Burning Chains

Chapter 8

At this point in his life Mohg had kept quite a bit of strange company: a warrior from the distant Land of Reeds, a devourer of dragons who had once trained there, a chivalrous but brutal young nobleman who believed the destiny of his house lay with blood, and a war surgeon who had enjoyed being taken captive perhaps a little bit too much, but even for him, this meeting he had been asked to attend had quite a strangle assemblage.

First, there was Prince Rykard, though these days he preferred to go by the title of Praetor. Mohg had met him on occasion before, there were only so many flamboyant and charismatic cult leaders in the Lands Between and as such, they or their initiates occasionally found themselves allied or at odds with each other. He was dressed as opulently as usual, a ring on each finger, a thick fur cloak held together by several brooches and braids of gold, a jewel studded crown holding his wavy blonde hair in place, as well as a new affectation, a sash made of what looked like snake skin. However it would be unwise to write him off as merely a man of debauchery and opulence. His golden eyes glinted with serpentine intelligence as they landed on Mohg, an unasked question implied by the twitch at the edge of his lips.

Next the one who had called them all here, Princess Ranni. She, like her brother, had taken pains to shed her title, instead preferring to be known only as a witch. She was an empyrean like Gareth had once been, but she made no attempt to claim her status as such. He had never met her in person, but knew by reputation she was often seen as rude and combative. Mohg was always skeptical of rumors, these seemed not entirely unfounded however, based on her dogged insistence on referring to everyone present in the most informal manner of speech. However, as she didn’t flinch when Mohg had snippily referred to her informally, it was possible that she was just a doggedly informal person. She sat with her hands resting upon the table, her long, flaming red, hair fanning behind her. Also behind her, stood her shadow, the Half-Wolf Blaidd, who she had introduced as her brother.

The final two in attendance were far more surprising to Mohg. Not that they were together of course, they were something of a package deal, but that they were here at all. The topic of this meeting after all, would no doubt be blasphemy. However, despite that, Godwyn the Golden, his sainted younger brother, sat at the same table as him. His lover, the dragon Fortissax, sat beside him, taking the form of a young woman with blond hair and blue eyes, perhaps in reference to Godwyn’s own blond hair, so much like their mother’s. Godwyn himself was beautiful and unadorned, wearing only a kilt as his stepfather was wont to. However, unlike many young men who had flirted with the fashion after seeing it on Marika’s champion, Godwyn did not embarrass himself. It seemed he had inherited their father’s effortless strength as well.

And of course Mohg and Gareth were there as well, wearing veils crafted by Morgott. Mohg did not generally wear a veil but felt in this situation it would be pertinent. Many found him rather frightening, it would be best if he ensured those gathered would keep their heads during their negotiations. He wouldn't want to be deemed responsible for any unfortunate accidents.

Morgott had become even more skilled at weaving illusion over the years, slowly becoming more proud and less ashamed of his art. The veil he had woven for Mohg was fantastic work. It was nearly impossible to tell that it was a false face unless you touched him and felt the horns underneath the weave of illusion. Morgott had disguised him as a young human nobleman with neatly styled, dark, wavy hair. With his lavishly embroidered robes (his own work, but no one needed to know that) and scarlet sash he almost looked like an inverse of Rykard. In fact, with their strong noses and intense golden eyes, they almost looked like they could be related.

Gareth’s was a little more complicated, needing to be able to hide the heat that radiated from him as well as his face. They had been unable to fully remedy the problem with magic so they’d decided he would pretend to be Mohg’s bodyguard, standing at a slight distance from the rest of the group and with an insulated helmet covering his head. Underneath he was still veiled, a somewhat faithful but aged up reproduction of the face he had worn while in prison covering up the changes that had taken place over the years.

Godwyn’s eyes lingered on Mohg for a moment as he sat down, a difficult to read expression on his face.

“Dear Ranni,” Rykard began, ”why is he here?” He inclined his head towards Mohg, making no secret of who he was insulting. “I was under the impression this was to be a family matter.”

“Godwyn is here is he not? I would think Marika’s beloved son would be less welcome here than a professed blasphemer.”

