intention of making a mockery of you, I most surely would not be standing here with your serpent against my hand, now would I?” The expression she wore as she asked this irked the Demigod in a way that made him want to impale her with his spear right then and there, perhaps ten times over even, until his anger had been satiated. “So, I ask again, does he have a name? A creature as adorable as this certainly must have!”
The utter gall of this woman was an incredible feat on its own. Messmer drew back a small growl of contempt, pressing two fingers to his temple in order to try and soothe an oncoming headache. Unfortunately for him, however, the remedy wasn’t working. “What is thy purpose for standing here?”
“I am merely asking for his name,” the Tarnished brushed off his question. “Or does he not have one?”
Messmer continued to resist the urge to resume the battle, if only for the fact his serpent had not yet harmed her hand and in fact seemed to be utterly enthralled by her. “A name shall be given when my question is answered.” A fair trade, it seemed to him at least, seeing how she for some reason so desperately wanted a name.
The Tarnished fell silent for a few moments, mulling over Messmer’s words. For a moment, he wondered why she was even considering them. Surely, she would have at least some form of an excuse made up for why she refused to kill him, yes? Either that or it was simply a miracle she’d managed to survive for as long as she did in the Land of Shadow.
Eventually though, the Tarnished would give a small nod and still her hand against the serpent once more, indicating a serious nature to her next words, “I have come to offer an accord.”
An accord? Messmer froze at this, his eye widening in an inclination of surprise. Even the serpent appeared to be taken aback, as its head soon stilled against the Tarnished woman’s hand. It was not often one would be so bold as to offer Messmer an accord, if at all. Everyone was too afraid of him, wayward Tarnished who somehow ended up in the Land of Shadow included. So what made this woman any different?
After a few moments, Messmer forced himself to clear his throat, breaking the tension that had been laid thick between the two when the Tarnished announced her intentions. “And what is this accord thou’rt hath come to offer me?” He worked to keep his voice level, unsure of whether or not he was doing the job well. Though to his relief, the Tarnished didn’t seem to catch onto his apparent anxiousness.
Despite the serpent having stilled itself against her, the Tarnished continued to pet its crimson scales. She maintained a soft smile, pulled slightly taut against her lips but natural enough Messmer didn’t call its validity into question. “I wish to find Kindly Miquella,” she eventually said. And while it was hardly noticeable against the dim lighting of the room, he could see that her eyes had darkened in their excitable glint. “I wish to kill him.”
In spite of the weight of her words, Messmer didn’t feel shocked in the slightest. He, of course, had also felt the abandonment of the Demigod’s Great Rune, and with it the charm placed on the Tarnished who’d ended up in the Land of Shadow. He could only imagine the feelings those affected had endured when the charm was shattered. Betrayal, most likely. And with it, a newfound fight or flight instinct. Stay loyal to the man who wished to bring out an age of compassion, or go against him and risk the means of death.
The Tarnished that stood before him had clearly chosen her path.
“And what does this have to do with me?” Messmer asked. He began to tap the side of his leg with his forefinger, signaling his growing impatience. A war against the hornsent was already trouble enough, and now a woman was asking for his aid in a different one. The last thing he needed was to fight yet another battle for another person.
The Tarnished’s smile lifted into something more akin to a grin. “I have heard of your victories against the hornsent,” she began. “Messmer the Impaler is what they call you, yes? Truly a fitting name for one such as yourself. I initially began my search for Tender Miquella in part of Lady Leda’s words. Though my doubts had piled up, and soon…” her voice trailed off as her eyes made a downcast glance towards the floor, “the charm had broken, and we were at each other’s throats. I require someone who would be of aid to my search, protect me from Lady Leda and her wayward allies. And aid in slaying Kindly Miquella should it have to come to that.”
Messmer’s finger continued to drum along his thigh. Though, now it was more out of a perplexion than frustration. “And why didst thou pick me for thy accord?” That was the part that confused him the most. Nearly everyone tended to avoid Messmer and his lot like the plague, Tarnished included. But now there was one standing just before him, understanding what he could do, the tyranny he caused. And yet, she preferred to ally herself with him than to shy away out of fear or run her own sword through his heart. Truly a peculiar woman indeed.
