Chapter Text
Janne wakes to the feeling of warm sunlight and an arm splayed across her chest.
She swears, and jerks back, to see —
— Prince Tomas?
No, not the prince she realizes. The man lying next to her looks much the same, but with crucial differences. His hair is longer and curlier than Prince Tomas’s, his skin pale and unfreckled, though darkening with morning stubble.
But he could almost be the prince’s twin.
Janne presses a hand to her mouth. The witch — the witch had never said the ritual would kill the Lindworm. She had just assumed.
— and the Lindworm and the Prince were brothers after all.
The man lying beside her was her husband.
She had made the Lindworm human.
The man beside her stirs, as if awakened by her frantic thoughts, opening his eyes to meet her gaze. He opens his mouth, and then freezes.
“What did you do to me?” he growls.
“I — I broke the curse,” Janne states with more confidence than she feels, “I made you human.”
“You’ve made me like you,” he mutters, a growing panic entering his tone, “I’ve never been human! I’ve only ever been a Lindworm!"
“I didn’t know this would happen!” she protested.
Why couldn’t you leave me as I was? Why did you do this? Why have you put me in a body not my own!” He advances towards her, gripping her wrists, a frantic gleam in his eyes.
“I thought I was going to kill you, to end your terror! I had no idea it would make you human."
He stops short, his grasp loosening, “You were trying to kill me?”
“You were going to eat me! I would have done anything to stop that, including killing you!” Janne says, twisting out of his grasp and onto the other side of the bed.
“You are my wife and you — you —”
“Yes? What did you think was happening? That I was just going to consent to be eaten once all my shifts were removed?”
“None of the other wives I’ve known did this!”
The door opens before she can make her retort. A tentative maid pokes her nose in.
Janne can only imagine what she sees.
Wait!” Janne shouts, before the maid flees entirely, “I have — I have restored the king’s son. I’ve brought him out of the curse placed on him.”
The maid, frankly, looks terrified at both her, the naked, wild man sitting next to her with gouges in his back, and the multitude of dried blood on the floor, but she nods and promises to be back with the royal family as soon as possible.
Besides her, the man swears quietly, and she shoots him a glare.
When the royal family comes to see for themselves their restored son, she barely matters in the light of the king and queen’s joy.
Prince Tomas alone hangs back, looking startled by the former Lindworm’s strong resemblance to him. She cannot blame him for that.
When they take the new prince from the bed, she thinks he will fall. How could a man who had never been anything but a giant snake walk?
But he takes one step, than another, looking fiercely angry about each one, and the queen weeps with joy.
Their second wedding is far more ornate than the first.
This time, she wears a wedding dress especially made for her, the chapel is full of people, and she is marrying a human.
Well. A human in flesh anyhow, if not in spirit.
The new prince stalks around as if he’s still a dangerous beast. His anger is cancerous and overwhelming, and he rests burning eyes on her whenever he has the chance.
She avoids him as much as possible, for he blames her for what’s happened to him, and they tend to start screaming at each other when in the same place.
The only somewhat civil conversation they have is when he approaches her before the public wedding and asks her to name him.
“You want me to give you a name?” she spits out.
Looking pained, he nods, “Lindworms don’t have names. But men do, apparently. My mother has informed me I need one for the wedding, and it seems only right it be you. Since you made me this.”
She ignores the barb and asks "Why didn't you have a name before?"
He huffs, "Why would I have needed one? There was only one Lindworm. Lindworm was all that I needed as a name."
"Fine then," she bites out, "I'll give you a name. Hemming, if you think that suits."
Janne named the sheep in the herd before, a sentimental touch to be sure, but convenient when needing to call individual sheep home.
This name, however, she chooses to get back at him.
He slowly nods, “Hemming,” he says, drawing out the syllables, “does it mean anything?”
“It means shape-changer,” she says, giving him a gruesome grin.
“How appropriate then,” he says, stalking off before she can respond.
The wedding itself is horribly awkward. Janne is not suited to formal occasions, and neither is the newly christened Hemming. They not are suited for questions about the Lindworm and the consumed princesses either.