“He is still our step brother. Whereas you, no offense Lord Mohg, are an interloper.”

Mohg noticed Godwyn’s hands ball into fists on top of the table. The demigod glanced at him again but didn’t say anything. Ranni looked over the group, stone faced as always, but Rykard had a sly grin on his face, like a snake that had found a nest full of eggs. That was his primary fault as a leader, he often let his emotions show too readily.

So Mohg was here as a test then. He was not the ally they wished to court, but Godwyn. It was obvious they all knew who he was, Rykard and Ranni pretended not to know to see if Godwyn would have the guts to acknowledge him as his brother, while Godwyn pretended not to know for some yet unknown reason. By the way Rykard surreptitiously winked at him Mohg knew he was expected to play along. Perhaps Rykard even thought he would enjoy doing so. That he would want to make Godwyn squirm after the years he spent underground.

That was most definitely not the case. Mohg had complicated feelings towards Godwyn, which mostly boiled down to mild resentment with an acknowledgement that the difference in their childhoods was not his fault, but more than that, he disliked that they had chosen to weaponize him against his brother. It was insulting! Yes, prove yourself worthy by acknowledging your poor deformed brother while he is in the room with us. Mohg wanted to slap the conspiratorial grin off of Rykard’s face. However, instead of doing that, he stood up and removed his veil.

The grin fell from Rykard’s face and he jumped slightly. Mohg had forgotten he’d never seen him unveiled. Knowing Mohg was the omen son of Queen Marika was one thing, knowing what he had become since he had escaped was quite another. His horns had grown ever wilder since then. One narrowly missed gouging out his eye, but had thankfully been diverted thanks to Gareth’s intervention. His lips had long since withered away exposing layers of inches long fangs and he was mostly hairless, pupiless yellow eyes staring forward without eyebrows to dull their intensity.

“Since we all seem to know exactly who I really am I feel I should clarify. My guise was for thy benefit, not mine,” he spat. “I have never claimed to be anything other than who and what I am. Do not insult me by asking me to confirm it for thee.”

“Oh are we putting our cards on the table?”

Gareth unveiled himself as well. Over the years, the flame had consumed the upper half of his head, leaving only his mouth and lower jaw intact. The yellow flame that comprised most of his face was difficult to look at for too long. It didn’t behave as natural flame should and the mind would ever so slightly crack with the strain of trying to reconcile it with how remembered fire should behave. To Mohg’s pride, regular renewal of their vows had also changed Gareth, his canine teeth lengthening to fangs under the influence of the omen's blood. Instead of pulling up a chair, the god of Frenzied Flame sat in Mohg’s lap.

Both Rykard and Godwyn leapt from the table shouting in fear and indignation respectively at Ranni. The witch merely raised her hand to quiet them.

“God of Chaos, thou wert not invited to this gathering.” She said sternly, but without even a hint of surprise in her voice.

“Did you think I’d let my beloved walk into this den of wolves alone?”

At that her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Ah, so she didn’t know about their relationship. Then her spies were not all seeing, or at least had interpreted their displays of affection as merely a very close friendship. Having even a small bit of information she didn’t have gave him a rush. It was rare Mohg had the advantage in these sorts of situations. He ran a finger down his betrothed’s jaw indicating for him to turn his face towards him. Then he drew him closer and Gareth kissed his exposed fangs.

“My lord brother was allowed his lover’s company, I do not see why I should be denied mine.” Now Mohg was testing them. If they were truly committed to whatever blasphemy they intended to commit, they shouldn’t mind the presence of a profane god.

Ranni seemed like she wanted to say something but held her tongue. Rykard was still sputtering unintelligibly. Instead Godwyn was the first to speak.

“As long as he behaves.”

“Can I get a definition before I agree to that?”

Gareth turned his head to look at Godwyn over his shoulder. He didn’t need to, he could see in all directions at once now (for the first few weeks it had been incredibly nauseating) but he knew that people tended to prefer that he “made eye contact”. Not that he had eyes anymore.

“No violence, unless it is instigated by another present, and no altering our perception through magic or other non-mundane means.”

“I can agree to that.”

“Then we have an accord.”

