Dynasty of Blood and Flame

Chapter 4

Mohg in his many years of life had seen horrific things. He’d perpetrated quite a few himself, and beyond that, he even sought out torment. What he and his husband did to each other for the sake of pleasure would’ve made Rykard’s inquisitors blush. He’d thought himself inured to all manner of suffering. His childhood in the sewers and his adulthood as a heretic had hardened him, given him skin as hard as his twisting horns. However, his daughter’s screams cut through it like a hot knife, piercing him to his core. The worst thing was, there was nothing he could do.

Meinir lay on her stomach, her claws tearing into her sheets. He could see the bone trying to force its way through the skin of her back as he stroked her hair. Mohg had gone through the same thing himself long ago. His wings shredded muscle and skin as they tried to force themselves from his body. He was alone then, in the dark and wet, accompanied only by the screams of his brother as his tail erupted from the base of his spine. The blessing of the crucible was the only inheritance they’d been given by their father. The aspects of the crucible that had been wrought into their very bodies were the ones taught to each and every one of Godfrey’s knights. Like all aspects of their inheritance, it was painful. Not just in the awful pain of bones growing far faster than they ever should and the slow and awful tearing of flesh. It was also the constant reminder at their backs, look who you could have been. Remember who would have been under your command. It was more difficult for Morgott than it was for him. Though he did enjoy having wings, he had hoped his daughter would not inherit them. It was too much pain to put such a gentle young girl through.

Gareth tried his best to mitigate her pain, but his ability to deaden sensation wasn’t working. Mohg was reasonably sure that it was due to the interference of the crucible, but it was infuriating nonetheless. Especially to his husband, who was no longer accustomed to powerlessness. Myrddin tried to help in his own way, keeping the room as cool as he could with his magic, but he was quickly becoming frustrated as well. “Isn’t there something more you can do?!” he shouted after a particularly hard thrash. “You’re a god aren’t you?” He pulled at Gareth's shirt. “Help her!” Meinir clawed at Mohg’s hand. She looked at him pitifully with her large golden eyes. He rested a hand on top of hers.

“There’s nothing your father can do. This is simply how it must happen.”

“Why?! If it must happen like this, why am I not right there beside her? Why is she the only one that must suffer?” Mohg glanced at his husband. They’d both wanted to avoid this conversation for as long as they could. He heard a whisper at the back of his mind.

“Go, I’ll stay with her. If she takes a turn I’ll call for you.”

“Will you come with me for a moment, Myrddin? There is something we must discuss.”

They sat outside on the steps of what had once been the Erdtree Sanctuary. The chambers of the man responsible for all of this. Godfrey and Marika were dead and gone, yet they still found so many ways to interfere with his happiness.

“You are aware that your sister and I are different from yourself and your father, correct?”

“She differs from him in less ways than I do.” Myrddin tried not to show it in front of Garreth and Meinir but he was often deeply insecure. His lack of aptitude for incantations had never been punished or pointed out, but it was impossible for a boy as sharp as he to simply not notice his sister’s gifts. All of the demigods of old could use magic of some sort. None were mere warriors. Even those known for their gifts with the sword, like Radahn and Malenia, could use some measure of it, whether they chose to or not. Even though the boy had since found his calling in the manipulation of frost, that insecurity still sat with him.

“Perhaps. I admit that we were often far more aligned in demeanor than you and him. However, that is not what I wish to discuss.” He looked down gently at his son. You will never be an outsider in your own home, I promise you. “Physically we are different, you and him do not have fangs, claws, or horns as we do.”

“Remember when I filed my nails into points so that Meinir and I would match?” Mohg did remember. They had also attempted to paint each other’s nails. The proof of their effort still stained the carpet in Meinir’s room. “I never understood why we were so different from each other. Even Mistress Ranni refused to tell me, saying it was not her place to do so.” Mohg would have to thank her for that at least.

