Chapter Text
Leilia had already awakened it seemed by the time Messmer found himself roused by the tune of day. Through the groggy haze, his hand fell to her side of the bed in search of her warmth, only to be met with sheets tossed askew in the cold. It took a few seconds for his mind to fully be dredged up from the fog of slumber and for the confusion to settle in.
Perplexed, Messmer forced his body to sit up as his eye surveyed the rest of the chamber. A fire had already been set in the grate, flickering embers dancing across the cobblestone walls. A scattered pile of clothes pooled together on the carpet—a mixture of theirs, no doubt—along with glittering ornaments of jewelry that had adorned the both of them for the ceremony strewn across the bedside table.
There was no tact in how anything was placed, no care in ensuring nothing was torn or shredded. Leilias’ own dress laid in tatters beside his own robes that were in a near equal state. And as Messmer felt his brows furrow and his hand clasp to his temple in an effort to conjure whatever he could from what had occurred the previous night, he found the memories to be rather muddled.
He could pick out a few things; how Leilia straddled him in such a way, he simply could not keep quiet, how she screamed his name as he took her, the playful glint in her eyes whenever they met with his own. Heat flourished across his face upon such recollections, and Messmer could feel himself becoming more and more bothered with each memory that sharpened itself in his mind. But there was something else lingering beneath—something which as he unveiled it, the revelation nearly startled him with its gravity.
The marriage had been consummated. It had been sealed with their wedding night. Leilia was his for all eternity, and he was hers in turn. And that prospect burned something just as keen as the ceremony itself had done.
Surprisingly, the Abyssal Serpent had taken to an odd fit of silence, and for once, Messmer had been fully granted the means to be completely at ease. Excited and practically bursting with elation, to where his chest was both tightly wrenched and as feathered as a butterfly. He knew not how long it would last, but he didn’t dare count the minutes down to their very seconds. For the time being, he would simply enjoy it for what he could, for what he had deprived himself of for so long.
The sound of a door sliding from its frame had suddenly announced itself, alerting his serpents first who had immediately taken to addressing the source of the noise. Through their eyes in the midst of his rumination, Messmer could perceive Leilias’ figure stepping in from the hall, positively glowing from the golden streams of light washing over her skin, and her eyes equally as bright with a radiance that made his heart skip a beat. She was smiling—that sort of smile which one could find themselves entirely lost in observing—and atop her arms was a precariously balanced tray decorated with what he could only presume to be their makeshift breakfast.
The door closed behind her, and Leilia took to greeting his serpents, imparting them both with a small kiss to the head. Messmer could feel their delight fly across his own nerves, only elevating his feelings as her eyes finally fell to his and were ignited in a certain fondness he found he simply could not look away from.
“I thought we might dine in here, if that is alright,” Leilia said as she padded further into the room. The serpents followed her with each step, almost like dogs in how they awaited expectantly for more attention. Once she reached the edge of the bed, Messmer reached over and took the tray from her hands to grant her better ease to climb atop the covers.
It was an assortment of bread and berries, he had come to find upon taking a gander at the feast, along with two cups of water and a small dish of butter with a knife. And after Leilia had neatly situated herself beside him, he placed the tray between them. It was quite odd to consider breaking his fast in bed, though he couldn’t say the idea wasn’t enticing, especially considering the comfort he gleaned from remaining where he was with Leilia nestling at his side.
“‘Tis a most welcome offer,” Messmer returned with a smile, draping his arm around her. She welcomed the gesture, snuggling closer whilst reaching for a berry and plucking it from the plate.
“I’m quite glad to hear it.” Leilia turned the berry over in her hand for a moment before plopping it in her mouth, and Messmer watched as her lips curved upward in a manner of satisfaction. After a moment, she made a grab for another one, this time raising it up for him to take from her palm. Her smile widened when he did, and the heat across his face only seemed to grow under her eye’s discernment as he ate.
The morning felt mundane and simple. While they dined, they talked of nothing and everything in particular; the inclement weather reigning overhead, the serpents eagerly biding their time waiting until a scrap of food would be dropped for them to consume, their plans for the day. Leilia had mentioned her desire to see to her preparations, taking a distinct sense of pride in her accomplishments and improvement to her prowess in battle. Messmer listened on to her excitable rants, finding it most difficult to maintain a placid expression with how the enthusiasm she displayed buzzed in the air.
Though her words trailed off into indistinguishable rants with no true ending to their trails, Leilia carried on with that same gleam to her eyes Messmer simply couldn’t look away from. Perhaps, it was what had first enticed him into his affections for her; the ways in which she seemed to brighten a whole room whilst lost in her ramblings. Her voice was like a song he found himself lost in; a tune he wanted to keep close for all eternity.
Her thoughts would soon take a turn to that of her departure, to what laid beyond on the journey she was to undertake. And though Messmer could sense the hesitation simmering just beneath each passing breath, her excitement swept over the increments to where they were hardly tangible in nature. She was brimming with a sort of eagerness only a Tarnished could have for the path they were to forge. And it would be almost infectious had it not been for what such a duty meant for her; the dangers it presented.