Despite his even tone Godwyn’s hands still shook slightly, as if he had just finished dismantling a pressure plate. Ranni regarded Gareth warily, but pressed on.

“I have gathered ye here today in pursuit of a singular goal, to steal the rune of death.”

Rykard sat up straighter in his chair.

“For what purpose?” The self proclaimed Lord of Blasphemy asked.

Ranni looked at Godwyn. He looked at Fortissax and she placed her hand over his.

“There is a ritual that can be done with a shards of the rune. If it is broken apart and placed within two different weapons, then used to kill two different people at the exact same moment, each victim will only experience a half death, a death of the body or a death of the soul.”

He looked to Ranni.

“Both of us have something we wish to accomplish that is made impossible by the bodies we currently inhabit and both of us have come to the conclusion that it would be worth the risk of death to achieve it.”

“I have already prepared myself a vessel,” Ranni tented her fingers, “I assume thou hast done the same.”

“Yes.” He rotated his hand so that he could hold Fortissax’s.

“While it’s very good that the two of you seem to have a plan for what to do with it, I’m yet to see what I would get out of aiding you, other than Maliketh’s sword at my throat.” Mohg trailed his hand along Gareth’s collar bone as he spoke, hoping to keep Ranni off balance.

“If thou art united in purpose with The Flame of Frenzy, then thy wish is to burn the Erdtree to cinders is it not? How can a tree truly burn if it can never truly die?”

“You are correct that our aim would require the rune of death to be unbound, but that is not your aim is it, your highness.” Ranni scowled at the honorific. “No, you only need a piece of the rune, don’t you?”

“Perhaps there is something else I can offer thee.” Her gaze landed on Gareth. “Thou art uncomfortable are you not? Thy body feels more and more like a prison every passing day as it settles further and further into a form never wanted, never asked for.”

Now it was Gareth’s turn to stand.

“You don’t want to play that game with me,”

He was completely calm as he spoke, but that in and of itself was a dire warning. Gareth was a very emotive person by nature, never afraid to let exactly what he was feeling show on what was left of his face. Except for when he was enraged. Anger and frustration he showed just as easily as any other emotion, but Gareth’s rage was cold and detached. As if it was so powerful not even he could sustain its intensity.

“You seem like a woman with a lot of secrets. I don’t think you want me to start spilling.”

“I meant no offense. Merely, I wished to offer thee a chance at reprieve. That is something thou wouldst want, yes?”

Gareth’s mouth tightened. Mohg knew it was something he wanted. There had been days, other than the ones where the pain of his humanity slowly burning away became too much, when Gareth holed up in his quarters and refused to come out. Unlike the days he was in pain, he refused Mohg’s company, covering himself in blankets and turning the mirrors around to face the wall so there was not even the slightest chance he could catch a glimpse of himself. Apparently the discomfort was far worse when he still had breasts, but it still caught him unaware from time to time. Even on good days, when Mohg pleasured him Gareth had to look away, the discomfort of seeing his sex nauseating even in the throes of passion.

However Gareth did not say yes, or even ask for clarifying details. Instead he silently touched the edge of Mohg’s mind so that they could speak without being overheard.

“What do you think?” He asked.

“Why are you asking me what I think? This is a chance for you to finally be comfortable in your own body, of course I will agree.”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

“I don’t think she would have reason to lie.”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth or what?”

“Why are you being so combative, Gareth? I thought you would jump at a chance like this?”

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt because of me! If Ranni betrays you I don’t want to be the reason you threw your lot in with her. I love you, and I trust your judgment, but I also know you make rash decisions when it comes to me. Think about this like you don’t love me. Even if she isn’t lying, are you willing to give yourself up for such little reward?”

“I do not think she is lying.” Mohg took an exasperated breath. “Even if I did not love you, you are an important ally to me. Your happiness is the lynch pin to my success. If we were not in love, I would have agreed far more readily as a means to gain your favor.”

“And what do you get out of it now, given that you already have my favor?”

“I very selfishly gain your happiness, I get to see a smile on your face and know it’s there because of me. Moreover, I want to have had a part in your creation. I want your very body to be my mark, so that you never forget who you belong to.”

