tarnishedonesiris

[tarnishedonesiris]

The Serpent and the Sovereign: Pt. 5

(NC themes, dark, no minors allowed) [AO3]

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Knock, knock, knock. The sharp rap at the parlour door shattered the suffocating tension, the sudden intrusion feeling like a church bell in Syvis’s ears, making her flinch. A low hum vibrated in Messmer’s chest, a twisted amusement in his eyes, unbothered by the risk to them both. “Should I grant them entry, little lord?” he mused aloud, his gaze lingering on Syvis’s dishevelled state. “To observe their esteemed sovereign in such a… delectable predicament?”

Syvis shot him a furious glare. He’s actually insane. Her jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached, the words a strained hiss fighting against the tremor that threatened to overtake her voice. “Don’t be a fool, Impaler. This charade cuts both ways. Remember my injured shoulder, so apparent after I extended my invitation? They won't see some clumsy tumble or a lover's spat. They'll see the brutal reality of how you ‘serve’ your Elden Lord. One glance at me, and the whispers of your… zealous duty will become deafening accusations. Your welcome here will turn to ash.”

Another sharp knock echoed. Messmer looked at Syvis, a calculating glint in his eyes, as if weighing his options. Then, with brutal swiftness, he leaned down, his fingers digging into the chain across her breastplate, yanking her roughly to her feet. Thank the lan- His other hand clamped onto her jaw, tilting her head back, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck. In a deliberate violation, he slowly licked the side of her neck, the wet heat causing Syvis to whimper. His mouth lingered near her ear, breath a chilling caress as he whispered a swift venom: “Savour thy reprieve, little lord. It shall be fleeting.” Then, releasing her abruptly, he stepped away with an unsettling nonchalance to lean against a nearby chair, as if their violent interaction was merely a casual aside. His serpents, mirroring his composure, smoothly uncoiled and returned to their positions on his body.

Syvis stood frozen, every muscle screaming in protest, her hands clenched so tightly her armoured knuckles ached. Move. Another knock, longer, a demanding intrusion. Messmer spoke, his attention fixed on a distant tapestry, his voice laced with a detached amusement. “Haste, then, Elden Lord. Wouldn't do to disappoint thy eager audience. Let us see that renowned composure. Perform.” A subtle, involuntary shiver traced its way down Syvis’s spine at his command, a reaction she desperately tried to conceal, pressing her trembling hand across her mouth, clamping her cheeks, a futile attempt to contain the roiling emotions within. Ignore him. Control it. She forced shallow breaths through her nose, her chest feeling constricted, as if an invisible weight pressed down on her. Pull it together. Now. The thought was a desperate plea. No one can see this. No one can see how easily he… how weak you are.

“Enter,” Syvis managed, her voice a low, shaky whisper that betrayed the frantic hammering of her heart. A wave of self-loathing washed over her as she registered the lingering heat in her limbs, the phantom sensation of his touch. A terrifying question slithered into her mind: Had a part of her… yielded? The thought was a bitter poison. Not the time. Window, now. She pushed herself away from the table, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, as if her own body were now an enemy. Your hands are trembling; hide them. As she reached the window, she deliberately clasped her hands behind her back, forcing her shoulders square, attempting to adopt a regal lord's pose – a shield to the trembling mess she felt inside.

She stared out at a distant, blurry point, shame burning in her chest. Elden Lord. The title now felt like a cruel mockery. Strength, dominance – those were supposed to be hers. Yet, in that moment against the table, a terrifying surrender had flickered within her, a disgraceful yielding to his power. You let him. She pressed her back against the cool stone of the window frame, taking deep, shuddering breaths. She felt the faint stickiness on the side of her neck where he had licked her, and the fact that she hadn't instinctively wiped it away sent a fresh wave of self-disgust through her. She noticed the faint mist of her breath blooming on the cold glass, the delicate cloud trembling visibly through the condensation.

Speak up. “Enter!” she repeated, forcing her voice to be louder, though it still wavered. Her fingers clenched tightly behind her, the pressure a small anchor in the storm of her emotions. He touched me. He tasted me. And I let him. The raw violation should have filled her with pure revulsion, and it did, but beneath it, a disturbing awareness lingered – something weak, something unwanted. The sight of her own unsteady breath on the glass was a reminder of her lack of control, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil that he had undoubtedly witnessed. He knew.  

The shame intensified. She was disgusted, by him, yes, but even more so by the traitorous desires her own body had betrayed, desires made sickeningly real by the dampness on her neck she refused to erase and the lingering sensation between her legs. She glared at Messmer’s back in the window’s glass. Overindulge… what did that even mean?  