“She was right, it would not be her place to explain it to you.” Mohg looked out upon the golden roofs of Leyndell. What an awful city it had been, to have roofs plated in gold while the shunning grounds lay below the streets. “You and your father were born as ordinary men, as were my parents, though my mother, like your father, became more within her lifetime. My elder brother Godwyn was also born completely ordinary, however I, like many others, was born with the blessing of the formless mother.” He knew it now to be a blessing. It was an indication of his connection to the primordial current of life, that which flourished long before Marika and her golden order and persisted long after. “During my parents’ reign, the mark of any god other than the greater will was considered to be impure, any magic other than theirs was heresy. Even the astrologers, who had no connection to the gods, had their stars shackled by the order, to prevent your mistress from coming into her own as the god of the dark moon. Those of us who were marked physically however, were not merely shackled, but removed entirely.” Mohg took a deep breath. “When someone like myself was born to a peasant family, a perfumer would be called and the child’s horns would be cut off.”

“Wouldn’t that…”

“Kill them? Yes, most often it did. The family would fashion a doll to memorialize the child if that was the case, in the hopes that the baby would not curse them after death.”

“And if they survived?”

“They would be pressed into the army, given blades designed to crumble if they dared take up arms against their captors. Their horns would also regularly be filed, leaving them raw and open to infection. On the other hand, if one was born to the nobility, they were allowed to keep their horns, however their birth would be stricken from the record as if they were a miscarriage and they would be confined to the sewers. There, we were imprisoned and administered ‘medicines’ by perfumers. Although I saw more die from their aromatics far more than I ever saw anyone’s suffering mitigated. Some of them eventually decided to abandon the pretense of attempting to heal us and became butchers instead, calling themselves Omen Killers.”

“You were confined as well?” The look on his son’s face was one of disbelief. How could his father, the one who could wrest power from the very veil between worlds, be confined anywhere, let alone the sewers of Leyndell?

“I was. Though I was a special case. The necessity of keeping me hidden away, far from where I could stain my parents’ honor, required that I was shackled day and night, only let up so that I could pray to the Erdtree for my salvation. The magic within those bonds was so strong, that even just pieces of them can still bind me to the ground temporarily.” He and Gareth had experimented with one once. Mohg could handle being restrained with ropes or hands but the feeling of that enchantment upon him again had driven him into a blind panic. “I was able to break free of it eventually, with the help of my true mother, but I was bound for years.”

“Surely this does not still happen.”

“No, it does not. The killings, the drafting, the confinement, all of that stopped sixteen years ago, when your father ascended to the throne.” Mohg resettled, cracking his back as he did. The weight of his long confinement had stiffened it, making it ache even now. “I myself did not escape until The Shattering and even afterwards, the confinement continued under King Morgott the veiled.”

“What of his commander, Margit the Fell? I have read of his exploits in combat, supposedly he even brought Radahn to his knees during the siege of Leyndell. Such a man would align himself with a king who allowed the mistreatment of his people?”

“The two of them were one in the same. He was your uncle, my elder twin.” Myrddin leapt to his feet.

“Then the act was all the more terrible! If he saw so much suffering first hand then why would he choose to perpetuate it further?!”

“I cannot pretend to know my brother’s heart. He ruled under a guise, letting none know his true identity. It was likely that those in the old capital, before it was drowned in the ashes of the old Erdtree, would have called for his death if they’d known. Any attempt to make the others’ lives easier would’ve called his own identity into question.”

“But you fought.”

“Yes I did. So did your father despite his lack of benefit.”

“Then shouldn’t your brother have tried to do something?”

“Unfortunately, for all his skill and power, Morgott was possessed of incredible self hatred. He was far more receptive than I to the teachings the Golden Order tried to impress upon us both. He did not think himself worthy of the throne, despite having the best claim to it out of all of us, purely because of what he had been told the fire within his blood meant.”

“Why tell me all this now?” Myrddin sat back down, wincing as he did.

“So that you understand that your sister will go through many things you won’t, and many of those things will likely be incredibly painful for her. The pain she experiences now is a natural one, I also went through the same thing when I was her age. There is nothing anyone can do to stop it, because it is simply a fact of life. However, there are also those in this kingdom that still remain loyal to the old ways, those that would seek to harm her for the mere fact of her birth. I wish for you to understand what she might face in the future, so that you might better protect her from the pain that we can prevent her from experiencing.” Myrddin shifted uncomfortably.

“I understand, father. Though this is quite a bit to take in.” His back popped audibly and he involuntarily yelped in pain.

“Is everything alright, son?” Mohg was starting to become concerned. It was not the conversation that was making him so uncomfortable.