It took a moment for Messmer to realize Leilias’ voice had eased into the quietude of the bedchamber, and a little longer for him to take notice of the way her eyes had shifted in that familiar glint of theirs. It was no longer excitable—intrigued would be a more proper term. And as his gaze bent onto hers, it suddenly registered to him the way his hand had found its place planted firmly to her side, if not a little too restrictive and tense.
Almost immediately, he revoked his touch, imparting a small word of apology before turning away to slant his gaze elsewhere. He did not wish to bring his own ponderings to light; his fears which may very well dispel the pleasant atmosphere settled between them. He wanted to maintain the peace they had for as long as he could—the semblance of normalcy and day-to-day life he knew neither of them would be able to hold onto in the coming days.
“Is something the matter, my lord?” Leilias’ voice intruded upon the silence yet again, though this time with an air of concern melded into a coyness only she could conjure. A means to soothe the impending conversation, Messmer presumed.
Deciding to indulge the question and its underlying threads, Messmers’ brows creased together, and he swiftly turned back to face her with a perceivable vexed expression. “Thou’rt truly the peculiar sort, to regard me as such in marriage.”
Leilia returned his gaze with her own sly discernment. “Am I?” she drawled. “Is it not a title of respect?”
“Not in the manner thou hast spoken it.” Messmer turned away, working to better rub the scowl from his features before shifting his attention to her once more. He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy her irksome nature; it certainly was enticing in more than a few ways. But he could tell it was merely a front this time, and he didn’t wish to tarry on a subject she desired to speak on.
Leilia seemed to pick up on this, her cunning nature dwindling in favor of giving her expression over to a more concerned and cautious approach. She raised her hand—albeit tentatively—and swept it along Messmers’ jaw, finding her way up to where the pad of her thumb could easily slide along the dip in his cheek.
“Are you alright?” she asked softly with enough tenderness to ease Messmer into her touch. The feeling of her fingers upon his skin, the way her scent penetrated the air with its sharpened clarity; it was practically intoxicating. And yet, he kept himself restrained, forcing his desires back into the coils of his gut.
He would not shy away from this, not like he had done so often before.
Messmers’ eye would flick across her own, latching onto the worry permeating the ocean tide of her gaze and the gentle fortitude washed over her expression. His lips were tense and his mind strenuous, but the words still slipped from his tongue and into the air with all the dexterity he could afford.
“There is something of which I wish to speak to thee,” Messmer began with a measured tone, taking his time to ensure each word was carefully thought out before departing his lips. Leilia kept her gaze intent, her stature keen whilst she awaited for him to speak further. And it was difficult to continue on—hardly did he desire to say more on the topic for that would forever cement his decision in place. Promises were ironclad after all; he couldn’t just take it back on a whim, not to her. But she deserved this, to know of his decision. After all, he had vowed to her when such a resolution would be made to light.
And so, with forced breath and resolved mind, Messmer spoke, “I didst make my intentions clear, and my vows resolute. And in accordance with my conviction, I shall endeavor to grant thee the decision I have come to consider.” He paused, releasing a small sigh as the words flooded his mind and fought to stay on the cusp of his next respire.
Leilia in turn remained where she was, unbreathing and focused, honed to every minute movement he made in clasping his hand over top of hers and bringing down between them. Her fingers were remarkably tiny compared to his, and her warmth dwindled against his own searing heat. He could easily crush her if he so wanted—or at least, that was what it felt like as he sat beside her, feeling her weight barely even shift the mattress in contrast to his own. It was hard to imagine how she’d even survived thus far against his brothers and sisters; demigods and legends alike desiring to see each and every Tarnished felled by their hand.
In that moment, in that very fragment of time, Messmer wanted nothing more than to protect her, to cloak her with his warmth and envelop her with his touch. He desired to hold her close and never let go, to see that her enemies were run through by the marrow of his spear. He couldn’t let her go so easily. He couldn’t let himself be the coward and stay behind while she undertook such a damning mission alone and with no one but his twin to see to her protection.
He didn’t care if the grace of gold so deigned she be resurrected with its lustre. He didn’t care if Leilia believed herself capable enough to challenge that of an aspiring demigod. He couldn’t let her go alone. Not without him by her side.
“I will join thee.” Messmer kept his eye upon hers, his gaze strict and unrelenting. He wouldn’t shirk from such a resolve. He would keep it close. “In thy desire to see that of Miquella the Kind felled, in thy vie for the title of Elden Lord, my body is thine own for that of a shield, my blade for that of a weapon. As thy consort and in thy service, I art to be.”
Leilia was silent at first, her expression unwavering yet the slightest inclination of surprise being captured between the cracks that started to form. She appeared to be surveying him, debating whether or not he was for certain or even perhaps if she were dreaming. Messmer remained still, holding her hand as he was, counting down the seconds in hopes of an answer—her voice to coincide with his promise.