That duty falls to Tomas, who seems to be doing whatever he can to be agreeable to her and Hemming. He flits through the crowd like he couldn't be more comfortable with it, handling the tricky questions with tact and grace.
It would not surprise Janne if they single-handedly avoid war because of him.
Tomas had apologized to her for his comments during her first wedding a few days ago, surprising her.
Her opinion of him as a weakling has not shifted, especially after meeting the king and queen, but he genuinely regrets the death of the princesses before her, and spends much time trying to make amends for it, including praying for them in chapel every day, and planning to travel to the afflicted kingdoms in the coming months.
The same cannot be said for Hemming.
Hemming, though human in shape, was not human in morals, and seemed not to understand why what he did was wrong, insisting that he wanted nothing more than to be the Lindworm again.
After one argument too many, Janne had taken to ignoring him.
The palace was large and full of interesting places to hide. It was easy to duck out of the way whenever she saw her husband coming. With any luck, she'd be able to avoid him the rest of their life.
This idea is ruined when her husband accosts her when she wakes up from a nap in the library.
“Wife,” he says, waiting until she looks up to continue, “Have you been avoiding me?”
“I have not been avoiding you. I assumed you did not want to see me” she lies.
“Who said that?” he bites out, “I have great need of you. I want you to teach me to be human.”
She blinks, “What?”
“I don’t understand all these human things. It’s hopelessly confusing. And you get mad at me when you get it wrong."
"I get mad at you because you would have eaten me —"
"— And since you changed me, I’m your responsibility. You can’t make me back the way I was, so you need to fix it.”
“I’m not your keeper, Hemming."
He sits beside her, his legs too long to fit properly on the chaise she fell asleep on, "You've never been anything but human. I've only ever been the Lindworm. Perhaps you could be a little more understanding."
"Why do you even want to learn to be human? You've made it clear how much you don't understand it or like it."
"Because I don't want you to hate me," he confesses, and she blinks, shocked, "I — I watched humans when I was a Lindworm. I know some things. I know wives are important. And I know you're not supposed to hate me."
He looks absurdly vulnerable, gazing at her like she's kicked him. It makes the pity she'd locked away for him well up again.
He has only ever been a Lindworm. He has only ever known violence.
She supposes she can understand why it's hard for him to adjust.
"Fine," she says, "I will help you be human — as long as you promise to try to understand. And I — I don't hate you. Not really."
Smiles often look wrong on his face, a face so unused to them, but the smile he sends her make something unfurl inside her chest.
Teaching Hemming to be human isn't as awful as she thought it would be.
She's not really a natural teacher, and they still end up shouting at each other (most notably, when she realized he was the reason half her sheep went missing one winter) but it's — better.
He's learning, and she's learning too.
Neither of them know how to read, and so Tomas takes to hosting reading nights in the library each Friday (Hemming is fond of the saga of Þiðrekr of Bern.)
She takes him to see her father, a supremely awkward occasion (in part because Hemming mentions eating half their sheep) that is only saved by a generous gift the queen had sent Hemming with.
They explore the castle and the grounds together, discovering such treats as an abandoned, much tinier chapel and a derelict farm.
They struggle through court life together, as two people both unused to it in everywhere. At this point, Hemming has mastered the art of looking dangerous and unapproachable, which in turn makes them less likely to play an important role at court. Janne does not mind this.
And Hemming is — changed. He is no longer so angry, so bitter. He trails after her like a lost duckling. He is almost sweet at times.
Her life is almost like what she thought married life would be.
She still does not love him.
No matter how human he becomes, no matter how he improves day by day, she cannot forget.
"I'm sorry," he sobs into her skirts one day, "I'm so sorry."
She cards her fingers into his hair, deeply confused as what could have brought this on. They'd merely been testing their reading skill without Tomas around. She'd pointed something out to him, and without warning, he'd started to sob.
"Hemming — I don't — what is the matter."
"I would have eaten you," he says hoarsely, "I would have eaten you like I ate the others. And I wouldn't have cared. I wouldn't have known."
She freezes. It's been so long since they've discussed that.
It's been so long since she'd thought Hemming would do that.