“Father, I think something might be wrong.” He was beginning to sweat. Mohg suddenly remembered exactly who he had inherited his wings from. It wasn’t the blessing of the formless mother, it was Godfrey.

“Unfortunately, I think you’re about to find out exactly what your sister is experiencing.” Mohg scooped him up and ran for Gareth. Yet another child forced to take on his inheritance.

“So, you know your brother and I are different from you and your father right?” Meinir nodded through her tears.

“He’s smaller, more delicate. Always had to be careful not to hurt him when we played.” She was a good egg. Always so careful around others. Gareth wished there was something he could do to help her through this.

“Yes, now do you know why that is?” She nodded.

“Father has told me it is because we are Omens, though what he meant by that h-he never clarified.”

“It means you were born with a gift, given to you by the Formless Mother, the same as your father. Not everyone is given such a gift, but it also doesn’t mean those who have it are inherently better or worse than those who don’t.”

“Worse?” She choked out.

“You know that before I became god there was one before me right? Your grandmother, Queen Marika.” She nodded. “Under her rule, those who were touched by other gods were considered lesser, and often killed or confined to keep them out of sight.”

“F-father mentioned w-we were hidden away. But Q- Queen Marika, she confined even her own son?”

“Yes, even your father.” He gently stroked her hair. “Your father, he also had a twin brother, King Morgott. He, over the course of his life came to believe that he was lesser and that self hatred consumed him. I believe that your father and I have raised you well enough that the same would never happen to you, but you ought to know, there will be people who look down on you simply for how you look and there will be pain you will have to endure that your brother may never have to. But I also want you to know that if anyone says or does anything to you on account of your blessing, your father and I have the power to deal with it.” He pressed two fingers to her forehead, in the way another father would have given her an affectionate kiss.

“What h-happened to uncle Morgott?”

“I was forced to kill him.” Garreth looked down as he said it. He couldn’t look her in the eye and admit that. He didn’t regret it, but he still was afraid of what she might think of him. “In his self hatred, he upheld the very order that condemned him. I tried to reason with him, tried to find another way around him, but he believed that the best thing he could do for the order was to die for it. I wish I could have helped him, but at that point he was too far gone and I was too powerless.”

“Was father u-upset when he found out?”

“Your father and his brother had a complicated relationship. I think he realized that it needed to be done, but yes he did mourn him.”

“Could you t-tell him I’m sorry for w-what happened?”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. These were decisions made by adults long before you were born.”

“Yes, but even years l-later I think I’d still be upset if I lost Myrddin.”

“Garreth!” He heard Mohg shout somewhere in the back of his mind. “I’m coming back with Myrddin! It’s happening to him too!”

The worst of the screaming came right after Mohg returned, when both children were painstricken and unable to stop. When Meinir’s wings finally sprouted she fell right asleep. The pain and effort took too much out of her to stay awake. “Did you give her the talk?” Mohg gritted his teeth as Myrddin dug his nails into his hand. He might not have had claws, but he was incredibly strong for his age.

“Yes,” Gareth applied another incantation, trying his best to do anything that might offer comfort. “She took it quite well, all things considered. She wanted me to tell you, she’s sorry you lost your brother.”

“I had lost him long before his death.” Mohg stated with grim certainty.

“Maybe, but having a twin brother herself, she felt the loss a little more acutely.” He brushed some of Myrddin’s hair away from his face, where it had become sticky with sweat. His spine was torturously elongating, bone by bone, forming the beginnings of a long, supple tail.

It took until the end of the day for it to finally stop. Myrddin tried to stand when the pain receded, but the exhaustion proved too much for him and his knees buckled. Gareth caught him before he hit the ground and eased him back into bed.

“I- I can get up.”

“You can go to sleep is what you can do.” Gareth chided. “What you need most right now is rest.” He pulled the sheets over Myrddin. He tried to get up a second time but quickly lost the battle against the warm blankets. “So it was your father then.” Gareth watched as Myrddin’s tail curled around him in his sleep.

“It was.” Mohg rubbed his eyes, exhausted as well. “I never wanted this for them. To have to live with the reminder of their bloodline like this.” Garreth wrapped his arm around Mohg’s shoulder and pulled him close.

“They have not been taught to associate those traits with their grandfather, my love. When they see their wings and tail, they will think of their father. Not the husband of a tyrant who was dead before they were born.”