The heavy door swung inward, revealing Godfrey, dressed in his usual attire, his eyes immediately scanning the room, assessing their proximity with a keen gaze. A muscle ticked in his jaw as his gaze swept between Syvis and the casually leaning Messmer, his usual stoicism marred by a flicker of disapproval. He held a polished wooden box carefully in his hands. Syvis glanced at him through the window’s reflection. He wasn’t pleased; the distance between her and Messmer didn’t look good. Give me a break. She kept her head high, pointed to the window, she needed every second. Godfrey moved with a clipped efficiency, the tap of his rough fingers against the wooden box betraying a thread of weary impatience, closer to Messmer than her. Traitor. “Lord Syvis,” he began, his tone laced with strained diplomacy, she turned from the window, having pulled together enough composure for about 5 minutes. “Following our discourse – our deliberations – on the paramount importance of presentation, of a manner befitting an Elden Lord who has seen fit to… welcome Lord Messmer into their fold, I confess I anticipated a more generous display of grace. A shadow of the respect owed.”

Syvis’s jaw tightened. I didn’t even get that far, old man. She pulled her best smile, strained, but Godfrey didn’t seem to notice. She offered him a curt nod, forcing an even tone. “Of course, Lord Godfrey. We had simply drifted to other matters. Lord Messmer has been… most enlightening .” The half-lie felt heavy and brittle. She took a step towards them, but kept behind the table in the room, refusing to look at it. Syvis held her head to the side, tracing over the door. Four minutes.

Godfrey’s gaze flickered to Messmer, a silent apology in his eyes. Fuck you, he didn’t even like the stupid bow. “Indeed.” He then presented the box to Syvis. “A token sourced from Lord Messmer's stronghold. A gesture of amity, he assures me, as thou both tread this delicate path of alliance.” Syvis turned to Messmer, who had returned a hand to one of his pets, a sardonic lift to her brow. Messmer slowly moved his gaze on her, her body shivered involuntarily, his eye was unreadable. “It is customary” he stated, his voice smooth, “that such tokens serve as emblems of accord.” Syvis released a long exhale from her nose but managed to resisted the urge to roll her eyes, more of this court shit. Her tongue probed the inside of her cheek, how to artfully tell him where to shove it… She stole a brief glance at Godfrey and wished she hadn’t, quickly dropping her head towards the box now on the table. His face was a perfect mask of control, but something about that emerging blood vessel suggested he was not impressed. Right, perform. “As befitting such an occasion of newfound amity. Lord Messmer, I accept this gesture.” Her delivery was wooden, she didn't bother looking at either of them, lips curled slightly downwards, not having the energy to even pretend to care. A wave of embarrassment stirred at Messmer’s earlier words at her ‘attempt’ of lordship, she had never felt more humiliated, feeling his eye on her as she spoke. Stiffly, Syvis stood before the box. I have to open it, don’t I? Their stillness answered her question; this was another performance, another owed smile. 3 minutes. She reached a hand across the lid, the wood feeling strangely warm through her gauntlet. Hopefully, it is something I can deny. Syvis flicked the lid up, the wood hitting the table with a heavy clunk. She blinked, momentarily confused to see exquisite clothing. Not a weapon? Or some strange impaled heart? Her hand slowly traced a dark, flowing ensemble of dragonhide leather, accented with intricate golden embroidery, a long red silk sash between the layers, the material supple under her armoured fingers. He definitely stole this from someone. A wry smile threatened her careful mask of composure, Perhaps I shouldn’t judge. Her mind momentarily clipping with countless lootings of tombs and graveyards, all necessary of course. It smelled faintly of herbs, one she struggled to place… Fulgurbloom? Godfrey tapped his foot discreetly. Her gold eye twitched, red eye socket itching. Right, yes. Straightening her shoulders, she opened her mouth, ready to release a poorly rehearsed response. Look again. Her eyes were forced down, searching the layers of black hide, then freezing. Remember? The blood drained from her face, a deep, dark thrum, calling from within her as she saw it. Nestled within the folds, attached to an ornate silver thread and silk, was a dagger. Blade crafted from what looked like a shard of polished white bone. The room seemed to both expand and contract, senses overblown as a cascade of fragmented images flooded her mind. 

Darkness, a suffocating void that swallowed all light and stretched beyond the edges of sanity, suddenly collapsing down from all sides. Arcane symbols, raw and glistening, carved into slick black stone, Hands, so many hands, on her, around her, reaching, looking for something. A pool of absolute black, viscous and still, pulsing faintly, its edges slick with a constant, viscous drip. Did it hurt? The question echoed in the oppressive silence of her mind. Chanting voices, ancient and guttural, clawing at the edges of perception from a vast, unseen chamber. The hands are harsher, nails dragging, they sense it. Syvis moved a hand to her abdomen. A gaunt figure lay splayed on a blood-soaked altar, a heart is beating, so loud the room vibrates. A slow, churning movement disturbed the stagnant blackness, something pale and slick beginning to breach the surface. The hands dig, clawing and scratching, they found it. Syvis felt her stomach rip open. The coppery, overwhelming stench of blood choked the air, thick enough to taste. A bone blade, smooth and stained, was raised high in a trembling hand. I hope it did. From the depths of the inky black, a single, malevolent red eye snapped open, fixing its gaze.