She only continued to stay silent.
And then, after what seemed like hours had passed, she asked, “Are you for certain?”
It seemed to be rhetorical in nature, and yet, Messmer knew she had to ask it, to know with all the physical sureness the air could afford for their words that he was not lying, nor was it a jest of any sort. Their paths were to align as lord and consort, Tarnished and demigod. Aspiring for the throne of Elden Lord together, without any qualms or fears that may inhibit such a vow.
Messmer nodded, offering a small smile to coincide with the action. “I am. I will never leave thy side, not for anything.”
And that was all it seemed to take to convince her completely. There wasn’t much time for Messmer to process between their former position and the one he now held with Leilias’ arms draped around his neck, clinging to him with such urgency, it nearly robbed him of his breath. Her breath tickled the hairs on his skin as she nestled close to his nape, her shoulders struggling to remain stagnant as light tremors began to overtake her agency and muffled sniffles sounded between choked attempts to stifle them.
Messmer tried to shift himself, to better adjust to his current position. But any efforts to move only prompted Leilia to tighten her grip, as if a mere wisp of a breeze would threaten to seize him away from her. Eventually relenting, he slid his hands over top of her figure—shaky at first but soon firm and steady.
He could feel her relief in the way she relaxed into his touch, how her muscles loosened their hold on her nerves and her body finally sank against his. And while he sat there, holding her whilst tears spilled freely from her eyes and sobs wracked her trembling form, Messmer could only wonder how great the fear of leaving him had been for her to end up like this, how anxious she was to consider taking such a journey alone.
They remained like that for a while. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and Messmer soothed out soft cries from Leilias’ form with gingerly placed rubbing motions from his palms across her back. Neither of them spoke—there was nothing to be said. Though on occasion, Messmer felt as though he could hear a few words of gratitude slip from her lips.
Once her tears had withdrawn their assault and her shoulders no longer shook with laden sobs, Leilia would pull away. Her cheeks were flushed, and yet, Messmer noticed a faint smile pulling at her features, and a lightened expression overtaking her mien. And upon drying her eyes, she worked out a sound laugh, heightened with a sort of levity which caressed the air and assuaged the tension beginning to build.
“Thank you,” Leilia said. Two simple words; a remark of gratitude. Yet, each syllable carried a certain weight with them, seeped in emotions only Messmer could take notice of.
His brows furrowed together, and his gut twisted into itself. Carefully, Messmer raised a hand to the back of Leilias’ head, feeling her silvery-white strands catch between his fingers and tumble over his skin. Like silk, they felt, as he compelled her close to where she met with his chest. A small sound of surprise escaped from her, though no more made their departure when he bent down just enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. Then, he pulled away and relinquished his hold.
The afternoon had crawled on to crest the morning’s end. With the meal finished, they took to getting ready. Leilia had donned a simple shirt and greaves with a pair of boots, stating her intent to continue her training with the utmost haste. Messmer watched from the foot of the bed as she worked on her hair, tying it back without much fuss for braids or any other intricate designs. It hadn’t taken long for Messmer to learn of her distaste for such efforts to her hair; they would only become hindrances in battle, she had once told him. Though he found it to be rather a waste given her natural beauty accompanied with such accentuations.
Rising from his position on the bed, Messmer made his way over to the bedside table. Leilia seemed to be too preoccupied to pay him any mind as he plucked the pin he’d gifted her from the collection of jewelry, though her eyes did dart up to meet his once he’d approached her with only a foot residing between them. She didn’t turn around, however, as Messmer hadn’t granted her the time to do so before his fingers found their way to her hair, and the pin became nested in its strands.
Almost immediately, Leilias’ hands shot up to make a grab for its gilded surface, only for Messmer to swiftly arrest her movements with his fingers enveloping her wrists. He promptly lowered them to her sides, rescinding his hold in favor of letting his touch roam across her figure, the heel of his one palm finding the dip in her waist and settling there whilst the other rested upon her shoulder, his thumb flicking over the swell of her collarbone.
“I ask ye keep it there,” Messmer stated firmly. A smile of his own tugged at the corners of his lips, enticed further when he felt Leilias’ breathing become slightly uneven in response. His hand rose from her shoulder and found its way to the pin, adjusting it to better suit her appearance. Once satisfied, he backed away, allowing Leilia the chance to finally turn around to face him.
Her eyes flickered with a look he couldn’t quite discern completely, though Messmer was certain he spotted one of annoyance. He could tell she wanted nothing more than to remove it, however, she never acted on it. Instead, Leilia drew a small sigh, conceding with the soft furrow of her brow before turning back around to look her reflection over one last time.
“It’s too fussy,” she grumbled loud enough for Messmer to hear. “But I suppose I can keep it as is.” Her fingers moved to smooth out a few light rumples creased in her shirt before once again pivoting on her heel to meet his eye. Leilia seemed to take a moment to look him over—though for what reason, Messmer was unsure—and her lips curved upward. “I presume you have your own duties to attend to today?”