Once Mohg may have worried he was coming across as too possessive. He knew he was too possessive, if he could break Gareth open and crawl inside of him just to be closer to him, he probably would. However, he also knew that Gareth liked that about him. After all, he was the same. Drinking Mohg’s blood was barely intimate enough for him now. He’d admitted that he wanted Mohg to be so close to him that he was practically beneath his skin.

Gareth’s flame burned brighter at the suggestion of being molded by Mohg’s hands, but the stubborn set of his mouth did not change.

“You’re absolutely sure you will not regret this.”

“I am certain.”

He held Mohg’s hand tightly.

“Okay.”

Mohg turned to Ranni, her hands tented under her nose and her eyes darting between the two, but his eyes instead landed upon Blaidd, who had been still and silent this whole time.

“Sir Blaidd, what are your thoughts on these proceedings?”

The wolf headed knight’s eyes widened and he froze in place. It seemed he was unused to being regarded as anything other than an accessory to his lady by those she engaged with.

“My thoughts? My purpose is my lady’s, of course.”

“You are her shadow are you not? The one who is meant to guide her to serve the purpose of her two fingers?”

Now it was Ranni’s turn to bristle.

“Stay thy tongue before thou comest to regret thine words.”

“Surely this is against their will for her. Will you not be called upon to betray us?” Mohg continued regardless.

Before Ranni could leap across the table like a cat to tackle Mohg, Blaidd put a hand on her shoulder.

“It is against their will for her. Even now I can hear their voice, telling me to put an end to this, preferably with as much violence as possible.”

Rykard’s eyes darted to Blaidd’s enormous gilded sword.

“But, I refuse. I believe in the future my lady is working towards.”

“You may still betray her. Even if it is against your will.”

“I know that, but we have made arrangements for if that comes to pass.” He looked at Ranni hesitantly. “I am willing to die for my sister’s vision, are you willing to die for your god’s?”

“I am willing to die for Mohg’s vision.” Gareth interrupted. “His hand is the one that guides mine, not the other way around.”

“I believe you speak true, Sir Blaidd, or at least you believe you do.” Mohg dramatically allowed his gaze to linger on Ranni before continuing. “I will play your sister and my brother’s game. Though do not fool yourselves into thinking this is anything more than a temporary alliance.”

“Of course,” Godwyn nodded, not even bothering to deny the implication of his duplicity.

“Then we have an accord.”

“I have not agreed to this.” Rykard protested.

“Dost thou intend to object?” Ranni asked.

“No, of course not.”

Ranni sighed.

“Rykard, dost thou specifically agree to work with us in this matter.”

“Yes.”

“Then we have an accord.” Godwyn spoke the words utter solemnity as if he was pronouncing his own death. After all, in all likelihood he was.

When they took a break following the drawing of terms, the demigods and assorted allies, lovers and guardians were given free reign over the stargazing courtyard in the back of the manor. Having been incensed by the questioning of his identity Mohg decided not to veil himself as Ranni guided them through the halls of the manor. Gareth did, simply so that he wasn’t painful to look at for too long, but Mohg decided he was above granting them even a sliver of courtesy when it came to his appearance. Let the servants gossip in hushed tones as he walked by, let their eyes dart to their mistress and wonder what reason she could have for inviting him. It was not his problem any longer. Godwyn’s eyes as well occasionally darted to him, his hands opening and closing into fists. Noticing this, Mohg excused himself to a more private part of the courtyard behind the giant astrolabe. Godwyn of course followed him.

“Say it.” Mohg said bluntly.

“I apologize for not saying something sooner, you should not have had to reveal yourself under duress. I would have said something sooner, but I did not know whether or not you wished them to know-“

“They did know.” Mohg cut him off. “I did not tell them, but they knew.”

“But then why would they-”

“Because they knew you did as well and wished to see whether or not you would still call me brother. One committed to blasphemy must at least be able to acknowledge an omen as his kin.”

Godwyn opened his mouth and then closed it.

“Do not worry yourself, you passed muster. When you argued that my beloved should be able to join in our discussion, you proved yourself willing to commit far greater blasphemy than acknowledgement of an omen.”

“That was not my concern.” Godwyn began to reach for Mohg’s arm but then thought better of it.

