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mydadleft471 · 18 days ago

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Just so y’all know I’m on AO3 now!!! Under the same name and everything :)

A Jester Indeed Part 3

I've brought the milk!

Lookie! Lookie! I'm doing it! I'm posting something for Messmer! Crazy, I know lmao.

Anywho, I had so much fun with this. I made Messmer a cocky little shit at the end because I can do whatever I want.

Side note: if you live in the USA rn like I do, it's a bit hectic to say the least. Please keep yourself and others safe. You have rights and I am with you. People of color, LGBTQ+, etc. are safe on my blog. If you have an issue with that, eat grass.

Thank you all for the crazy support, likes, reblogs, comments, and overall good vibes!

Link to my masterlist here!

Link to part 2 here!

Your mind had been spinning since you got back to your chambers in the evening. Lying in your comfy bed and squeezing your eyes tight did nothing to dissuade the tide of thoughts swirling through your mind.

Sir Ansbach was safe, and you were glad of it, as he had been a kind soul and stalwart in his deeds since you met him all those weeks ago. Though under Miquella’s influence, he assisted in any way he could and wished you luck when you told him you were going after Messmer. You can only assume he followed after you once Miquella’s charm broke upon your entrance to the Shadow Keep.

Now, he was probably pouring through information in an attempt to locate Miquella’s true reasoning for being in the Realm of Shadow. Something big was in the works, that was for certain, but the Demigods seemed to always have plans one could never fathom. Perhaps he wanted revenge on you for killing his beloved twin? But that couldn’t possibly be it; his followers would’ve killed you instantly upon seeing you. Maybe he considers you a threat.

Whatever it is, it has your stomach churning.

The lust for freedom, for adventure: you never thought it would land you here, at a Demigod’s side, in his Keep, as an ally. From what you had seen, the rumors of Messmer the Impaler seemed false, like rumors gone awry. But at the same time, you had seen the extensive damage his presence had caused in his many years in the Realm of Shadow. The Hornsent villages and towns had been nearly erased with only skeletal remains of buildings and homes left over.

But even after all he had done, you couldn’t’ seem to hate him. Through your adventures, you had discovered his troubled past and his curse. You’d learned of his fate steered by Marika’s hands; a fate he took in stride to please his mother. You pitied him, if anything.

You recall back to how much faith he put in you, a lowly Tarnished, as you were often called. Someone unfit to rule. Yet Messmer allowed you to speak among his council as a trusted advisor and treated you with the same amount of respect he treated the rest of his men with. He wanted your advice, your help. The thought makes your stomach tie into knots and flip over itself.

Finding yourself much too restless to continue laying down, you pushed your covers back and began pacing around your room. The cold air hits your skin and you move over to your fireplace to throw two more logs on. Soon, the flames roar and dance, the goosebumps on your body gradually fading.

On your dresser, a few old books, almost crusted over with dust, sat waiting for you to flip through their pages and delve through their mysteries. As much as you’d like to sit down and read them, you knew you’d be too jittery and anxious to focus on anything they said.

As luck would have it, a knock sounded against your door, making you jump a little. The moon had long since taken its place in the starry sky, and it was late. Salza was always in bed by this time, or, at the very least, busy in his study. He told you he preferred a few hours of solitude, which you totally understood.

It was too late for any servants to bring you anything, as they already had outfit choices laid out for tomorrow and dinner was a few hours ago.

You were hoping it was Queelign so you could punch him right in his smug face. You probably wouldn’t get into trouble. Probably.

You quickly threw on a crimson silk robe for a bit more decency, as you were currently only in a thin sleepshirt and your underwear.

But when you opened the door, you were surprised to see Messmer, of all people, standing almost sheepishly at your door. His hand was curled into a fist, like he was about to knock again, but you opened the door before he had a chance to.

“Messer? Oh, sorry,” you fumbled a bit, curtsying. “Lord Messmer.” You wanted to ask why he was here so late, but you figured he would tell you.

“Good evening. I apologize for bothering thee so late. If it would be alright, I would like to come in and speak.”

“Oh!” You practically squeaked out, very conscious of how little you were wearing. “Sure thing.”

You opened the door wider for him and scooted out of the way. He lowered his head just slightly as a thank you. His serpents hovered over to you as he passed and one booped your nose with its head. You gave it a small pat before closing the door and walking further into your room.