The question was rather surprising, though what took Messmer even more aback was the answer produced in his mind. He shook his head, his gaze following Leilias’ movements as she padded over to the mantle to collect her Carian scepter. “‘Tis tradition to offer those of newly wedded status reprieve from the toils of duty. I shan’t be fettered for the day.”
“Then I suppose we are both free,” Leilia concluded as her fingers swept across the silver sheen of her scepter, as if in search of every chink made in its metal surface. Her gaze occasionally shot over to meet his, but did not linger for very long. “Perhaps, we ought to use the time to consider our plans more thoroughly. Enir-Ilim will certainly pose many challenges for us to overcome, will it not?”
For a moment, Messmer couldn’t help but glean a sort of befuddlement from her words, though it was soon to turn itself over into a feeling of amusement. It was her first true wedded day, a time meant for the two of them to spend in leisure. And yet, the future kept her in pursuit with no time for the present. In some ways, it could be considered foolish. But in others, it truly was quite admirable. And Messmer was particularly fond of the latter.
“Thou wouldst use such precious time for that of research?” he asked, garnering Leilias’ attention. She turned to him, eyes flicking across his own as she seemingly worked to consider her response.
“We will be spending it together, will we not?” Leilia shifted her focus back over to her scepter, fastening its holster to her belt. Once the scepter was secured in its place, she then strode over to him, tucking a loose strand of her silken-white tresses back behind her hair and daring a keen smirk as she looked him over. “Mm? Don’t tell me you had other things in mind, did you?”
Her tone was treading a thin line, one of which Messmer forced himself not to cross as he returned her stare with an equally piercing look. She was making it quite hard not to undo everything she’d donned and shove her back into the covers. With an arched brow, he returned, “And if I did? Thou doth knowest the term meant to describe that of a honeymoon, correct?”
“Ah, is that what this is?” Leilia quipped sharply, threading a quaint laugh through her words. Though Messmer was certain he could pick out something akin to fluster within her countenance, she’d done well to hide it with her usual playful proclivities. “Are we to spend the day in here, then?”
As much as Messmer wanted to answer in agreement to such an inquiry, he reluctantly bit back the response in favor of shaking his head. He knew it wouldn’t be wise for either of them to waste away the day in what could be considered marital bliss. Time was a fickle thing with a temper unlike any other; it would not wait for them to catch up. Another would soon find their way into Enir-Ilim—with or without the use of his own kindling. It would be done, and as much as he loathed to admit it. Leilias’ eagerness to continue on couldn’t be placed in fault.
“‘Tis unfortunate for me to say, but alas, ‘twould be most remiss for us to waste such time for the frivolities of marriage.” Messmer extended his hand for Leilia to take, to which she did almost immediately. She allowed him to guide her from the confines of the room, and into the brisk chill permeating across the desolate expanse of the Keep’s winding halls. And while a shiver could be perceived being drawn from her demeanor, it was ultimately feeble against the heat his own form provided as she nestled herself close to him.
“So, you will join me in researching Enir-Ilim?” Leilia questioned, glancing up at him when she wasn’t looking forward to watch her step. “I can imagine there is much you already know about it.”
The corridor drew a sharp turn, and Messmer felt his gaze be pulled towards the wilted shadow tumbling down from the iron sky once they rounded the corner. The Scadutree was always a stagnant being; a constant in the days which passed him by with seeming ease. He fought the urge to linger a moment in its presence, not wanting to concern Leilia with the particulars of such thoughts as he pressed forth.
“Indeed, there is much I do know,” Messmer said. “However, such particulars were only passed down from that of Queen Marika. I am not aware of what will await us hence forth once we cross into that of untrodden land. She did not desire my knowledge of its true existence, and ensured my ignorance as such.”
Leilia was silent for a moment, likely taking in his words and turning them over in her head before deciding on what to say in response. A minute had seemed to pass before her lips parted, and she once again glanced up to his eye. “So what do you know?”
The question itself would likely take a whole day to unpack and explore, though being unsure of where Leilias’ own knowledge began and ended, Messmer thought to keep his answer simple and concise. “The Divine Gate resteth at the very peak of the towers. From there, the Hornsent hath provided their own measures to ward off those of whom deign approach. Such is not dissimilar to that of Leyndell after the Shattering, wert thou to draw a comparison.”
His answer did not seem to satisfy Leilia, however, as he noticed her lips curl inward and her brows knit together with a thoughtful approach. A few minutes passed them by, and the brisk air had been suffused with a gentle warmth of the Keep’s interior as they wandered further into its embrace. As such, Leilia had rescinded her touch little by little, eventually finding sufficient comfort in walking alongside him rather than enveloped by his cloak.
“Is there anything else you know?” she asked curtly, disturbing the silence which had settled between them.