Enough! A weight smashed against her ribs, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek, blood trickling onto her tongue. Look. She willed herself to still, crimson eye alight and focused on the dagger, like someone holding her head above a blade. She felt something try to lurch up her throat. More blood.  This fear was unlike the stirring heat Messmer had preyed on; this was a bone-jarring agony, as if her very essence was being fractured, her soul itself crying out in pain. They’re watching. She gasped, forcing herself to breathe, a strangled yelping sound, clutching the edge of the box, fighting to maintain her outward facade. Speak… do something! Can you?

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[tarnishedonesiris]

The Serpent and the Sovereign: Pt.4

(NC themes, dark, no minors allowed, really don't) [AO3]

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“No, I hold them… within me.” She smiled, lazily fiddling with her gauntlet again, purposefully looking at the latches with mock interest. I’ll tell Melina about this, she’ll find it funny. “I think the finger reader called me a vessel? Whatever that means…” Here it comes… She stifled a full grin, peering up at his watching face. But then, abruptly, his golden eye widened, a surge of shock momentarily eclipsing the previous intensity.

The space between them suddenly tautened with a different kind of tension, one that felt ancient and weighty, carrying the echo of forgotten things. The very air in the room seemed to thicken, growing heavy with a significance Syvis couldn't quite grasp. What…? A prickling unease crawled beneath her skin. This explanation, the only one she had, that had sufficed others and enraged a few, felt profoundly inadequate here. The serpent in his hand recoiled with a hushed hiss, tongue flicking wildly, the other echoing in tandem. She sensed a deeper understanding dawning in his mind, a knowledge that eluded her.

“Thou holdst them? Within… thyself?” His voice, moments before a low murmur of detached amusement, now held a clarifying resonance, tinged with a recognition. Syvis took longer to react than she liked to admit, a strange paralysis holding her still, a feeling of pure unease. Her preemptive enjoyment at his distress over her holding the runes had puffed into smoke. Definitely not the reaction I expected. “Yes?” Syvis answered plainly, squeezing her fist slightly. A lump in her throat formed as she tried to decipher the unsettling shift in his demeanour. Was it such a big deal? Is that not what all tarnished are? “ What of it?” She felt he knew something, something important. For a long moment, Messmer remained still, his gaze fixed on Syvis, a flicker of disbelief in his golden eye. Then, a low chuckle escaped his lips, the sound devoid of genuine humour, bordering on derision. He shook his head slightly, a cynical smile painting his mouth.

“O’ Mother…” A prayerful whisper escaped him, head drifting upwards as if addressing someone unseen. “Why bestow one so… fragile… with such a precious burden?” His lips curled in disgust, “One so clearly… incapable?” Another dry, brittle laugh scraped from his throat. “A Tarnished vessel? The irony would be nigh amusing were it not so… pathetic.” Excuse me? Pathetic? Syvis felt her brows lower, the wry hands of fury caressing her heart, extinguishing the last of Godfrey’s stern instructions of politeness. “Oh, would you actually shut up !” She spat, heat whirling in her chest. The pacifying enchantment steadied her fist, every other emotion replaced by indignation at his condescending tone. Bloody festering hills, if he weren’t so undeniably beautiful, I’d have carved his pretty face off. Every carefully chosen word, every offered gesture of understanding during this meeting now felt like a fool's errand. Gods, I knew he had a complex… but really? The carefully chosen words, the offered hand, the attempt to navigate his grief, even allowing him that brief, unsettling touch, a gesture that now felt shamefully exposed. And yet, he stood there, regarding her as if she were nothing more than the dust clinging to his polished greaves. Tarnished, are we?

The latch of her gauntlet clicked loudly, her hand clenching. “I’ve had quite enough,” Syvis said, her voice dangerously low, each word a carefully weighted stone. “Quite enough of you acting as if you possess some divine understanding, Impaler .”

A slow, rapacious smile spread across Messmer’s lips as he watched her reaction, his earlier mockery replaced by a sharp, focused interest. He straightened, his movements fluid and deliberate, like a hunter sensing an opportunity. “Dost thou now?” he purred, walking in front of the fireplace, maintaining the distance between her, but forcing her to follow his movements. “Tell me, little lord,” he said, his voice regaining its low, menacing quality. “This… enchantment that binds me. What assurances hast thou of its strength? Its… limits?” He gestured around the room, as if holding up the invisible shackles for her to examine. He can’t break the spell. Syvis stood her ground, meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Confident enough,” she replied, her voice cool despite the subtle quickening of her pulse. “Planning a tantrum?” What is he playing at?