Messmer sat himself down on your sofa near the fireplace in your room, his body much too large to actually fit on it. He made it work, but you let out a chuckle as you sat across from him in a comfy armchair.

“What is so humorous?” He took off his helmet and set it onto the nearby table, combing through his fiery red hair with his sharp nails.

“You barely fit on my couch.” You shake your head at him, still chuckling to yourself.

“Very well. ‘Tis not mine room.”

“I know. It’s just funny to watch.

You quickly realize he’s probably here for more important reasons than idle chit-chat, so you give him silence for when he’s ready to speak.

A serpent coils underneath his hair, and he lazily strokes its scales. “I would hear thine thoughts of today’s happenings.”

“What specifically?”

“Miquella, perhaps.” He focuses his gaze on you, and you feel very small.

“Well,” you begin, “I don’t really know. He’s up to something, that’s for sure. He placed some charm on his so-called Followers, so he’s powerful enough to influence people to do whatever he wants. But if he needed to put them under some sort of spell in the first place, I don’t trust his motives at all.”

“‘Tis a cowardly thing to do: to misguide others as one sees fit. Respect is earned.” Venom laces his tone and you see him ball his hands into fists where they lay on his lap.

“He even rid himself of St. Trina. I found her dying beneath the Cerulean Coast.” You shake your head at the memory, briefly wondering if Thiollier is still by her side, begging for her poison.

Messmer shifts, his body angling further towards you. “St. Trina?” He repeats the name with uncertainty.

“Miquella’s alter ego. She’s the patron saint of sleep, from what little I know of her.”

“Miquella possessed another self?”

You almost mention Marika and Radagon, but you don’t think he’s ready to hear about that. Instead, you focus on Miquella. “Yes. At the cross where he abandoned her, it said that he abandoned his love.”

“He intends to rid himself of everything. Everything Mother gave him.”

“I suppose so. He’s been throwing parts of himself away left and right.”

“He shall come to regret his choices, I am sure.” Messmer spreads his hand over the arm of the couch, feeling the softness of it.

“I just don’t understand why he left everything behind. The Haligtree was full of his followers, including his sister. He abandoned them after promising them a better life.”

“Thou didst battle with the Blade of Miquella, no?” His serpents flick their tongues at you, almost like they’re excited to hear your answer.

“Yes. It was a hard fight. She was probably the greatest warrior I’d fought.” You shudder thinking back to her words, her blade, and her ferocity in battle.

“Dost thou believe her to be enchanted by Miquella as well?”

When you encountered Malenia, she appeared to be sleeping. She awoke and told you of her strange dreams that sounded like the Battle of Aeonia. Despite doubting how much of her was left after being ravaged by the rot, she proved a challenge. When you thought you had beaten her, she rose again as the Goddess of Rot. Was it her choice to blossom into something more, or was it simply forced on her, by Miquella or someone greater?

Perhaps you’d never know. Still, she remained Miquella’s loyal blade until the end. Maybe he did charm her, or maybe she was just that devoted to him.

You remember Mohg, towering over you. He had devoted his entire dynasty to Miquella, and whether that was for the power an Empyrean could bring him, or something more sinister, you remain unsure. One thing was for certain; he guarded Miquella’s body, or what you assume to be his body, with his life.

You adjust the ties at the front of your robe, securing them tighter around your waist. “I don’t know. I don’t think charming a Demigod is out of the question for him.”

Messmer closes his eye and sighs. His brows knit together, forehead wrinkling with stress. You want to reach out and hug him and let him know that you’ll get through this. That nothing is impossible for you, much less so with a powerful Demigod by your side. Great Rune or not, Messmer was someone who could hold his own in combat, as you had learned firsthand.

Messmer breaks the silence, opening his eye slowly, as if he’s afraid of what he’ll see when he does. “Couldst thou have been charmed? Thy story of seeking adventure false?”

You shake your head ferociously back and forth. “No! I was in control of my own actions the whole time. I felt no different when Miquella’s charm broke. I swear.”

He looks at you, his false eye glowing a bright gold, painting his face with what looks like false sunlight. There are bags underneath his eyes, and you can see just how tired he is. His posture, though straight, is incredibly strained.

You stand from the armchair and plop yourself next to him on the couch, your body barely squeezing in beside him. He, of course, straightens and tenses as you near him. You don’t pay him any mind, and you delicately take one of his hands in yours. It’s heavy and warm, almost like you can feel the weight of his entire world by having his hand in yours.

