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With hurried steps, Godwyn approached the half-open door, hiding in the shadows so he could observe the two as they prepared to leave. Melina donned the long dark cape, followed by Messmer wrapping the snakes in a cloak. They looked alike, with the same aquiline nose, thin lips, and eyes. Especially the eyes. But Messmer had a sacred seal in place of his one eye, and he was also taller and thinner. Melina was sweeter and never forgot Godwyn.
His eyes grew full of expectations, wanting to run to them, follow in their footsteps, but Mother had told him to stay home that day. All he could do was envy them through the crack in the door, wishing he could be with his older brothers, just for the sake of being there.
“Hurry up,” Messmer urged her, hearing her smack the lips. “What now?”
“I almost forgot something,” she turned her back on Messmer. “Hold on.”
With a jovial smile, Melina approached the door. Godwyn tried to avoid being seen, but she didn't give him a chance to run away, knowing that she would find him there, spying on them both. Godwyn lowered his head, feeling embarrassed for eavesdropping. Melina held out her hand, however.
“Come with us.”
He smiled, holding the excitement.
“Mother said I shouldn’t.”
“She’s not home, worry not. Thou dost not want to be here alone,” Melina leaned in to speak in his ear. “We will go to our favorite place.”
Without needing to repeat, he took Melina’s hand and followed her out. Messmer snorted when he saw Godwyn following his twin.
“Thou dost not have to take him with us every time, I hope thou knowest that,” he turned his back on his brother, ignoring his presence. “And Mother hath already ordered him to stay home and study.”
“She won’t even know.”
“As if he wouldn’t tell her,” Godwyn hated when he spoke as if he weren’t there.
“Well, I like it when he goeth with us,” Melina smiled in his direction, putting Godwyn between her and Messmer. “And I know thou likest it too.”
Messmer didn’t answer, he just kept walking. He was an older boy now, and his legs were long, which made it a little difficult for Godwyn to keep up with him. And that was reason enough for him to taunt Godwyn, always growling at him to pick up the pace or he would leave him behind. But Godywn didn't care, Melina wouldn't leave him behind. On the contrary, she was by his side, playing at balancing on rocks and logs, messing around along with Godwyn, pulling him by the hand.
He wasn't much younger than either of them, but the difference always seemed stark. Especially since Godwyn didn't have a twin. And he always felt left out. Melina was the one who always tried to fit him in while Messmer couldn't care less about him. Godwyn pretended it didn't affect him, ignoring the complaints and coldness. And perhaps Melina had realized the truth in that indifference. Godwyn was grateful that she hadn't forgotten him, but he didn't feel welcome. He always felt like he was invading a space that didn't belong to him.
When they left the walls of Leyndell, they headed towards the woods of Altus Plateau, finding the small, rocky path to the calm, shallow river. It was their favorite place — his and Melina’s, at least — where they would spend the afternoon playing in the water, chasing animals, and talking. Melina loved to stand with her feet in the water, wading through the small current and looking for reptiles to show Messmer, who would sit on a sunny rock so his snakes could warm up. That was when Godwyn would risk approaching, sitting beside him, taking off his own shirt and sunning his shoulders until they burned.
“This one is fat as a frog,” Melina said, holding an actual frog in her hands.
“It’s a frog,” Godwyn replied.
“Oh, really?” She looked down at the animal in her hands. “Good to know both thine eyes are seeing well.”
He chuckled, hugging his knees to his chest.
“It’s not a reptile,” Messmer frowned.
“If thou hadst not warned me, I would never have known,” she grumbled, returning the creature to the water and walking back down the river.
“She always maketh easy for thee,” he murmured. “Just like Mother.”
Godwyn didn’t answer, avoiding looking at him. He couldn’t deny it, he knew Messmer was telling the truth. Even Godwyn felt Mother's overprotectiveness over him. It embarrassed him, but he never complained, not wanting to seem like an ungrateful spoiled brat.
A snake came towards him, its eyes curious of his presence. Godwyn looked back at it, not making direct eye contact so as not to appear threatening. Gentle, his fingers reached out to it, who was startled, flinching a little and then coming back to him, touching its forked tongue to his hand to recognize what it was. He laughed, catching Messmer's attention.