In a sudden, swift move, the serpent usually coiled at Messmer’s leg, having silently moved behind her during his movements, flicked out, a crimson blur catching Syvis just behind her ankles. She stumbled backwards, pure surprise throwing her off balance until the unyielding edge of the centre table slammed into her spine mid-fall. Winded and disoriented, a gasp escaped her lips, quickly morphing into an aggravated sigh. Marika, how badly do you want to see your son? Syvis pinched her nose, the lingering sting of the fall fueling her irritation. As she moved to push herself up, a shadow fell over her; she looked up to Messmer, way too close. He approached, not to touch her, but instead placed his hands on the surface of the table on either side of her hips, effectively caging her, wood pressing into her lower back. Trapped. Just like that. Tripping me over was somehow polite enough for the seal?

He looked down at her, giving an air of clinical study, straight into her embarrassed face. “The weight of your assurance grows heavy, does it not, little lord ?” he hummed, the title a deliberate caress laced with mockery, his voice a low, menacing tremor that coiled around her. He began to lean in, the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the unwavering focus of his single visible eye growing larger with each inch, making it impossible to stand without touching him.

“This… enchantment that binds me… doth bind thee also…” His breath ghosted across her face as he spoke, the nearness stirring a disquieting tremor beneath her skin, a beginning of something she immediately suppressed. “…how truly secure doth thy position feel now? Thou didst yield rather… readily to my touch earlier, little lord. A delightful little game thou invited. Now, wouldst thou not concur 'tis but courtesy to return the favour?” What is he doing? Cold and sharp panic began to prickle beneath her annoyance. She tried to push back, to create space, but found herself inexplicably held in place, the invisible forcefield resisting her efforts. The seal… It’s holding me. The very magic meant to protect her was now a cage, its boundaries turned against her. That isn’t… how that’s supposed to work. A frustrated heat, hotter now with building alarm, rose in her cheeks.

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[tarnishedonesiris]

The Serpent and the Sovereign: Pt.3

(NC themes, dark, no minors allowed) [AO3]

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Syvis approached the large double doors of his current residence. It was just a waiting parlour, yet the air within felt charged, like the moments before blades clashed in a colosseum. Deep breath. Shoulders back. Remember: smooth descent, hold the line, steady rise. As she entered, a veil of dust motes danced in the dim light, momentarily obscuring the figure of the Impaler who sat in the corner, a beacon of hatred in the finely decorated room. His golden eye snapped to her, immediately dissecting her form, and the serpents flanking him seethed, their scales rustling like dry leaves as she entered his perimeter. I feel good about this. She had just left 2 hours of Godfrey's ‘Brief’ coaching. The rest of this is so fucked but I am nailing the bow.

She pressed her feet together and gave a formal bow, a now meticulously practised gesture. Her spine curved with a fluid grace that belied the coiled anticipation in the room, her gaze lowered just so, the movement as smooth as the draw of a well-oiled string. Hold it... perfect. Here we go. “Hail, Lord Messmer the Impaler. I am most honoured to hold thee in my court” Some strands of her hair fell down, one after the other, like a sheer but wavy curtain being pulled. Who even says hail? Her attempt at Old English felt stiff, giving her voice a tone of uncertainty. These words are tedious. He’s not going to buy it. She waited for a response, but only the deeper, unimpressed hiss of the larger serpent crossed the gap. Fuck you, the bow was perfect.

Straightening, internally disregarding his dismissal , she continued. J ust get on with it. “I offer my sincere apologies for the …nature of thy entrance, I had hoped to honour thee further in combat, a true display of skill. It is a slight I will rectify once an opportunity for a rematch arises”. His gold eye remained fixed on her, burning with an intensity that made her skin itch, a sensation she found both threatening and… regrettably stimulating. It was a look she knew well, one of barely leashed fury. “Charming, isn’t it?” She muttered under her breath. This Lord shit is useless, Godfrey. He doesn’t care! She felt a twinge of irritation, speaking like this is so fucking stupid. A muscle twinged in his forearm, revealing he had heard her. Fell god, have mercy.

Since advising her, Godfrey had insisted on proper ‘court’ language immediately, sharing that he too had to adapt when he became lord. ‘Mastery cometh from practice, my lady. And none can deny a lord of both strength and eloquence… not all battles commence with swords.’ With that, she agreed, and the old lord became her Lord Regent. But still…. thrusting her into the viper's nest hardly felt like a fair lesson. Especially when the viper in question was Messmer. Who seemed to be peeling back her skin layer by layer in his mind.