“I swear to you I am who you know. I’m the Tarnished that stubbornly stopped you from plucking out your eye. I’m who you trusted to speak among your most loyal followers. And I will stay with you and fight whoever I need to to keep us safe.”

His eye is wide and he searches your face desperately for any kind of deceit. Once he finds none, he slowly raises his other hand to cover yours. You relax into the feeling, though his skin is calloused from years of war.

“I apologize for doubting thee. I promise it will not occur again.” He speaks low and soft, afraid to disturb whatever peace has settled over the room.

“It’s okay. It’s hard to trust people.” You shuffle an inch closer to him.

“Thou said us.”

You tilt your head, confused. “Huh?”

He smiles. “Thou promised to fight. To keep us safe.”

You nod. “I did.”

“What wouldst thou have me do? I am no stranger to war, as thou hast seen.”

“I think you’re misunderstanding. I meant that I would fight alongside you to keep us safe. I don’t intend to refuse a Demigod’s help in battle.”

He blushes, face going red. He looks away from you and he squeezes your hands. “I see.”

You think about teasing him, but you’re not sure if he’d survive that after all that’s happened today.

You gently slip your hands out of his, but you stay by his side on the couch. He looks slightly disappointed.

“Maybe I’ll ask Sir Ansbach what he knows of Miquella. We can do some research together so we’re more effective. I know the Storehouse pretty well thanks to Salza.”

There’s a breath of silence before Messmer speaks. “Dost thou hold affection for this Sir Ansbach?”

If you were drinking something, you would’ve spit it out. You imagine your eyes are practically bulging out of your head with how out of the blue that question was.

“Interesting question, but no. We’re just friends. Come to think of it, I really don’t know much about him. I met him when he was charmed.”

Your answer seems to somewhat satisfy Messmer. “I bid thee be careful. Thou dost not know his motivations as of yet. Nor do I.” He says that last part a bit quieter, like he was trying to speak to himself.

You quickly pick up on what’s going on and you smile.

“Who knows? Maybe we’ll become great friends.” You say with a teasing lilt to your voice.

Messmer’s eye narrows almost immediately. His serpents rise up from where they were curled up underneath Messmer’s hair and start to writhe a bit.

“What?” You ask, feigning innocence.

“I wouldst prefer thee keep distance from him.” His voice is short and clipped.

“Messmer, are you jealous?” You raise an eyebrow at him, smirking.

“No. I am wary.”

His red face indicates that he’s lying.

“You are so jealous.”

“Of whom? Sir Ansbach? Nonsense.” He doesn’t look at you.

“Whatever you say.”

In an act that leaves your stomach on the floor, and one you’d never expect from him, he tilts your head up with a finger underneath your chin, leaving you eye to eye with him. Well, eye to eyes. His face is intense and beautiful, something dangerous yet captivating. The point of his nail prickles under your chin, making you shudder.

“Thou’rt under my protection. Sir Ansbach is yet unknown to me, and I shalt consider him a threat until he proves to be otherwise. Dost thou understand?” He keeps his voice low and authoritative, imposing in a way that shows he understands how much power he holds over you.

“Yes.” You barely manage to croak out.

He removes his hand and stands up, towering over you still sitting on the couch.

“I shalt leave thee be for tonight. I thank thee for conversing with me.”

You spring up from the couch to lead him out of your room. Your legs are a bit shaky and you struggle to maintain your composure. He notices, and you can see a prominent smirk on his face. Your stomach does somersaults.

You reach the door after what feels like hours and you open it for him, albeit a bit too quickly.

“Have I offended thee?” He asks with mock concern.

“No! No, no, not at all. Just tired. Very tired. Long day.” You stop yourself from rambling.

“Then I shall leave thee. Rest well.” He bows slightly to you.

You curtsy back on shaky legs and almost fall over your ankle. He catches you by your hand and pulls you up, smirking down at you all the while.

“I will admit I quite enjoy having thee blush for me.”

You think you’re going to die.

“Just—shut up and get out of my room.”

He outright laughs at that, slowly letting go of your hand before walking out your door. He gives you one last look before he leaves. You want to say something witty, but you can’t think of anything, so you hastily shut your door, the hinges groaning slightly at your speed.

You can practically see him smirking on his way to his chambers right now.

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