Messmers’ gaze fell to the ground, observing the slight fissures chiseled into each stone he stepped upon. “Aye, there is,” he replied. “However, I do not endeavor to impart such information in the open air as we are now. Once we arrive, I shall tender to thee that of which ye desire.”
“Once we arrive?” Leilia echoed, and Messmer followed her voice to the sharp incline of her brow. “To the Storehouse, you mean?”
It rather amused Messmer to see the confusion resting upon her expression, though he dared not to voice it. Rather, he kept himself quiet, biding the anticipation with a simple smile and a brandished flicker across his golden eye. Indeed, they were taking the venture to the Storehouse, though he felt it best to keep it a true surprise until they reached their destination.
All the better to see the surprise across her face, he should rather think. After all, Leilia was one of whom he knew was particularly intrigued by materials unfamiliar to her. Information unknown; details untrodden. A goldmine of wealth for her to uncover. He’d first seen it when she’d undertaken the duties of scouring the Specimen Storehouse and reorganizing it; the countless hours she’d spent simply pouring over books and scrolls aplenty that had taken her fancy. This would be no different, he’d imagined.
“Thou wilt soon see,” Messmer said with a widened smile. “And I am certain thou wilt not be disappointed.”
Disappointed, Leilia was not.
The section of the Storehouse Messmer had guided her along to was far secluded from the rest, tucked away in its own corner on the very top floor with but a few guards meant to guide it from those curious enough to be enticed by its sequestered nature. The library was small and quaint, but the room was filled to the brim with piles of books and scrolls toppling over each other, chests ready to burst with only more artifacts to scour and examine in full.
Messmer had made haste in sparking a fire in the desolate grate, the charred flakes of wood struggling to catch but occupying him enough for Leilia to aimlessly wander an awestruck state. When the fire finally roared to life and soaked the room in its deeply rich glow of orange, Messmer turned to find the Tarnished already gathering as many books as she could fit into her hands, her arms practically overflowing with an abundance of information at her complete disposal.
She discarded the possessions onto a nearby table, eyes roving over each scribble of ink as her fingers eagerly flicked through every page. Her expression could have nearly been mistaken for a thousand stars with how bright it seemed, her enthusiasm only growing with each passing paper sliding between her grasp.
Messmer could only marvel at the sight set before him, entirely enraptured by the way Leilia scurried about, collecting more scrolls and books to comb through in the coming hours. It didn't take very long for him to realize he may even have to drag her from the room should her excitement not be sated come nightfall.
Of course, that wasn’t to say he also didn’t indulge in all that laid before him. The abundance of information even he was not yet privy to could not be overlooked, and though they sat under sheets of dust from years of destitution and abandonment, Messmer knew he had salvaged them for a reason. It would be quite the waste to let it all continue to wither and rot away without using it to his advantage.
The scroll Messmer had taken from one of the shelves was coated in a thick layer of grime which he was forced to rub away before opening it completely. He spread it out on another table, setting a nearby book atop the weathered paper in order to keep it from snapping shut on him. He couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised by what he’d come to glean; the information would have actually been quite vital back when the crusade was just beginning to sharpen its teeth against its foes.
The ink was faded in some spots and the paper thinned out to where it threatened to tear with even the slightest inclination of force used against it in other places, but the contents were still crisp and beheld enough clarity for him to discern its true import. The design of a wild beast; blueprints of the rituals for sculpted keepers to follow. How to invoke its divinity and construct the means for its use in battle.
Once, Messmer had assailed upon all three of them, and won with what one would perceive as a tried and true victory. But the battle proved to him the shortcomings of his strength, what one may take to their advantage should he become reckless in his endeavors. In that regard, he had surmised an applicable allotment of respect towards those of whom had designed such a being of divinity. And as he roamed the page, examining the information laid before him, he undoubtedly felt that respect begin to grow.
“These books are from the Hornsent,” Leilias’ voice pierced into the quietude of the chamber, startling Messmer from his thoughts. From the corner of his eye, he could see her staring at him from the other end of the room with an open book resting upon her palm. “I thought you had burned everything to the ground during the crusade.”
Messmer didn’t face her completely, instead turning his attention to another scroll on the nearest shelf to him whilst addressing her words. “Once, I had desired to see it all burned, taken into mine flames and purged from the lands.” The scroll had some more weight to it than the last, and Messmer turned it over in a manner of intrigue before carefully unfurling its contents. It wouldn’t do to tear it. “However, Lady Rellana hadst granted me her own desire to see such information salvaged. And in spite of mine own feelings towards the matter, I obliged her.”
“Hence why it is all here, secluded from the rest of the Storehouse,” Leilia finished for him, this time compelling Messmer to turn to her. She had a look set across her face, sullen and quiet—the enthusiasm not entirely expunged but shallow and thin compared to before. Her hand clasped over top of the pages, slipping across its surface before it found the edges of the cover. From there, she folded it back onto itself, and closed it. “These appear to be from Belurat. The scriptures; they remark upon that of the Divine Beast.”