“Thou art no prisoner here,” she continued, her voice gaining a touch more of its natural edge, trying to find rhythm. Thou? Thee art not my prisoner? “I shall offer thee safe return to thy keep whenever thou requires. Though I hope thee will remain a while? I have much I’d like to ask thee about the land of shadow.” Her gaze flickered down to his hand gripping the ornate armrest of the chair. The knuckles were stark white, the tendons taut beneath the skin. A sudden, unsettling image flashed in her mind: that same hand, not clenched in restraint, but… elsewhere. A reckless thought flickered through her, a dangerous temptation. She cleared her throat, a nervous flutter in her stomach. That last ‘thee’ felt right at least.

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace. Maybe not. Syvis felt a flush creep up her neck, a response to the oppressive aura and the inappropriate stirrings within her. She studied his sharp features – the harsh angles of his cheeks, the unforgiving gleam in his golden eye. He likely only desired to crush her windpipe, a prospect that sent a shiver down her spine, not completely uninvited. Honestly, that might do. A sinful thought, but the heat in his gaze was a potent intoxicant. The injury in her shoulder twinged, still lingering despite her accelerated healing. Like a token of affection.

She clicked her tongue softly. That last ‘thee’ was totally wrong. Fighting down a surge of impatience, fleeting memory of Melina’s cautioning words flashing in her mind, she shifted tactics. “Lord Godfrey is your adoptive father, yes? It must have been a relief to be reunited,” she began, turning to pace the room, her gaze drifting downwards, a deliberate invitation for his eyes to follow the sway of her sash. Perhaps mentioning his tutelage would create a fragile bridge . Her lessons with Godfrey swirling in her mind. Rot below, we might even bond. A shrieking cry of metal ripped from Messmer’s spot, his hands clenching on the metal armrests, the scraping sound echoing in the tense silence. A cold wave washed over her, a cutting reminder of the chasm between them. Family, it seemed, was a bad move. “Ahh… not close?” She muttered before she could stop herself. Syvis, shut up. A roundtable seal can only do so much.

They stared at each other, the air crackling with his vehement animosity. Syvis reservedly noted one of the serpents rising, its emerald eye fixed on her with predatory focus. The spell… should apply to creatures. The initial fear receded, replaced by a heavy, sinking sensation in her core, a familiar thrum that her body traitorously recognised. The phantom sensation of the serpent wrapping around her in the chamber room ghosted across her skin. Now is not the time, you harlot. Focus! She forced her attention outward, admiring the lethal beauty of the emerald eye, a mirror reflecting the deadly intent in its master’s own. This is not going well. Despite the tension, Syvis found herself drawn into the serpent, leaning towards it slightly. It hissed harshly, baring its prominent fangs. Gods, you’re gorgeous… and you could probably kill me in seconds.

Syvis contemplated leaving; perhaps a strategic retreat until he had calmed down. She turned to look at the heavy door; no doubt a watchful council member lurked beyond, interpreting her departure time as a measure of the meeting's success. This dance of forced politeness and veiled threats was exhausting. I fucking hate this, the way everyone reads into every word and gesture. "Nosy gits." She released a frustrated breath and turned back to him, her eyes momentarily glazed over with the impending explanation to Morgott, the weight of his disappointment already palpable. A small, perfunctory bow, and she turned heel, managing a mere two steps before his voice, sharp and arresting, halted her.

“Thou killed her…” his voice, though strong, held a tremor of raw emotion. Ah. Fuck. That. “Thou hast slain the eternal Queen Marika… my mother…” Here we go again. The gold of his eye seemed to burn with the very essence of frenzy, the agony lacing his words almost darting out at her. A petty resentment began to stew. How many times must I have this conversation…

“I was guided by her grace”, Syvis stated, the words leaving a metallic taste in her mouth, unconvincing even to her own ears. Though it was true, she had followed a golden hue across the lands between, guiding her to foes as allies alike. She hadn’t exactly asked. “So thee claims, as most tarnished do...” Remain civil. A strained exhale escaped her lips. She opened her mouth to respond, but he rose from the chair with a slow, deliberate control that contradicted his inner turmoil. Syvis, with all due respect, he’s going to kill you. Her gaze flickered involuntarily to the powerful muscles flexing in his thighs - an enticing display of the threat she now faced. Please… a shred of survival instinct!

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[tarnishedonesiris]

The Serpent and the Sovereign: Pt 2

(NC themes, dark, no minors allowed, really don't) [AO3]

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Syvis breathed heavily in the steaming, mineral-rich bath of the round table. Red, sensitive skin tingling under the hot water, her muscles screaming. She was completely submerged to her nose, delighting in the crushing pressure on her lungs. She had transported the two of them to the roundtable hold, where Morgott and his father had secured the slumbering demigod. Morgott's jaw had tightened, his gaze widening momentarily as it darted towards Godfrey before settling on Messmer's still form, surprise yielding swiftly to a wary look. Godfrey had let out a soft, disbelieving exhale, his attention fixed on Messmer's motionless body. A deep crease had formed between his brows, a clear sign of worry, yet his hands remained close to the hilt of his axe, almost subconsciously. I’ll have to ask about that later. Though, she had been thankful to not be there when he awoke. The sealed cut on her shoulder, a loving souvenir of their introduction, twinged. Gods, I love magic.