“But I will always know, and they will no doubt discover it on their own one day.”

“And we will be here for them when they do, as I will always be there for you if the memory of your parents becomes too much.” Gareth ran his thumb over Mohg’s shoulder. “If it is any consolation, when I see your wings, I only ever think of you. Your communion with the Formless Mother and the blessing you embraced changed you. Made you something your parents never would’ve recognized as their own creation. You are far more beautiful than anything that could’ve come solely from them.”

“We have been married for sixteen years and still you flatter me.”

“We have been married for sixteen years and still you believe it is only flattery. Every word I speak when I tell you how your horns shine like obsidian, how your eyes are like shining stars, guiding me, how I long to feel your teeth at my throat, all of that is the absolute truth.”

“You embarrass yourself.” Mohg laughed.

“I may,” Gareth laughed as well, “but it is nonetheless the truth. You are more beautiful and dear to me than anything else in this world.”

“I have not yet had my fill of you today, with what happened to the children. Now that they are asleep and well, would you like to feel my teeth in your throat?” Mohg whispered.

“More than anything.” Gareth groaned.

Partaking of blood was still a sacred practice for Mohg. A transference of life from one being to another. While he was pregnant as he was now and fed from his husband, it took on a secondary even deeper meaning. Both of them would provide life to the child, Mohg directly in carrying them and Gareth through his offering of his own life. And oh he had so much of it to give. Mohg bit into his neck almost the second the two reached their private chambers. Garreth’s blood had quickly become Mohg’s favorite meal. The richness of divine strength within it was intoxicating, filling him with warmth as he drank. Gareth moved them both to their bed, having Mohg sit on his lap while his face was still embedded in his throat. He stroked his back as he drank, encouraging him to drink deeper, take more of him within himself. Mohg obliged gladly, tearing the wound in his neck wider, allowing more blood to flow into him. He drank until he was sated and then beyond that, until the flow began to slow down and he felt Garreth’s heartbeat grow weaker. It was best for his child that he drank as much as he could to keep them both healthy and strong. He pulled away with a sigh and rolled off onto the bed. It had been a long day.

“I hope that whatever marks I’ve left upon you have made your life better.” Gareth folded his hands on top of his chest. Mohg rolled over to face him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I was thinking about how your mother and father left marks upon you, and how my parents and my first husband did on me, and I just hope that any marks I’ve left upon you are ones that you look upon fondly. I would never want any reminder of me to fill you with as much pain as your reminders of others.” Gareth rolled over and gently rubbed the scar on Mohg’s neck, the one he’d left on their first night together. Mohg dragged a claw along the scars of Garreth’s back, his old claw marks scoring the burnt finger prints.

“It is mutual for us. Just as you have marked me, I have marked you in turn. The others who laid claim to us, we neither asked to be theirs nor did we claim them in turn. I wear your mark proudly, because I know just as I belong to you, you belong to me.”

Garreth buried his face in Mohg’s chest making sure to deaden the pain so as not to interrupt the moment. “I’m glad to hear it.” His voice trembled slightly as he spoke. Mohg continued tracing the scars on his back. He told his husband with his fingers, “you could never hurt me and I could never hurt you.”

The both of them awoke the next morning to a loud crash. They leapt out of bed as quickly as they could, expecting the worst. Instead they found both Meinir and the chandelier in the great room on the ground.

“Dad! Father! I was merely trying to see if I could help dust.” She smiled hoping it would cover up the poor excuse. Her wings were black like Mohg’s, but her feathers were shiny and full. Infection and malnourishment had taken that from her father, his wings still somewhat ragged and patchy despite the years. Her wings were broad and the edges of them looked particularly soft, somewhat like an owl’s. That would explain why it was only the crash that woke them up rather than the sound of wing beats.

“I told you flying in the house was a bad idea.” Myrddin’s tail twitched back and forth. It was scaled instead of furred like his uncle’s. More like the ones utilized by crucible knights in battle. However, his scales were not gold, but iridescent, shining metallic blue and purple as they caught the light. Small clusters of sharp horns adorned the center point and the very tip of his tail, becoming yet another deadly weapon in his hands. He knocked over an end table with a particularly zealous flick. “Oops.”