The Tarnished’s eyes dashed back up to meet his, her mouth forming a thin line while she considered his words. “I simply do not trust the other Tarnished,” she replied after a moment. A cunning woman as well. Her hand, which had still been raised, fell limply to her side while the other lifted to touch her chin thoughtfully. “And… I have something I believe you want.”
“And that is?” Messmer inquired. He wouldn’t deny his curiosity had been piqued by the woman, no matter how far up his hackles were raised and the chills across his spine raced downward. Anyone who claimed they had something he wanted were either the greatest of fools or the most courageous of souls. After all, to the outside world, all Messmer was seen as was a tyrant, a man without honor who pillaged women and children alike and impaled their heads on spikes for all to see. What could a madman like him possibly want besides the bloodshed and destruction he wrought?
Well, in a few moments, Messmer would come to understand the woman’s intentions with him, for the next words she spoke froze his heart in place and with it the rest of his body. And the words he thought he would never hear were uttered from the mouth of a woman he’d already deemed graceless and without light. A woman shunned by all who stood by his beliefs. And yet… the words she spoke shook him down to his very core.
“I can bring you back to the Lands Between, back to Queen Marika.” She spoke the words so nonchalantly as though she were asking for butter to go along with her bread. Her eyes never once moved away from Messmer’s gaze, piercing his own gold once again with the ocean tide. He noted how despite the significance of what she’d offered him and therein the pressure she most surely felt, her chest still rose and fell against itself with a degree of calmness. She never once looked fearful or nervous, only staring at him as though he were an equal, despite her Tarnished repute. “Now, will you tell me your serpent’s name or have I simply wasted my time?”
…
If Messmer was completely honest with himself, he was an idiot. A tried and true idiot.
A few days had passed since the Tarnished’s intrusion in his chamber, and with it the arrangement she’d offered him. Aid her in finding Miquella whilst protecting her from the likes of the hornsent and Leda, and she would aid him in his return home, back to Queen Marika. Back to his mother.
Just what was he thinking? Messmer slinked back into his throne, brushing his hand against his face and squeezing his eye as tightly as he could make it. He was a fool, a damned fool. He played right into the Tarnished’s hands, accepting an offer he knew she couldn’t hold, grace be damned.
When she’d first made the offer, he felt a flurry of emotions well up within him that he didn’t know what to do. The only thing he knew was that he wanted them to go away, and quickly. The idea of returning home, of seeing his mother again. It filled him to the brim in hatred and relief all at the same time. Just how long was he to draw out this war of hers and never see her or his fellow brothers and sisters ever again?
How long would it be before his curse was forgiven?
No matter. What was done was done and there was no backing out, lest he completely disavow his honor. And besides, the Tarnished wasn’t completely useless. At least to his standards. After being given permission to stay in Shadow Keep, she’d gone right to work in reorganizing places he and his knights had long since forgotten about.
Tidying the books here and there, placing antiquities where they belonged instead of out in the open. Even aiding his subordinates in the care of the Shamans, or at least what remained of them. Messmer had watched from afar her deeds. And even though he desperately wanted to deny it, he couldn’t help but say he was impressed. When the woman wasn’t being hunted down by his army, she was a fairly good help to them. And she’d managed to align herself quite well to his knights to the point they spoke well of her.
“Lady Leilia is very soft spoken with the Shamans,” they said in their report. “Tis only been a few days since her arrival and already we have seen an improvement in their behavior.” The knight that had given him the report was rather on the cheery end as well. And this only furthered to irk him. Was he blindsighted by something or did this woman have a charm that she had not yet used on him? Whatever the case was, it frustrated him to no end.
That was the other thing he’d learned of her over the course of her stay in his Keep. Her name. Leilia. A rather interesting name for an interesting girl, but he merely brushed the introduction she’d made to him off. After all, she already knew of his name so there was no need to repeat it. And frankly, Messmer very much so wished to rid himself of her company after accepting her deal. There was no need for further humiliation by withstanding her presence.
And so, Messmer had resided himself to his own chambers, allowing the Tarnished to roam freely about the rest of his Keep. For what reason, he did not know. Though a very amiable part of him refused and even detested the idea of killing her. There was something about her that he felt he must learn more about, whether it be her background or how she’d tamed his serpent so easily. Perhaps it was simply the latter. His serpents, after all, did not take too kindly to anyone other than him, not even his most trusted of knights.
And yet, when it came to a Tarnished who’d forced entry into his home, they were more than willing to be showered with love by her. Odd indeed, and quite the puzzling mystery. All the more reason to keep her around, Messmer supposed.