She groaned as the scalding water seared the small scales forming in patches across her skin. Syvis was rarely truly alone - even Melina had taken off at one point in the Capital. For reasons still unknown to her, she held a curse, some kind of vengeful force within her. Perhaps ‘being’ offered it sentience it didn’t have, it was more an overwhelming blood lust, that occasionally spoke, something with the capacity to sway her mind. A jolt of red energy erupted, furiously crackling around her. Touchy. The pain in her ribs had been the precursor, it rarely leaves without a more electric display.

It had already taken a toll on her body, each flare-up had led to more changes; scales, muscles, her eye… She had kept her sanity only thanks to Melina, who had approached her after she had ripped apart a tree sentinel. She squeezed her eyes at the memory. That poor horse. There she was given torrent, in a surprising amount of poor taste, her guidance and 3 golden binds. "I grant you these bindings, once worn by Queen Marika herself, imbued with the very essence of her grace." She had tied them gently to her armour, the first person in the lands between to bestow kindness upon the savage killer. "These shall stay the influence of your... other self."

It had been a few hours since he had arrived, and she assumed by now the rest of the roundtable had spoken with him. Except for me, of course... She was surprised to hear that Melina recognised Messmer in some way. Godfrey’s peculiar demeanour gave rise to some questions as well, definitely something to investigate. A growing need for air made her lungs ache, but she remained submerged, savouring her throat tensing on instinct. Or you could… stay out of family issues.

The thought of him, a delicious dread that slid a cold finger down her spine despite the bath's heat, made her focus on her new guest specifically, the power he was capable of wielding… and she knocked him out. She pulled a face. He would be pissed, that was certain…. A flash of his cold, dangerous gaze crossed her mind, the movement of his hips on hers. Well, he wasn't exactly being reasonable. He seemed… preoccupied with his ‘Duty’. Fortunately for her, the roundtable common areas held a protective spell, and no physical harm would befall her, although it did not extend to verbal lashings. His face flashed in her mind as her throat seized, trying to convince her to surface, the pressure of the water echoing his weight on her. He resembled Radagon, both in face and hair, and she mused that he was not unattractive. If a little… strange. There was a regal quality to him, a similar controlled intensity to the way he had moved during their fight, a strange sort of… captivating power. How unique the children of Marika all are! And those serpents! How regal and vibrant! She burst above the water level, gasping, chest moving heavily. She felt the air return to her lungs with a satisfying itch.

The smile from the sensation waned, her gold eye glazing over in thought, her crimson one thrumming with a potent fading power, the lingering echo of the entity within. It is curious, though…he resembled Melina more than Syvis cared to admit; there was a similar ethereal quality to their gaze, her companion had been without her memories for a very long time. Perhaps they are related? She felt a soft twinge in her ribs, the scent of lavender and fire blossom thick in her nostrils. The damned thing is still more active than I’d like, she glanced at the pale window. I’ve spent too long here already, it’ll have to do. Her condition was kept quiet from the other demi-gods; only Melina held her secret, she preferred it that way - less to trust - but it made for difficult days. She finally stood, water retreating off her body as she stretched.

She took an initial step out of the bath, testing the presence in her chest, behaving for now, it seems. The cool air sent bumps across her skin, and she grabbed her towel quickly. After patting herself dry, she wrung the excess water out of her long brown hair, feeling it itch at her back as strands escaped the cloth vice. The hairs on her neck raised. “It’s rude to intrude upon another’s bathing, didn’t you tell me that?” Syvis spoke into the misty room, the scent of burnt wood and Erdleaf petals swirling as Melina stepped silently towards her. "Indeed. Yet, if memory serves, you held that true honour resided in respect for a fair duel. Your recent... acquaintance has shared the particulars of your initial meeting." Melina said, her tone dry. Syvis snorted. I imagine he kept a few to himself. Her gold eye fell over her friend as she dried the left side of her face. “So he’s not pleased?”

"Nay, not in the slightest."

Wonderful. I’m sure Godfrey will have words for me. I’m going to need to talk to him soon; no point putting it off further. She reached for her enchanted bandage, Melina’s brainchild, but saw her soft, glowing hands already lifting them up. The two quietly wrapped Syvis in the cloth, as they had done so before. Melina traced the gold glow of the runes across the bandage on her back, checking for any rips from her recent dance. She hummed in thought, and Syvis found herself staring at her delicate features, so like his, yet softer… maybe even prettier. Syvis found herself suppressing a smile. I’ve tangled with worse egos. He’ll be eating out of my hand by the time I’m done.