His gaze came toward him, serious and intense, Godwyn’s smile instantly fading. But Messmer said nothing, just looked at him, seeing what he would do next as the snake approached. Want to see if I’m afraid, Godwyn realized. Just so thou canst tease me.
To prove him wrong, Godwyn touched the snake with his fingers, smiling again when he noticed its permissiveness. His fingers slid over its scales, feeling the different texture they had. And how they shone in the sun, red as his brother’s hair. The snake arched against his fingers, feeling his caress, coiling against his arm. It was a strong grip, which made him a little tense, but he didn't back down for a moment, still feeling Messmer's gaze analyzing him in silence.
“I think it doth like me,” unlike thee.
“The snake just wanteth to get warm,” he replied dismissively. “Don’t fool thyself.”
But Godwyn did not accept that answer. And all afternoon Messmer let him distract himself with his snakes with that excuse.
≾ ≿
But that little moment on the bank of that river was left behind. Not long after, Melina passed away under strange circumstances.
Godwyn woke to his Mother's cry and, listening behind the bedroom door, heard what he never thought he would ever hear: that he had lost a sister. At that moment, there was a strange hole in his core, as if he couldn't believe those words and therefore couldn't even cry.
Opening the door slowly, Godwyn saw Mother in father's arms and Messmer standing next to them, staring at the floor. That was when he knew it was true. And tears came to his face. He tried to leave the room, go after Mother, look for his father's lap, but Messmer slammed the door to his room shut, leaving him alone inside.
That's when he realized. He wasn't part of that pair. His pain didn't fit there. Even though Melina was also his sister, somehow she was more Messmer’s sister than his. And that pain was nothing compared to the pain of his brother without his twin, without his other half. Godwyn did not hate him for it. But he realized that he was left to be alone.
And, alone as he came into the world, he cried over his sister's death until his head ached and sleep forced him to forget the pain in his heart.
≾ ≿
At her funeral, the rain washed all of Leyndell. A private and simple ceremony, just for the family. Melina was returned to the foot of Erdtree, where she had been born together with the twin she left behind.
Godwyn lit a farewell candle for her, feeling his eyes burn with the tears that would never stop. He thought he would never be able to stop crying after her death. And the hole inside him only grew bigger. He was even more alone without Melina.
It was strange to think of a world without her, actually. His young mind couldn't process the absence of that person. Part of him still hoped that she would open the door, hold out her hand to him, and they could walk to the river together. He found himself staring at the door, hoping that Melina would appear and that this was all just a mistake.
Through the rain, he found Messmer staring at the opposite side of the Erdtree, refusing to say goodbye to the twin he had lost. He didn't cry, didn't speak, just stared at the horizon with his false eye. His face was indecipherable, a great nothingness, empty of emotions. But the rain cried for him, pouring into his hair, soaking his clothes, irritating his snakes. Godwyn looked at him, unable to avoid feeling his pain, even if Messmer didn't show it.
He walked out into the rain, not caring about getting wet, heading towards his brother. He didn't know why, just felt he had to. Messmer didn't seem to notice his approach, still staring at the cloudy horizon. Godwyn admired him, he was starting to catch up to Messmer in height, but was still quite shorter. The gaze followed his, staring at the dark sky with the rain clouds. Then he looked down at his hand. There lay his only emotion. The fist was clenched and trembling, clenched so tightly that the knuckles were white. Without thinking, in an act of pure innocence, Godwyn took his hand.
“I’ll never understand what it’s like to have a twin, but—”
Messmer pulled his hand away with disdain. “Then don’t try to.”
He turned his back on Godwyn, leaving him alone. Reminding him once again that he didn't belong in that vacant place left by Melina. And after that day, any trace of relationship between the two disappeared. Gone with the dead sister.
Messmer was just his older brother, who never had time for him, who had no reason to care about him. Godwyn was just the youngest, spoiled by his mother and adored by his father, with a future full of potential ahead of him. And Messmer had no intention of partaking in that future.
≾ ≿
For a long time, nothing changed. But time passed anyway. And as they walked with one less, two more would appear soon after. Months after the loss of Melina, Mother revealed in her arms two small bundles. His newest siblings. And twins — for Godwyn’s envy.