Messmer nodded, rigidness presiding in his movements. “Hast thou borne witness to the Divine Beast?” he inquired, setting his focus back on the scroll before him. This one inscribed the knowledge of the tower itself; Belurat’s connection to Enir-Ilim; their interwoven passages now closed and long since abandoned by all with the seal’s iron-clad shadow. Pivotal information that he would be foolish not to partake some attention towards.
Whilst he drew a finger along the splotches of ink drafted across the paper, he could hear Leilias’ voice carry on an answer to his question.
“I did. It proved to be a remarkable adversary to Frejya and I. We barely made it out alive.”
“Mm, the Divine Beast is indeed an aspiring foe. To vanquish all who dare pose a threat to the towers of Enir-Ilim, they wert to be a great challenge.” Messmer stilled upon a line of text, his brows furrowing as recollections stirred from the depths of his mind. “‘Tis most fortunate we shan’t have to bear the curse of facing such an adversary yet again. However, its warriors yet remain.”
“Warriors?” Leilias’ footsteps were heard padding across the room, the untrodden floorboards given sharp shrieks of rebuttals against her movements as she treaded over them. Yet again, Messmer could perceive her figure in his peripheral, though this time, she appeared to be fixed on a book nested on a shelf far above her, her fingers barely even able to breach over the surface and graze its binding.
Her actions were clearly strained as she stood on the tips of her feet, struggling to so much as even wriggle the book from its place. For a moment, Messmer merely looked on, rather diverted by how she appeared in her efforts; small like a mouse in the way he could simply stride up and grab it for her if he so wished.
Deciding to indulge the notion and abandon his own research, Messmer made his way over to Leilia. She hadn’t taken notice of his presence—or if she did, it was not distinguishable upon her countenance. However, that was quick to change when his lips parted in tandem with the rise of his arm, and his hand enveloping hers as it wrapped around the book’s cover with relative ease.
“The warriors reside in the towers of Enir-Ilim, guarding the path to the Divine Gate,” Messmer explained as he plucked the book from the shelf, placing it in Leilias’ hands. “They fashion themselves similar to that of the Divine Beast, and call upon the divinity afforded to the monstrosity itself. Shouldst anything pose a threat in our endeavors, they will be at the helm.”
Leilia stared at the book for a moment, her eyes flickering with a remark of contemplation over his words. Then, she turned away, only to pivot back just enough for Messmer to catch the slight outward puff of her cheeks and the furrow of her brow.
“I could have grabbed it myself,” she said in a vexed manner. Though the look she gave him was quick to soften as her fingers went to work nimbly turning over the pages of the book.
Messmer smiled, amused by her pouting response. Enticed, his hand rose once more, this time finding its place atop Leilias’ head. Almost instantly, her expression was extinguished, and taking its place was one of perplexion as his touch lingered for a second longer before being retracted and falling back at his side.
“Shouldst thou require my assistance, I ask ye request it in kind,” Messmer said as he moved back over to the scrolls that had captured his interest. Leilia followed his steps with her eyes, a light sigh slipping past her lips to act as a bridge for her own words.
“I shall keep that in mind,” was her reply, and Leilia sauntered away from the shelf and towards the table, though she merely used it as a means of stability as she leaned back into it and continued to thumb through the book from there. “These… warriors, however. I presume you have met them in battle?”
Her conjecture was not falsely placed, and Messmer ventured a simple nod of agreement. “They were formidable, indeed. In numbers, they drove back mine own efforts to turn the tide of the war. As such, many were lost in such battles.”
He could still recall it; the stench of blood mixed with the plumes of smoke stifling the air. The toxins of ash slicked across his tongue—a taste never truly lost to him. His comrades laid destitute and lifeless along the path before him, all felled by the masked ones, emerald eyes glistening through the sultry haze of fire, grinning forevermore. Their expressions could never change, however, Messmer was certain that underneath their helms, it remained the same. Delighted to know they could thwart his efforts and see their towers guarded and in safe keeping.
For Leilia, a Tarnished and his own lord, their bloodlust would never be sated. Should she falter in any way, they would surely take to cleaving her flesh with their wretched divinity and see her felled. The mere thought was enough to tighten his gut to where the pain wrenched itself something keen, and he was swift in extirpating it from his mind before it could wander any further.
Casting a glance towards Leilia, Messmer found her eyes raised from the book’s pages and set upon him. She was wearing a look he found distaste for; pity, a semblance of fear, perhaps. Hesitation and doubt. However, once she’d taken notice of him, she worked to wipe it away, like how the ocean tide erodes the shoreline it sweeps across in a storm. In its place resided a placid mein, the tension ever prominent, but restrained.
“I am sorry,” she said quietly, dipping her head down. “Losing a comrade in battle… it feels like nothing can ever truly take the pain away, can it?”