Syvis returned her focus to Melina, who had begun to pass over her armour, recently repaired. “He looks like you”, Syvis observed, her gaze lingering on a shared sharpness around the eyes. More of a question than a statement. Melina continued her inspection uninterrupted, “He claims kinship... It is, perhaps, a plausible connection." Syvis frowned at her words, fumbling with leather latches as she continued to dress, her mind already racing. “Are you not intrigued?” she pressed, her voice laced with a hint of urgency. “This might be a way for you to learn more about your past”.

Melina stood up, satisfied with the integrity of the seal beneath Syvis’s armour. Her familiar gentle eye pointed directly into Syvis’s golden one, holding her gaze. Even you don’t look into it…, what do you see? Syvis flickered her gaze to the red iris in the mirror’s reflection. What did he see? Why did he look? She returned her attention to Melina, a familiar unease stirring. I thought I got over that particular transformation already. It had been… difficult. “Let us not hasten, Syvis,” Melina said, her tone firm, a subtle worry tightening the corners of her eyes. “Our knowledge of him, and of Miquella, is... incomplete.” Her tone was firm, is she worried about me? Worried about me? Please. I handled him well enough… She felt a slight blush on her neck. I just… the situation became… distracting. “He may have sought his demise for reasons yet unknown.” Ever the pessimist. Melina always seemed to approach new individuals with a deep-seated suspicion, a careful testing of their intentions before fully trusting them – a process Syvis herself had undergone all that time ago.

Syvis finished the last buckle on her breastplate, the weight of the metal settling comfortably, a familiar reassurance against the unknown. Layers of protection against his inevitable fury, she thought, a faint curl touching the corner of her lips. She pulled a comb through her long, dark hair, trying not to look too hard at the burn scar across her red eye– a faint white sheen that pulsed faintly when the curse stirred. She felt Melina plait some strands, her touch gentle and precise, weaving them into the gold band across her head, her crown. Syvis sighed, dropping her hand. “I suppose he’s fully filled in then?” she whispered, her mouth turning downward. "I was informed he bore it as well as one might expect… Still, I would counsel caution in your words when you next meet him." Melina faced her, satisfied with her Lord's appearance. Syvis scoffed, “I’m sure there’s the perfect dialogue for I killed your mother and now am Elden lord, sincere apologies.” Melina gave a ghost of a smile, but her eyes showed more concern than humour. Syvis was very thankful for that protection spell indeed. As was Melina.

[tarnishedonesiris]

The Serpent and the Sovereign: Pt1

Summary: Drawn into the shadowed realm by Miquella's unseen hand, the confident Elden Lord Syvis clashes with Messmer, a demigod who evokes a primal fear she's never known. This terrifying encounter is further complicated by a burgeoning, unwanted desire that coils around her senses. Syvis's instinct is to retaliate, to believe she can withstand the serpent's allure. Yet, she fails to grasp the possessive nature of his hunger, a hunger that promises to bind her irrevocably once he has his fangs in. (NC themes, dark, no minors allowed, really don't) [AO3]

Next “Mongrel intruder”

Syvis searched the dark room for the voice’s owner, instead coming face-first with a red serpent with a brilliant green eye. “Thou art Tarnished, it seemeth…” So he’s here… Syvis turned to the demi-god, surprised to see his sanity intact. “Yet my purpose standeth unchanged” Ahh, maybe I spoke too soon. She would have preferred to exchange a few more words at least before blows, however, she knew that she now stood in the chamber of the Impaler, perhaps she had hoped for too much. He did have a particular reputation after all.

“...in the embrace of Messmer’s flame.” Of course, the theatrics. Did he really think this would impress anyone?

“My lord Impaler, if you would," she began, concealed eyes momentarily captivated by his flame, a rich red she hadn’t sensed before. It suited him, this gorgeous display of violence; it made her warrior’s heart tingle. She had never managed to produce a flame of her own, her skills were better suited to other things. But there was something in the intensity of his gaze as he unleashed it, a focused appreciation that made the heat feel… directed. “Before we inevitably clash swords, might I lend your ear?” She sidestepped, dodging his flame explosion gracefully. Her hand flew to her side and drew her light-greatsword above her head, then redirected his spear thrust, bringing his face down to hers. Gold eye to her blindfolded own. Time for you to listen. Now. Syvis seized the opening, her fist slamming into his gut, stealing his breath. For a moment, in that close proximity, she felt his unseen stare linger, a weight that felt less like dismissal and more like a strange assessment. He grunted, clenching his teeth, his serpents hissing around him. “I hail from the lands between.. I,” she cut herself off, straifing around his lunge as he clawed the air she stood in. “Vile liar”, he sneered, sending off several fire projectiles she danced around. Strong, but predictable. The air crackled with residual heat. Not very chatty, is he?