“You still have not given me a name for your serpent,” a familiar voice echoed out into the quiet chamber, withdrawing Messmer from his thoughts. What followed it was the small sound of footsteps encroaching closer on his throne. And soon, Leilia’s face flickered elegantly between the shadow and light of the candles illuminating the room. A simple smirk was settled across her face, though it was not one of malicious intent. Rather, it appeared to be piqued with innate curiosity.
Messmer found himself outwardly groaning before he could restrain himself. But his one serpent on the other hand had a more excitable reaction to Leilia’s voice. “As I hath told thee, my chambers are off limits,” the Demigod muttered just audible enough for the woman to catch onto, though it was still muffled through the grasp of his hand which still rested against his face. “Leave at once. Thou should have more pressing duties than to continuously ask me thy impertinent questions, yes?”
“I am merely curious,” Leilia responded in kind. Still, she did at least back away from his throne. “You said you would tell me his name, and yet you have not. Does he truly not have one?”
“Is this at all relevant to thy task at hand?” Messmer rested his hand on his lap in favor of staring directly at the Tarnished. “Or didst thou simply wish to aggravate me?”
“You promised you would tell me his name,” Leilia pushed. She remained where she was, though it was clear she was fighting the urge to take a step towards him and his serpent. As if to coincide with her feelings, Messmer felt tinges of annoyance from his serpent over not being able to slither its way towards her. Truly a vexing situation.
“I hath made no such claim,” Messmer said. His finger began to drum against his thigh, just as it did the first time they had met.
Leilia paused at this, and for a moment, Messmer felt a wave of relief over the prospect that she might finally have a loss of words. Unfortunately for him, however, after a few seconds to contemplate, she did open her mouth once more, “I’m certain you did.”
Honestly, did she ever give up? Messmer found himself gritting his teeth. “I did not,” he affirmed. Again, Leilia fell silent and he assumed it was for good, resigning herself to defeat. A slight smirk tugged at his lips over this thought and he fought the urge to let it widen. Perhaps now he might find some peace and levity, more time to mull through his thoughts.
Unfortunately though, Leilia was not about to admit defeat. “‘A name shall be given when my question is answered.’,” she said with the utmost rigidness to her tone. Again, she allotted herself a fairly sharp grin, one that sunk its teeth into Messmer, causing him to darken his gaze in frustration. “I believe you said that, yes?”
Just what was with her? Why did she wish to know the name of his serpent so badly? And why was Messmer so hesitant to tell her? Well, part of him did know why he didn’t want to tell her. The other half of him simply refused to acknowledge it and wished to instead focus on her unusual insistence on the matter. “Wilt thou leave me if a name is given to thee?” A compromise, same as the one he’d given her when they first met and he didn’t uphold his end.
For a moment, he noticed a keen change in Leilia’s expression. It lit up, her eyes glimmering in the gentle darkness surrounding her. And her grin shifted into a rather excitable smile, something he had not yet seen on her before. The air around Messmer suddenly became stiff, his breath yet again refusing to leave his lungs, as though she’d stolen it away.
“Yes, I will!” Leilia exclaimed with a cheerful note to her tone. She gently clasped her hands together and Messmer could’ve sworn, no he was positive that a giggle had passed through her lips. Such a sound rang through his ears a little bit more than he would’ve liked it to, as if his own body was now tormenting him.
“Then…” Messmer hesitated, allowing his eye to shift its gaze away from her. Had he always felt this pathetic when it came to speaking to another? “He does not have one. Neither of my serpents hath been named.”
It was only for a moment, a very small unassuming moment, but Messmer could’ve sworn he saw Leilia’s expression fall before being pushed right back into the original grin she initially had. Was she disappointed at this revelation? The Demigod forced his body to shift in its position, noting just how uncomfortable he’d grown over the past few minutes of conversing with this woman. The air was singed in an uncomfortable heat he just couldn’t get rid of, a byproduct of his curse he supposed. Though that still didn’t explain the feeling of his lungs constricting against themselves and the lump in his throat increasing in size.
“Art thou… disappointed?” Messmer inquired. He kept his tone low in case he regretted those words later if there was even the slightest chance she wouldn’t hear him.