"I know I can't atone," he says wildly, "But you — you're so much and you're here and I — I love you."
"Hemming," she says.
"— and I know you don't hate me, but you don't love me, and it hurts. You have ruined me."
"Hemming," she says again, "I — you — I need time."
He gulps and steps back from her.
"Janne," he tries, and she flees.
She flees all the way back to her home, past her father, past the sheep, and all the way to her mother's grave, pressing her head to the cold stone.
Could she ever love him? For that matter, could he really love her? Did he even know what love was?
Could she love someone who used to be a monster?
"What should I do," she chokes out.
"I would recommend not running away from your husband like a child," says a familiar voice.
Janne starts back from the stone to lock eyes with the witch again.
"You," she bites out.
"Yes. Me."
"You knew what would happen with the ritual! I thought I was going to kill him and instead — "
"And instead,” the witch says, “You’re married to him.”
“Yes!"
The witch sighs, and sits down on a tree trunk, patting the space next to her.
“I prefer to stand,” Janne says shortly.
“Have it your own way, child,” the witch says, her tone sharp, “Why are you crying in a forest again, when you should be in the castle with your prince husband? Many women would die to be in your position.”
“He thinks he loves me. He thinks he loves me and — he was a monster.”
“I notice you say was.”
“You know what I mean!”
The witch stares at her.
“I don’t love him, “ Janne says wildly, “I thought I was going to kill him, and I would have done it. He ate two women. He would have eaten me. I cannot possibly love him, no matter how he’s changed.”
“And yet you don’t hate him.”
Janne freezes.
“No,” she manages, “No, I don’t hate him. I haven’t in a long time.”
"Well then. That's all you need.”
"I can't forget what he did, " she says, "How could I?"
"Do you have to forget it? Would you want to?"
"No, I wouldn’t,” Janne says, “but this — this isn’t how a marriage should be.”
“What do you think marriage is, child? You think it is all easy, all love? True, not many have been in such a situation as you, but how many princesses marry men who have been responsible for the death of thousands? Human men, mind you, not men who were a Lindworm all their life.” the witch near shouts, “If you think this isn’t how marriage should be, then you need to fix it .”
Her words feed into Janne’s already existing guilt.
She left him. She left him alone after he confessed something so deeply important to her. She fled like a child.
"Go to him," says the witch, and Janne numbly nods.
Tomas meets her at the gate, his soft eyes worried, "He's not doing well," he says, his lips a thin line, and Janne nods.
She finds her husband numbly staring at the wall in their bedchamber.
"Hemming," she says.
"I can go," he interrupts, "Or you can go. You don't have to stay with me just because my father forced you to marry me."
"Hemming," she says more strongly, daring him to interrupt her, "why didn’t you eat me?”
He flinches, drawing into himself as if she’s struck him, “Does it matter?”
She lifts her chin stubbornly and he sighs.
“I — I didn’t eat you because no one had dared to stand up to me before,” he says quietly, “No one else looked me in the eyes like you, like you were daring me to fight. No one — no one touched me. No one else stayed. Just you.”
“And do you — do you regret eating the others?”
“Yes. And no. I shouldn’t have eaten them, but if I hadn’t — I would never have married you. And I won’t regret you, even though you don’t love me,” he says savagely.
His gaze rests heavy on her, and she shivers. His love is so much, so overwhelming, so inhuman.
But he is hers.
She carved him out of skin and scale, ripped him out from a monster. She forced him into being a man.
He is hers, even if she does not love him. Who is she to deny that any longer?
“I don’t love you,” she says, “but I could. I think I could love you, one day.”
His gaze sharpens, “Do you truly mean that?”
She nods, and he draws up from the bed to his full height.
“Then I will keep trying. I will keep learning to be human,” he states, cupping her face, “as long as you let me love you.”
He bends down and kisses her for the first time, and it's a little too wet and a little too harsh, but she smiles against his lips and drags him down deeper.
He may have been a monster once. She may not love him. She may never.
But when her husband gasps her name into her mouth and rocks against her, after he's told he loved her in a thousand ways against her skin, she will hold him in her arms the way she did so long ago.
And she will not falter.