“Why are you here Godwyn?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I think it’s a fair question given that you’ve been given everything on a silver platter. Marika never compromised the core of her order on behalf of myself or Morgott, but she has done so for you and your beloved hasn’t she? And yet you’re still here, why?”

“I cannot pretend to have had it worse than you.” Godwyn hung his head. “But both Ranni and I have been victimized by the order as well.”

“You were really that hurt by the divorce?”

“What? No! I suppose I am upset that my father is living in exile, but not that upset!” Godwyn ducked behind the astrolabe to see if the others were listening. Ranni and Rykard seemed to be having an argument of some kind. “Both of us had our fates shackled by the order,” he whispered, “neither allowed to become what we were destined to. Ranni’s fate, bound as it is to the stars, cannot reach its end while they are shackled in place. Mine was stolen from me before I was even born.”

“And that was?” Mohg waved his hand in a circular motion indicating his impatience.

“I was to be a stillborn empyrean, a hanged man among the branches of the Erdtree, a demigod born to die so that he might become king of the dead, but this world was scrubbed of death before I was born.”

“Not all of all death.” Mohg growled. “Only death for a chosen few.”

“Can you truly call what happens when an omen falls, death, Mohg? To force a soul to wander forever as a wraith, is that not just life disembodied? It is a perversion of the rest and dignity that should be given to those that have reached the natural end of their lives.”

Godwyn looked up at the motionless stars hanging ever present in Liurnia’s sky.

“The workings of everything have been disrupted. I have grandchildren, Mohg. I have grandchildren and I look like I’ve only just become a man myself. Every part of me screams that this is unnatural but does not know how to articulate how. I fear for my children, I worry they will become shambling husks, desperate to keep themselves from rotting from within.”

“A concept you are well acquainted with?”

Godwyn stiffened.

“Do not put words in my mouth. You of all people ought to feel for Malenia.”

“Should I? An accursed child of Queen Marika who is still allowed to live within her halls?”

“‘Tis not her fault she was born that way.”

“And ‘twas mine that I was born the way I was?”

Godwyn wilted.

“That isn’t what I meant. Whereas you suffer for no real reason at all, she and Miquella suffer a curse as punishment. Though it is for another's sin that they suffer.”

“Their curse is a punishment?” Mohg’s eyes narrowed. “For what misdeed? And on whose behalf?”

“I dare not speak it aloud. She doesn’t know I know and I can never be sure whether or not she is having me followed.” He hurriedly looked around. “You and Lord Rykard look very similar to each other. You see it don’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“Discern why and you will have your answer.”

Several theories jumped to Mohg’s mind, Rykard is secretly a hostage in Rennala’s court, Mohg was actually Rennala’s son not Marika’s, but none of them quite made sense.

“Mohg, I understand that you may dislike me and for good reason, but I also want you to know, I wanted to help you and I still want to help you. All I wanted to say was, I hope that though our alliance is temporary you are at least willing to speak with me once this is done.”

“Our goals are likely very different. Your goal is only to return death to the world, correct?”

“Only?”

“Every part of the system the world operates upon is broken. You have merely discovered a symptom of the rot that has taken it at its roots. I intend to burn it out, no matter how much the rot takes with it. You wish to return death? That may allow the world to grow a little, but it cannot truly recover unless all of the dead brush is cleared. Change must be far more radical than what you intend.”

“I am prepared to embrace more radical change. This is just what I already know I must change.” He paused for a moment. “I have only told Fortissax this, but I believe you would understand. If I am the one who dies only in body on the night of our ritual, I have fashioned for myself the body of a dragon. I want to be someone who can be equal to my love in all regards, to understand her in a way I simply can’t as I am now. I lay myself on the altar of my love for her and welcome the knife at my throat so that I might become someone worthy of her. I want to change the world for love, my love for my wife, for my children, and for the future we might beckon in, I would hope that love changes me as well.”

“I do understand the desire to be changed by love, but love is the point at which our motives differ. I cannot say that love alone guides my hand, rage is a steadfast companion to me as well. I am motivated by love for my brother, for my people, and for the god that elevated me to the position of lord, but I am also filled with rage at the injustice done to them. Love alone could not tear up the Erdtree at its roots.”