And despite their differences from Godwyn, they were similar to each other, sharing the same horns and omen features. Mohg had darker skin and wings that grew from his small, writhing body. Morgott had gray fur and a jointed tail. And they were always together, sleeping in the same crib, sharing the same blankets, breathing in sync. Godwyn liked to watch them sleep on their father's lap, so small in Godfrey's arms. Every now and then he would let him hold them, but Godwyn was always afraid. They were too young, too fragile. He wasn't used to being the older brother. In fact, he believed that he would always be the youngest son. And that he could take advantage of that by being born alone.
It was when that little pain of his loneliness began to hurt again. He looked at the two brothers sleeping together, their fingers intertwined like their umbilical cords, and wondered what it would be like to not exist alone. What it would be like to come into the world knowing his other half. To share not only a womb, but also a part of the soul. His soul resided alone within his being, wandering without ever belonging to anything, to anyone, but himself. And he was tired of feeling alone.
He found himself going after Messmer, who never had anything to do with the younger twins. In fact, he was almost never home after what happened to Melina. He would leave early in the morning and not return until dawn. He rarely ate dinner with them, and when he did, he made sure to sit far away from Godwyn. And Godwyn knew he wasn't welcome. Not even when Melina was alive, after all, she was the bridge between them and now there was nothing left. Still, he tried. He had to try, because Messmer was alone too. Because his soul was also wandering without its other half. Absence was the only thing that united them both.
Perhaps, Godwyn thought in his genuine innocence and deep loneliness, they could become each other’s half. Despite their differences, they could pretend.
He had arrived home early, stuck in the library with his books and notes when Godwyn approached the door. Messmer merely glanced up at him, immediately ignoring his presence again. But he did not leave as usual, he remained at the door, looking at Messmer, who snorted in irritation.
“What dost thou want, Godwyn?” he asked harshly, writing something down on some paper. “Stop staring at me, just say what thou needest.”
Godwyn swallowed hard, beginning to regret his need for him.
“I—I thought…” he stammered, which made him even more tense, feeling Messmer’s gaze return to his face. Trying to know if I’m scared. He needed courage to ask for his company, just as he was brave with his snakes. “I thought we could go to the river together, it’s still daylight and the sun—”
“And do what?” he asked, but before Godwyn could explain, he answered his own question. “Listen thou speakest about things I have no desire to hear while I waste my time doing nothing?”
His lips trembled with anger and sadness.
“Thou couldst have just said no.”
“No,” he said then. “Satisfied? Now go away.”
And he did. His little young heart breaking with every step, wrapped in that terrible loneliness. He locked himself in his chambers until dinner time, wishing that Messmer would have gone when he came out to eat. But he was terribly mistaken.
Across the table, drumming his fingers against the table as the maids served dinner, Messmer didn’t even look at him. And Godwyn could feel the shame burning on his face. Ashamed of having begged him for company and having been so rudely rejected. Without a choice, Godwyn sat at the table with his parents, who were quick to notice his anguish expression.
“Art thou alright, my dear?” Marika asked, touching his hair gently. “Did something happen?”
He looked at Messmer, who didn't even seem to be paying attention to the conversation. It was as if he was purposely ignoring him. As if he hated Godwyn for being the one who survived instead of Melina.
The truth hit him right in the chest at that moment. He opened and closed his mouth, Mother frowning at his teary eyes.
“What’s happening, Godwyn?”
“Why don’t I have a twin?”
Godwyn didn't really know why he asked that. And there was no answer to that question. So absurd was it that it ended up catching the attention of Messmer and Godfrey, who stared at him in disbelief at what they heard. Marika choked, not knowing what to say to him, looking at her husband, who also had no idea what that meant.
“Dear, I don’t… I don’t think there’s an answer to that,” Marika replied, bringing her hand to his, holding it tenderly. “It’s just… the way things are, I’m afraid.”
Godwyn stood up suddenly, angry at this. Sadness mixed with anger. At being rejected. At being alone.
“I hate the way things are,” he looked at Messmer, who was staring back at him. “It should have been me who died, not Melina. Then thou wouldst have someone to care about.”
The last thing he saw was Messmer looking away.
≾ ≿
Godwyn locked himself in his chambers, feeling ashamed of what he had said. He had always tried not to seem like a spoiled and ungrateful boy, but he could not control the emptiness that was growing inside him. He wanted to fight, he wanted to cry, he wanted... anything. He just didn't want to be alone in that family that was only growing, but that he didn't seem to belong.
