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All those hands touching, squeezing and pulling were like those recurring nightmares. The difference was that they were real, struggling to attach the pieces of the armor designed for such an imperfect body. And they hurt, scratching the thin skin and pinching the atrophied muscles. They couldn't find the right places, as if Messmer were a doll they were trying to put together without much success. It was supposed to be an important day, he would be taking his army to avenge the Mother and protect the empire she conquered. All eyes were on him, full of expectation and pride. And yet, he was stressed, uncomfortable with all those hands touching him in the wrong way.
He took a deep breath, ignoring the futile effort of those hands, refusing to even look at who they belonged to. He chose to look out the window, but the day was too cloudy and dark, with no rays of sunlight to illuminate the shadows. And through the glass he found his pitiful reflection. Anger burned in the kindling within him and reflected in the winged snakes. They hissed, attacking the hands their teeth could reach, forcing the servants away with pain.
Messmer could feel their hatred. It has never been easy with him, since he was a child. But he could also feel their fear. No matter how much hatred they harbored for his serpentine nature, they were coward enough to never face him. Messmer looked at their faces with disdain, seeing each one of them in flames, slowly burning before his feet, giving in to the blinding rage that consumed him in those flames.
Then the door opened, revealing the missing ray of sunlight in the sky. And preventing a fire from starting.
“I shall take it from here,” the soft voice echoed through the room, putting an end to the growing tension. It was what his brother knew how to do best: ease tensions, especially his own. “Leave us now. All of ye.”
And suddenly, they were alone. And peace came.
Godwyn waited for the door to close and came towards him. His long hair flowed down his broad shoulders, illuminating his face with gold and light. He was the light taking shape. And he had the warmest smile Messmer had ever seen, even if he would never admit it out loud.
"May I?"
“Thou needest to worry not.”
Godwyn did it nonetheless. Carefully, he helped to tie the chest plate with his nimble fingers. Then, he knelt before him to tie the laces of his sandals. And unlike the others, his hands didn't bother Messmer, they didn't hurt. Even the snakes felt comfortable with Godwyn, invading his personal space to touch him with their tongues and recognize his scent. It never bothered him, never scared him either.
“I don’t mind doing so. Thou hadst made me be thy page when I was younger, or didst thou merely forget? Must put that boy in place, said thee.”
He stood up, placing one of the snakes on his own shoulder so it wouldn't get in the way of adjusting the bracelets. It buried itself in his hair and, through the scales, Messmer could feel the softness of his hair, the smell of his recent bath, the heat of his neck. Suffering with that feeling, he tensed his own wrists and Godwyn noticed, massaging them until he relaxed again.
“I needed to do it one more time before thou departest.”
The cloak's turn has come. Messmer was taller, though thinner and more contorted, but he didn't need to bend down like he would if he were with someone else. Godwyn reached him easily, bringing the arms around his neck, wrapping him in the red fabric. Messmer still remembered when Godwyn used to tease, telling him to return Mother's curtains. Perhaps he gave off the shadow of a smile at the memory, because Godwyn smiled too. He had the face close to his, with gentle, large golden eyes staring at his features. That was when Messmer noticed the redness in his eyes, under those swollen eyelids.
“Thine eyes…” Messmer brought his hand up to his face, without ever touching it, however. “Wert thou crying?”
It was strange to imagine Godwyn crying, despite the sensitivity he had in his being. He didn't remember ever seeing it, not even when they fought and grabbed each other's hair or bit and slapped each other. Not even when Mother repressed him and Godfrey pushed him too hard. Mohg and Morgott, he remembered then. He cried when they left.
“Worry not,” Godwyn murmured, bringing out his helmet. “Thou hast a long journey ahead of thee, worry about thyself and thy soldiers.”
Messmer refused the helmet for now, taking it from his hands and then discarding it.
“I refuse to believe thou wert crying because of me. Dost not be so foolish."
He cried when Mohg and Morgott left, he remembered. And now for me.
“Wouldst thou think it a such terrible thing?”
"Why—"
Godwyn touched his face, silencing his voice with the gesture of affection he usually received only from Mother, when no one was looking. Messmer knew the touch of his hand, he was his brother, after all. He held his fingers when he was still a baby. Held his wrists when he learned to walk. But not like this. It was different now. And his hands were soft and warm, with his fingers sliding down his cheek, caressing Messmer.
“I wanted us to have more time, even though we've already shared an entire lifetime together, I just…” he stuttered, fumbling over his own words. “I don’t know how it feeleth not to have thee. Thou wert here since I first opened my eyes, I was born knowing thee.”
That was strange, because that was how Messmer felt too. He was the oldest, having been born decades before Godwyn, but he couldn't remember a life without him either. For years he thought it was just his memory clouded by the years of conquest. Even that the serpent had obscured memories of him. Hearing Godwyn saying the same felt like it was true, though. And why not believe it? Mohg and Morgott were twins. And they were cursed. He was cursed, but Godwyn… No, Godwyn was perfect.
“I’m not ready to be alone, I fear.”
“Art thou telling me thou wilt going to long for me?”
“Every day,” his eyes shone toward him again. “Until thou returnest. Till then, I shall be here waiting.”
Messmer swallowed hard, never prepared for what came next.
Godwyn kissed the top of his forehead, pressing trembling lips to the hair that fell across his face. And he lingered with the mouth against his skin and the hands around his cheeks, holding him close.
His heart quickened, reminding him that inside that body, beyond the serpent, his heart still existed. A tumult beneath his chest, even hindering his breathing. And he held onto the brother who was kissing him, wrapping the hands around his torso, squeezing his body as if that could keep him sane during that unthinkable act until then.
When Messmer closed his eye, Godwyn's lips found his left cheek, kissing the corner of his mouth. He could almost taste him. He felt himself drooling at that desire. But Godwyn pulled his mouth away, pressing the forehead against his instead. Their noses brushed, breaths mixed and lips almost met. Godwyn yearned for Messmer's name against his own mouth.
“I want—” Messmer opened his eye, looking into the golden eyes that stared back at him.
"I know. I, too, want thee." Godwyn opened and closed his mouth, controlling himself. Messmer had to swallow that desire dry. "When thou returnest. I promise."
He remained close, however. And for a while they didn't move, not until they had to. Until the last moment, Messmer could feel Godwyn’s heart beating in the same rhythm as his own.