“Perhaps we ought to take this outside.” Gareth suggested.

The children weren’t exactly being the safest with their experimentation. Myrddin was trying to see if he could hold a staff in his tail so he could free up his off hand for a shield. Meinir was attempting to boost her flight speed by firing off a steady stream of flame. Mohg was furiously trying to restrain himself. Yes, he’d also done stupid things when he was that age when first learning his limits, but he was a protective father. He desperately wanted to stop them from hurting themselves, but at the same time he knew they would only learn by doing. Garreth sensed his discomfort.

“If anything happens there’s an excellent healer right here.” He pointed at himself.

“I know, but still I always worry about them.”

“If we’re lucky we’ll be able to protect them and all that come after forever, but this is not something they need protection from. Although it is unpleasant, children need to have the chance to injure themselves so they learn to keep themselves safe in the future.”

“You always seemed to know a great deal about children.” He hesitated to ask but, “Did you ever have any of your own before?” The flame flickered.

“No, I wished to be a father in secret, but I would never wish to bring children into that house. I died soon after I freed myself from it.” He paused for a moment. “I was pregnant once. I know you do not mind it, but it was a horrible experience for me. I hated to feel so out of control of myself and dreaded looking into the mirror. I thought maybe, just maybe it would all be worth it to be a father, but I lost them.” He clenched his fist tightly at the memory. “After that, I finally killed my bastard husband. Back then my magic was weak, I could barely make more flame than a good tinderbox. I never would’ve qualified to become a priest without the strength of runes, but it didn’t stop me from lighting that fucking house on fire.”

“How did you die the first time?” Mohg asked haltingly.

“I was hanged by the neck until I was dead for the crimes of murder, arson, robbery, and cross dressing. Though I think the last one was trumped up a bit, did they expect a highwayman to wear a damn skirt?” He laughed. “That death wasn’t terrible though. The death itself was quick and clean. The hangman was sympathetic and ensured my neck would snap quickly. The anticipation was worse than anything.”

“You speak often of your deaths, which ones were most and least painful.”

“Well, when you die as many times as I did to get here, you become a bit of a connoisseur.”

“Was there any that was pleasant to you?”

“No, death is never pleasant. No matter how many times you experience it. Even if the mind understands that you will be back in but a few minutes, the body screams its protests louder than you could ever imagine. Every inch of you is in agony as the body feels itself slipping away. Death is never pleasant, yes, but I did find one occasion where it was at least pleasurable.”

“And what would that be?”

“When I fought you for the second time. Eleanora granted me a crystal tear in advance of our battle. One that would make me immune to your curse. I never used it once.” He shivered. “To have you tear my very life away with your bare hands, it was intimate beyond anything I’d experienced. It was still painful, yes, excruciatingly so, but because it was you, I loved every second of it.”

“You’ve adequately determined that those like myself can be reborn upon death through the linked flame correct?” Mohg whispered. The children were distracted, but they didn’t need to overhear this. That was an awkward conversation he never wanted to have with them.

“I have.” Gareth’s hand curled around his shoulder. Mohg could feel the dark intensity of his gaze upon him.

“After this child is born, would you grant me a death by your hands?”

“How would you want it to be done,” he purred. “I could do it quickly and painlessly, snapping your neck like a bird for example, though I’m reasonably sure you wouldn’t want that. You’d want it to last wouldn’t you, darling. You’d like me to do it slowly, taking you apart for hours and hours until you slip away wouldn’t you.”

“Don’t tease me right now.” Mohg smiled. “It will be months before we will actually be able to do it.”

“All the more reason to tease you, darling. I’ll have so much time to plan, I’ll be able to make it absolutely perfect given the right guidance.” He gently burned Mohg’s neck as he leaned into him, careful to keep the intensity no higher than a sunburn.

“Drain me of my blood, slowly. You choose the method, I'd prefer that to be a surprise.”

“As you wish.” Gareth impressed upon him the feeling of a kiss.

“Ah!” A poorly aimed bolt of cold magic struck Meinir in the wing, freezing it. She plummeted landing on top of her brother.

“Are you two alright?!” Gareth called.

“I’m alright!” Meinir yelled back. Myrddin raised a thumbs up from underneath her.

“See, that’s why you shouldn’t hold weapons in your tail.” Mohg scolded.