Messmer was silent. Inwardly, his heart had ceased its rhythm and lurched forward. “No, but time can soothe the wounds,” he eventually offered, surprised by how meek his own voice sounded. In truth, he had never truly been able to mourn for those of whom he’d lost. There were too many, and the battles just kept piling atop one another, reprieve never granted and his duties never seen to their conclusion. The pain was always sharp, driving a serrated edge deep within him. But with time, it was manageable, and soon as noticeable as breathing.
They worked quietly from there, occasionally drawing up a question or two with a conjoined response. The silence eased into that of comfort, and after several minutes had passed and light ticks of time sloped into an hour, their inquiries and suggestions became more commonplace. Leilia had found several scrolls depicting foreign incantations, and as such spent her time pouring over the contents of each one with that excitable and fascinated glint dashing along her eyes with every etching of ink they ran across.
From time-to-time, Messmer would simply find himself captivated by the way she looked during these fits of deep concentration. The tight curl of her lip, how her hair slipped from its ties and she didn’t even seem to notice when it fell in her face. Then, when she found herself particularly stuck on something of interest, her head would shoot up to look at him with a flurry of questions at the ready.
The day carried on from there, and soon, evening marked its arrival with the delicate blossoms of pink painting their gentle strokes across the sky. The grate’s fire was but a few embers now, making feeble attempts at keeping their heat as the air began to suffocate their efforts. The library had been made a mess; piles upon piles of books now scattered across each and every surface—including the floor—scrolls unfurled and held down by even more volumes as Leilia continued to scour each and every one.
By this point, Messmer could feel his own eagerness beginning to wane, his serpents sharing the sentiment with light hisses as they aimlessly wandered across and occasionally formed coils around Leilia; a means for attention. She would return the gesture with small pats across their heads, though her attention would always find its way back into the pages of another book or scroll, much to their aggrievement.
When the sun had finally drawn its last breath, Messmer decided the day had also met its sound conclusion. Quietly, he’d begun to gather their work, finding what they might later use and setting it off to the side whilst cleaning away the mess left in their wake. Leilia did not appear to heed his movements, seemingly engrossed in yet another scroll of some kind. When Messmer took a gander at its contents, he could only glean the methods for an incantation of sorts, curated particularly for that of Inquisitors.
He did not bother her until he felt sufficiently satisfied with the state of the chamber, not wanting to disturb her till the last minute. She looked so peaceful sitting there, biting at her lip and turning over page after page of information as her head rested upon the heel of her palm. Such a sight was one he’d seldom viewed in recent days, and one he was certain would be sorely missed in the weeks to come on their journey when their time would be filled with fighting and survival above all else.
Upon placing the final book back in its nook on the shelf, Messmer turned his attention over to Leilia. His movements were slight and gentle; a hand rested atop her shoulder, drawing her focus away from the scroll and towards him. For a moment, she quirked a brow at him, only for it to vanish when she realized the last flickers of light from the grate had taken their final breath.
“I had not realized the time,” she said quickly, fumbling to gather what she could. She’d just snapped one of the scrolls shut when Messmer seized the opportunity afforded to him, snaking a hand to her waist and taking her into his arms. The scroll had slipped from her fingers, though Leilias’ attention was placed elsewhere when she found herself settled in his embrace, a coyish smirk playing at his lips.
“Thou didst not indeed,” Messmer returned, watching the heat slowly beginning to rise into Leilias’ face color itself a fine crimson at her newfound position. Though, she made no efforts to wriggle from his grasp, instead allowing him to carry her from the room.
Only when they had stepped out into the winding corridor did Leilia sound any sort of reluctance to her place in his arms.
“Your knights shall see us, whatever will they think?” she asked in the form of a quip, embarrassment coloring her quite plainly as it painted across her cheeks.
Messmer couldn’t help but glean a semblance of enjoyment from her words, and his grip only became more firm along her body. “Dost thou truly believe it relevant?”
“I believe it particularly vexing,” Leilia huffed in turn. Once again, Messmer could see a small pout beginning to form with her expression.
His smile widened, though he did not relinquish his hold, even as a few knights had indeed started to pass them by. They were married after all; it should hardly matter if he desired to carry his wife as he was across the entirety of the Keep itself. Leilia kept her gaze averted from the knights, instead burying her face as close to his armor as she possibly could—an effort to spare herself the humiliation as well as to obscure the scarlet seared across her cheeks.
Fortunately for her, the journey to the dining hall was a small venture, and the moment they approached the two doors leading to its chambers, Messmer had finally allowed Leilia to slip from his arms. She planted her feet firmly to the ground, taking the time to smooth out whatever creases had formed in her shirt and pat down her greaves before pivoting around to brandish a piercing glare.
Messmer simply retained his smile, and her expression wavered, soon to be dropped entirely with a generously heavy sigh to accompany its departure.
They dined as usual, the meal quiet yet entertaining with their diverting conversation. Leilia had even managed to pry a few genuine laughs from Messmer, much to his surprise. Though, he did note that whenever the sound escaped from him, a tinge of red could be perceived dusting her cheeks.