His father opened the door, tapping his fingers against the wood to announce his entrance. Godwyn was sitting on the floor, propped up against the bed, staring at the large picture on the wall of him as a baby in his Mother's arms. The only portrait of Mother with an only child. Was this his destiny, to be born alone and die alone?
“Why didst thou say such a terrible thing?” Godfrey asked bluntly, walking in. “Thou hast left thy Mother desperate.”
“Forgive me,” he lowered his head, biting his lip in shame at his role.
“What is happening to thee?”
Godwyn shrugged. How could he explain it without sounding the most frivolous and childish? He was still young, he had a right to feel abandoned, replaced, and rejected. But it sounded ungrateful. Especially since he was his mother's golden boy, the son she had dreamed of so much. Godfrey's firstborn, always so full of expectations for him.
“I guess… I’m just feeling lonely.”
“And it’s all about Messmer, I guess. Again.” He sighed. “I thought now thou’rt grown up this… need would stop, Godwyn.”
“I think he hateth being my brother,” admitting that hurt more than he expected. “I think he only tolerated me because of Melina, because she liked me. And now without her…” His lips trembled. “I miss her. I didn’t feel alone with her.”
Godfrey took a deep breath, kneeling before Godwyn.
“It’s not what thinkest thou, Godwyn.”
“Then what is it?”
“Thou art merely only younger than him, the differences between ye will dissipate as thou growest older. And until then, thou wilt have Mohg and Morgott with thee as well,” his tone was grave, as if he was disciplining him. “Thou hast no reason to feel alone, thou’rt being unfair. Especially to Messmer. Thou’rt not the only one who mourneth Melina.”
≾ ≿
But the pain remained. Even though it was unfair, even though it wasn't right to feel it, it remained there throughout all the other days, never ceasing to exist. And, thinking of Melina, Godwyn found himself in front of her old chamber, which Mother had not yet had the courage to dismantle.
He turned the doorknob and stepped into a forgotten period of time. Everything was dark, swallowed by shadows. He thought about lighting a candle, hoping to find her lying there, with her youthful smile and her sweet gaze. But all that remained were the paintings and a chest with her things. And it was open.
Kneeling on the dusty carpet, Godwyn lifted the lid of the chest, revealing his dead sister’s stored belongings. They still smelled like her, despite the strong scent of dust. He smiled, tugging at the fabric of her dresses, finding there the dark cape she always wore to go to their favorite place. Back then, the piece had been too big, but now perhaps he had grown enough to use it.
Wrapping the cloak around his shoulders, Godwyn walked over to the mirror, covered with a white cloth and, pulling it back, stared at his reflection. The cloak fit him well now, reaching down to his ankles. He smiled, letting his blond hair down and tucking it inside the wide, black hood. Fiddling with the cape, Godwyn spun on his heel, watching the fabric dance around him and finding Messmer in the doorway, staring at him in disbelief.
“What art thou doing here?”
Godwyn stopped his spinning, caught off guard and gasping at the sudden presence that entered the room with violent steps towards him. He tried to pull away from Messmer, but he grabbed him by the cloak.
“What dost thou think art doing with her things?”
“I just—”
“Take it off,” Messmer growled as his snakes hissed at Godwyn. He was so angry that it was projected onto them. “I said take it off now!”
He grabbed the fabric of the cape, giving it a violent tug that threw Godwyn off balance, who struggled against him.
“Stop it, thou’rt hurting me!”
But Messmer didn't listen, and continued to try to tear off the cloak from Godwyn, who pushed his hands away, irritated by his insistence. Until the fabric tore, splitting the cape into two separate pieces. Godwyn gasped, trying to hold the shredded cloth, feeling Messmer's anger burning in his direction.
“Look what didst thou…”
“It was thy fault.”
He grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling Godwyn hard.
“What wert thou doing with her clothes?” He growled against his face, and Godwyn pushed him away, freeing himself from the grip. “Who let thou takest that?”
“I was just missing her.”
“Thou hast no right to go through her things, she was—”
“She was my sister too!” Godwyn snapped, interrupting Messmer. “I am thy brother too.”
He hesitated, frowning at Godwyn. His face twisted in disdain.
“Was that the reason behind thy pathetic scene at dinner, then.” Messmer leaned closer to him. “Acting as a spoiled brat just because thou’rt jealous of our dead sister.”