To his dismay, Leilia did. She soon found his gaze once more, giving a small hum that he couldn’t seem to discern in its intent. “I am not,” she replied, still maintaining her grin. “Rather, I have a proposal to make.”
“A proposal?” Messmer arched his brow. Just what more could this woman want? What more could she think he could possibly want?
As if Leilia had heard his inner thoughts, she quickly continued her train of thought, “It’s not an accord! Just a proposal, I assure you. Well — it’s likely more befitting of a request.” She quickly sounded a small laugh in between her rambling. And with it came an increase in the temperature of the room, at least to Messmer. Yet again the sound itself rang clear as a bell through his ears, echoing about his mind. He quickly pressed a hand to his temple in an attempt to alleviate the noise, but it refused to be impeded.
“What is thy proposal?” In spite of his frustration with the woman, he found it difficult to dismiss her without hearing her out.
Leilia took a few seconds to tap her foot against the cold stone beneath her, further contemplating. What it was she was thinking over, Messmer did not know. Though he could at least assume it was a second doubt she had over what she wanted to request of him. Eventually though, Leilia would come to a sound conclusion within her mind. She quickly sucked in a rather sharp breath, releasing it once a few more seconds had passed. “Could I possibly name your serpents then?” she quickly asked, bearing the sweetest smile she could muster as if to shy away from her own question.
Messmer damn near choked on his own tongue. “Wh-what?” he stammered out. His mind struggled to catch up to what Leilia had asked him, and the lump in his throat was damn near blocking his entire ability to breathe at this point. They had only known each other for a few days, four at the most, and already she felt comfortable enough to ask such things?
Almost as soon as Messmer had responded, Leilia was quick to try and explain herself further, “W-well, you don’t have to say yes of course! I only mean they seem to like me, and I would appreciate a name to call them by.”
As if to try and voice their own opinions on the matter, Messmer’s serpents hissed in unison. And while Leilia could not truly discern the sounds for what it was, the Demigod could. He felt their excitement at the prospect, another means to be closer with the Tarnished, even if it defied the man they were attached to. Still, he couldn’t understand just why they wanted to be near her. Normally, they would lunge at the first person they saw, including his own knights. But with Leilia, it was different. They were docile, content. And the only other person they allowed that kind of affection with was Messmer himself.
“Do as thee see fit,” the man spoke hastily, not caring how it came off to the Tarnished or his serpents. He wanted the conversation to be done with, lest he start contemplating even further on the good nature between his serpents and Leilia. And what it meant for him.
After Messmer had spoken, his eye lingered on the ground for mere a moment longer before casting its gaze over to Leilia. And there, resting upon her face, he saw it. And it made his heart ache with a sensation he’d not yet felt before.
She looked the very picture of the sun. Her face was flushed in a gentle rouge of excitement and her eyes dashed excitedly between the two serpents eyeing her with a keen look. Elation could’ve very well been an understatement for the look she displayed. And the feeling it gave Messmer to draw his eye across her figure and discern her emotions caused the lump in his throat to grow to the size of a cannonball.
“You truly mean it?” she uttered, seemingly hesitant to accept his approval. “You do not jest?”
“Do I look to be the sort who jests in such a manner?” Messmer grumbled with a slight indignation. Though he could understand where her hesitance came from. After all, when she’d made the proposition, he must have looked as though she very well attempted to stab him. Still, he physically waved off her concerns and made a point to avert his eye from her. The heat was beginning to cause him to fluster. “I am sure the serpents would appreciate thy company. They seem to have grown rather amiable with thee.” Amiable, not happy or comfortable, that would make him admit something was amiss with the woman, and him as well. And he did not wish to endeavor in that fact.
Leilia beamed from head to toe as she stepped closer towards the serpents. This time, Messmer did not tell her to leave, instead attempting to act as though she was not there. Even though he could see through the eyes of his serpents, he did well to block the image out. Her gentle demeanor towards them as she tenderly cupped each one within her hands made his heart constrict itself against his chest. A feeling, most certainly, he should not have been able to feel. And he absolutely detested it.
“Thank you, my lord,” Leilia said softly, almost quiet enough for Messmer to not hear. He was rather surprised she called him ‘lord’. Not even his subordinates did so. All of them instead resigned themselves to speaking his name in earnest. But not her.
“So, thou wilt name my serpents, but not speak my name,” Messmer muttered to himself. Thankfully, Leilia was too preoccupied with the serpents to heed him any notice.