Perhaps, he ought to laugh more often.
At the meal’s closure, they finally retired to their bedchamber. Exhausted from her research, Leilia had insisted her only desire was to sleep, to which Messmer respected as they undertook their nightly routine. He had already crawled under the covers by the time Leilia had returned from the washroom in her nightdress, her white tresses now comfortably resting atop her shoulders with a few strands just barely caressing the skin below.
She smiled at him and padded over, climbing into bed and nestling herself close to his side. Even with his own heat, her warmth was inviting, nesting deep within him and nurturing the places where it felt oddly cold. Her arm had found itself draped over top of his chest, and her lashes fluttered with meager attempts to stay open as she fought back clear efforts to yawn.
“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Leilias’ voice would eventually murmur, dappled with sleep and fatigued etched into her tone. Her chest rose and fell in accordance with her exhaustion, her breathing becoming heavy with each passing respire.
In a similar weary state, Messmer nodded. “Once our duties hath been seen to their completion, and thou’rt rewarded the title of Elden Lord, we shall remain like this, in our arms, forevermore.”
A light hum was drawn from Leilia, the sound laden with impending slumber. “I hope that day comes sooner rather than later.” Her words were quiet and dull, barely intelligible as sleep’s call finally overtook her agency and pulled her under its blanket. From there, silence filled the room with the periodic crackle of fire tending to its wood.
Messmer held Leilia close, his thumb flitting across her skin in slow methodical strokes. His eye had grown heavy, exhaustion tugging him downward to where he found it difficult to climb up. Sleep was always something he couldn’t glean reprieve in; the means of war had wrangled its usefulness from him and even the slightest hint of exhaustion typically put him on edge.
But with Leilia there in his arms, slumbering peacefully as her hair spilled over her shoulders and her breath hot against his skin, he felt safe enough to drift away. Safe and in comfort, knowing she would be there, that for the first time in his life, he could awaken to another’s warmth, another’s touch, welcoming him into her embrace and knowing it was real, tangible, and that it would never go away.
She would never leave him.
It was cold. That was the first thing she felt.
The feeling was poignant, festering across her skin and igniting a biting tenderness too sharp to ignore. Her movements were sluggish, motions steeped with a sort of fatigue she couldn’t quite place as to where it originated as she worked to rub away the bitter chill from her arms.
It was dark. That was the second thing she noticed.
The ground was slick beneath her feet. That was the third.
The stone expanse was draped in a dampened underfoot, making it harder for her to move when she ventured a risk in taking a step forward. The darkness only crawled forth, tumbling far into the depths of the unknown and sending her on edge.
The darkness only held danger, the potential for death. She was not to encroach upon its territory.
And yet, it was the only way to escape.
She walked for what seemed like ages, clinging to herself, listening in on the minute increments of sound surrounding her. They seemed like nothing—merely droplets of water sliding from dripstone and onto the sodden ground below, forming mass puddles for her to avoid. Sometimes, the water would land on her instead of its true destination, prompting her heart to lodge itself deep in her throat whilst she worked to calm her startled nerves.
The path was endless, and so too was the darkness. To pass the time, she thought to sort through her recollections. Perhaps, there was something that might compel her to understand her current whereabouts. But much like her surroundings, her mind was entirely bereft. Nothing, not so much as even a name, remained. And so was she merely resigned to continue her venture down through the ever-growing abyss.
After what had felt like forever, perhaps even a lifetime, the sounds that had accompanied her like ghostly companions shifted. There was something new to gleaned—at first quiet and indistinguishable, but very quickly brought from the depths and into a clarity as crisp as the splashes of puddles her footfalls broke through.
It was a voice, a murmur, a woman. Childlike or mature, she knew not. But it lured her in with its soothing lulls and urgent pleas. The words were sharpened as she drew closer, until finally, all she could hear was the sweetened haze of a lullaby, murmured over and over to where it became synonymous with the moistened dripstone above.
The darkness could not be breached, not by her. But the voice was afforded such an ability. Like brushstrokes to a canvas, glimpses of faded purple began to weave themselves across the landscape; climbing atop stones, forming thickets and brambles of flowers aplenty. They spilled forth, stretching to the deepest depths, and illuminating them in a gentle touch of light.
She continued on. The voice only grew in tandem with the vast streaks of purple.
Finally, at the very precipice, in the center where all things adjoined, there was a figure. She couldn’t make it out; the darkness had managed to cleave its way through and brush against its frame. But the voice spoke on, and the figure stirred as she stepped into its view.
She thought to reach out, to grasp its visage to light. Her hand had made but one motion before she was wrested away however, and the darkness thrust its blade down, sending her back and the figure deep into the abyss. The purple retreated, the flowers startled and withdrew their petals. Whatever light that remained was splintered and sundered.
Yet the voice, in spite of everything, had still managed to persist. And the Tarnished could hear its words, its songless lullaby, pierce through the veil of darkness.
Come to me.
And then she was pulled awake.