“We’ll have to see if I am the one who lives. I hope I may prove you wrong.”

“Mohg.” The omen heard Gareth’s voice in his head. “Sorry, hurts, please.”

Mohg stole a look behind the astrolabe. Gareth was having a conversation with Rykard, no doubt in an attempt to stall for time while Mohg spoke with his brother, but even with the veil covering him he could see his betrothed was putting off sparks.

“I have to leave.” Mohg pronounced without ceremony.

“He needs you then. Go, but I wish to see what you have built for yourself, and I wish to know my elder brothers.”

Mohg, half without thinking, pressed a gold and iron medallion into his hand.

“Here, you like riddles. Solve this and you’ll find me.”

And with that he emerged from behind the stone astrolabe and grabbed Gareth’s hand.

“Ah, Mohg, now where have you been?” Rykard asked before Mohg took out a medallion of his own leaving nothing but the smell of iron and a faint red mist hanging in the air. “Rude bastard.” Rykard stepped out of the way of the cloud of blood to avoid staining his cloak.

“I’m sorry.” Gareth let Mohg carry him to bed. “I tried to hold out longer so that you could talk, but I couldn’t take it much longer.” He let Mohg lift the veil from his face.

The flame had began to consume his mouth now, the thousands of sensitive nerve endings burning and melting and dying as it did, the taste of burnt flesh making him nauseous. He’d been prepared for this but still he was afraid of it. To lose his voicebecome voiceless again was terrifying to him. Even on his worst days as a human, he had always still had a voice to share his discontent. He knew he would still be able to speak, even if it was not out loud, but this still scared him far more than losing his ears, his nose, or even his eyes. It also hurt far more too.

“Don’t apologize. I would rather be here with you on your worst days than with them.”

“This is going to be a pretty bad one,” Gareth slurred, his tongue turning to ash in his mouth.

He balled his fists into Mohg’s robes as the omen held him. His hand stroked gently up and down his back. Slowly he managed to lift his head.

“Mohg, can I have some of your blood? I want you to be the last thing I taste.”

Mohg quickly slit his palm open. They were both used to this by now, the act of opening their veins to each other was practically second nature. Gareth still took his hand with all the same reverence as he had the first time they’d done this. He brought it to now exposed teeth and let Mohg’s blood drip into his ash filled mouth. The taste of him filling his mouth as his sense of taste disappeared.

It wouldn’t be forever. He knew that. When his ears had gone he’d learned to sense vibrations in the air by the way they hit his flame, when his nose burned he’d learned to read scents by the way small particles in the air burned, now that he knew what taste was supposed to feel like, he could figure out an approximation. The God of Frenzied Flame would never again be what he once was, a thing trapped in the darkness, blind, deaf and in unending pain. Though the lungs of this human body constantly felt as if they were stuffed with steel wool due to his own smoke, and he felt every inch as his humanity burned away, preparing him to reach true godhood, at least he was no longer alone. He wasn’t trapped voiceless in the darkness anymore, without even an interpreter to read his words for him. He was being held in the arms of his beloved. Even if he could not speak Mohg would have been his voice. If he could sense nothing but touch Mohg would have held his hand. Even now Mohg gently passed his hand through the flames on the top of his head, though he emerged without injury.

“I still don’t understand why your blood protects me from flame, but not you.” The omen slid his thumb along the line of the burns eating away at Gareth’s lower jaw.

The god of flame hadn’t been the only one changed by blood. Though for Mohg it had been more subtle. He had become warmer for one, the blood of two gods providing fuel for his own blood flame, causing it to burn far brighter than before. The heat of it under his skin was comfortable and welcoming. Then there was his inability to be burnt. It had started small, with hot cookware during the early days of gathering their forces. They had thought at first that he had just developed a chef’s hands, until one day when starting a fire, he hadn’t noticed his sleeve had caught until Morgott pointed it out to him.

“Because I have to be in pain. It is the state I am meant to exist in. Once my head is gone it will be easier, but pain is a part of what I am.”

“I wish I could at least make things easier for you.”