Her movements were fluid, something she felt infuriated him. She knew he possessed the strength to shatter her, yet she danced just beyond his reach. Just try to catch me. Despite the fluid grace of her dodges, a subtle tightness was beginning to coil in Syvis's muscles, a reminder of her less-than-ideal entry. Should have grabbed a nap first. I assumed he would be a bit more talkative. Not my best idea. Her face flashed with red light as she spun past another searing lunge, clicking her tongue. This wasn't the disjointed aggression she'd anticipated. For him to be both coherent and aggressive, most demigods had lost one after the first sentence. He threw himself in the air, muscles rippling as he swung his spear in an arc, flame igniting the air before her with a rush of acrid air. What terrifying strength.

She rolled fluidly beneath his descending form, her hand a lightning strike, seizing a fistful of his cloak as she sprang to her feet, yanking him off balance. He crashed to the stone with a jarring thud, the follow-through of his momentum unleashing a wild, flaming swing. She arched backwards, her weight supported solely by the grip on his cloak, a defiant smile playing on her lips as the inferno roared inches above her. “Insolent, but… effective.” He growled, swinging his other hand up, curling with angry flame. She released her grip, letting herself stumble back, just out of his reach. Getting impatient, are we? Don’t get emotional now.

She jumped over the next swipe, her light-greatsword a silver blur as she thrust it towards the space his head had occupied a heartbeat before. A flicker of disbelief tightened the muscles around his golden eye as she moved above him, a confident curve spreading across her lips. She kicked a foot to his chest, a fluid motion carrying her just over his retaliatory swipe. The acrid stench of burnt air mingled with a deeper, unsettling aroma rising from below, a heat leeching through the metal of her greaves. She landed, “I am telling the truth, you know?” She raised her hand in the wing stance, her voice cloaking the start of her fatigue. She twirled away from a wall of flame, waltzing to his side, as he thrusted his spear forward into the space she used to be in. “You could be polite and listen,” she remarked, her tone almost conversational. A guttural snarl tore from Messmer's throat. He hadn't anticipated such persistent evasion. His golden eye narrowed, a fresh wave of fury contorting his features as he whirled, his spear a lethal arc aimed at her centre. She ducked suddenly as he spun around her, spear dangerously close to her, moving to the centre of the room. Marika above, he’s no joke. I might have to try something different.

"None call from hence. This realm is sealed by the Queen Marika's own hand." He dove overhead, spear in hand, to land a blow, hoping to cleave this intruder in two. With years of honed skill, she dodged, but he summoned several spears from underfoot, and she felt the wind whip past her cheek as she jumped up and back, slicing them down as she flipped over. That was close. Landing untouched, but running out of tricks, she could only make this look so effortless for so long. Just who is this guy? Each near miss was a stark reminder of the raw power he held, and her annoyance that it was directed at her. “And yet.” She quipped, enjoying the display of skill before her. Not an unattractive voice either. She thought she heard a fleeting, almost silent exhale from him, a sound that wasn’t completely anger, before it vanished. A strange stillness settled over Messmer for a moment as he readied the spear at his side once more. Her continued ability to anticipate his attacks despite the blindfold was… perplexing. "Perplexing," he finally stated, his voice low and thoughtful, the fury momentarily subdued. "Despite her blindness, a keenness remains. A pity 'twill soon be quenched."

Messmer barely acknowledged the faint tremor beneath her movements. To him, this was nothing more than a chore—she danced, and he watched, waiting for her to tire, as he had done countless times before. A low hiss escaped his lips, barely audible. Her little victories were delaying the inevitable. "Thy fleeting evasions speak more of desperation than skill, Tarnished," he declared, his voice ringing with confidence. "A blind insect flitting before the flame. The outcome remaineth the same." A flicker in his voice suggested a genuine, albeit perhaps grudging, appreciation for her skill, gone as quickly as it appeared. "Wouldst thou expect me to credit such fables, uttered by a lowly Tarnished?" He shifted his weight, a subtle grinding of his armored joints, trying to grab hold of her, eager to rend a hole through this slippery intruder, red familiars darting out but coiling around empty space. Always a step ahead. He swung desperately, and she parried him; a sharp intake of his breath betrayed the unexpected force of her block as he dropped to a knee from exhaustion. Right then. Syvis slammed the pommel of her blade into his chest harshly, and he was sent backwards. She moved to speak again, but she heard the snakes hiss. He collected himself quickly, his golden eye widening, lips in a thin line. Honestly, just five seconds of not trying to kill me. Is that too much to ask?

Continue on AO3. (Sorry, the chapter is super long :< )