“You do. Just by being here and listening to me when I tell you I need a break you do.”

“How do you think you will look once you’ve made your new body?”

He felt his heart start beating faster. With all the politics and the building agony he’d half forgotten Ranni’s offer. He was finally going to have a body that felt right.

“I think I’ll broaden my shoulders a bit, narrow my hips a little and maybe I’ll ask to be a little bit taller.”

“Hm, compensating?” Mohg teased.

“I want you to be able to kiss me without bending down.”

“That’s quite a bit taller then.”

“Would you be alright with that?”

“I suppose I might miss being able to manhandle you so easily.”

“You can still manhandle me all you want.”

Mohg snorted.

“Pervert.”

“It’s my most attractive quality.”

“I assume you plan on giving yourself a penis.”

“And you called me a pervert.”

“I feel I should know, if you ever plan on using it.”

“I want to, yes.” The flame took the last of his lower jaw and the pain subsided a bit. “I’ll actually be able to look when we have sex.” There was another reason too, beyond the desire for comfort that scratched at the back of Gareth’s mind. “I know you want children and that you didn’t want to speak with me about it because you knew I couldn’t help you.”

“Who-”

“Morgott.”

“I’m going to wring his neck. I told him that in confidence.”

“Please don’t. He only told me so that I could think about it myself, and maybe figure out some sort of arrangement for you if it was something we both wanted.”

“And what conclusion did you come to?”

“I- I want to be a father. I always thought we would have to adopt, but if I could be the father of your children, it would be the highest honor I could ask for.”

“Above godhood?”

“Above everything.”

“It is likely that any children of mine would carry the blessing I was born into. You would not make them think they were born into a curse.”

Gareth ran his hand along the graceful curve of one of Mohg’s horns, cold and smooth beneath his touch, shot through with veins of pure gold.

“How could I ever believe something that came from you to be a curse.”

He felt the air around Mohg’s face warm as blood rushed to his cheeks.

“To bring a child into this world is the greatest responsibility we could ever hold. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t joke.”

“Come on, you know I’m not joking. You’ve been my life’s greatest blessing. How could I not believe that anything that came from you would be a blessing as well?”

Gareth gently pressed his teeth against Mohg’s cheek, kissing him in the same way that the omen had come to kiss him.

Mohg sighed half in frustration. That had been his mother’s voice again, not his own.

“I apologize. Those were not my feelings.”

“No need to be sorry. Any time you doubt whether what I feel is real, I’ll gladly reassure you, as many times as it takes.” He gripped Mohg’s robes harder, as if he were afraid he was slipping away.

“You are still worried about the deal we’ve made with Ranni aren’t you.”

“Of course I am. If you die, there’s no coming back for you.”

“Ah well, I suppose I’ll just have to haunt you for the rest of your days.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“It isn’t as if you could come back either.” Gareth fell uncharacteristically silent. “You cannot possibly still see the light of grace.”

“I still see it. As much as I can really see anything anymore. Once someone has it I don’t think your mother can take it away, I would’ve had to lose sight of it myself.”

“I’ve heard grace is supposed to guide those who can see it towards the goals they wish to fulfill.” Mohg almost didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to be hurt by the answer. “Where is it leading you?”

Since that fateful day in prison when Mohg had told him what he was and he had decided what his path should be, that golden line, once near invisible, had only pointed in one direction.

Gareth placed his hand over Mohg’s heart.

“Do you even need to ask?”

Mohg placed his hand over his.

“It may be selfish of me to ask this, but as you fear, there is a chance I will not survive Ranni’s plot if things go poorly. I know we planned to wait, but before I die, I want to be able to call you my husband.”

“I’ll see if Ranni is willing to change me before the deed is done. After all, she could be indulging my last wishes for all she knows.”

“Would you be willing to wed me the same day?” Mohg played nervously with Gareth’s fingers. “I feel it is appropriate do you not? For us to renew our commitment to each other in light of how different we are from when we first met?”

“You can be quite romantic when you want to be, dearest.” Gareth took Mohg’s hand and kissed his fingers. “I just hope you will like what you’ve decided to commit yourself to.”

“If it is you, of course I will.”