“I’m not jealous,” Godwyn felt offended by that insinuation. “I just said what thou thinkest but dost not have the courage to admit. I also wish it was me, not her. It would be easier for everyone that way.”
“Thou’rt being pathetic again.”
“I know,” he replied honestly. “Just as I know I can’t compete with a dead sister. No one is as loved as someone dead.”
“What art thou… insinuating?”
“I just thought that… since she was dead, I could be thy—”
The slap on his face silenced him with violence. Godwyn brought the hand to his cheek, unsure of how to react. His skin stung, burned. Messmer had hit him hard, but it wasn't just his skin that hurt. He looked at Messmer, who also didn't seem to believe what he had done. They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.
Tears welled up in his eyes, but he refused to cry in front of Messmer. Pushing him out of his way, Godwyn ran.
≾ ≿
And the whole day passed without a sign of Godwyn. Evening came and took its leave, and still he had not returned. At night, the prince's absence was noticed. And Marika became desperate, sending the entire city searching for the boy. But he was not within those walls.
Sitting on the large rock, Godwyn watched the moon's reflection flicker in the river's current. The wind blew, ruffling his hair, blowing the tears from his face away. And they kept going down, without stopping. His head ached and his eyes felt heavy. He was tired of crying, but he couldn't stop.
Bringing his hand to his cheek, he felt the warm, sensitive skin where a bruise was forming. A reminder he must never forget. Of how pathetic he was. Of how ungrateful he seemed. Of how alone he was.
Forgive me, he thought of Melina, feeling guilty. I didn't mean to compete with thee, I just… He hugged his knees to his chest, being enveloped by his long blond hair. Please, forgive me.
“Thou shouldst go back home.”
Messmer’s voice surprised him from behind. And Godwyn had to press his lips together to control his tears. He had run away so that no one would reach him, but he ended up going to the only place Messmer would be able to find him.
“Mother is desperate,” he leaned closer. “She hath got the whole Capital after thee.”
“I’ll be back soon,” he replied, his mouth against the knees. “Tell her she doth not need to worry.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Messmer sat down beside him. Go away, leave me alone. Godwyn turned his face away, avoiding looking at him. Letting go of his knees, he folded his hands in his lap, squeezing his knuckles until they ached. Do not pretend thou carest, not now.
Messmer’s hand came to his face, pulling his chin against his will.
“Let me see,” he insisted, staring at the mark on his cheek. Godwyn pushed his hand off, turning to look away. “Godwyn…”
“I won’t tell her,” he replied. “Worry not.”
“Thou shouldst,” Messmer said. “I deserve it.”
He closed his eyes, feeling the hot tears on his cheeks. He said nothing, trying to ignore Messmer with his guilt. It was obvious he was just feeling guilty, but none of it sounded genuine. Which only made Godwyn angrier.
“Melina died because of me,” he confessed so suddenly that it startled Godwyn, turning to face him for the first time. “Because of my flames. When I tried to help her, it was too late.”
Godwyn realized that Mother had never told him how Melina had died. They had not been able to see her body, to say goodbye to her face one last time. All they had was a ceremony at the foot of the Erdtree. Something symbolic for someone who was no longer there.
“I never knew, I…”
“I didn’t want thee to know,” Messmer took a deep breath. “Thou hast always liked her and… me. I thought thou wouldst hate me for hurting her. Or fear me for…”
He looked at Messmer, blinking slowly in his direction, unsure of how to react.
“And decided to punish me for it?”
“It was a protective measure.”
“Make me believe thou didst hate me?” Godwyn shook his head, his lips trembling. “It’s not like thou hast treated me any different before, but… I just wanted a brother, I just… Thou hadst Melina. Mogh and Morgott will have each other. I’ve been alone this whole time. When thou didst lose her, all I wanted was for us not to be alone anymore.”
“Playing the dead sister wasn’t the solution to this, though.”
“I didn’t want that,” Godwyn lowered his gaze. “Forgive me if that’s what it seemed.”
“I spank thee and thou’rt the one who apologizeth to me.”
“Because I know thou wilt not.”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Messmer said. “I wasn’t avoiding thee just to hide the truth, I was also… afraid of hurting thee. And I ended up doing it anyway.”
A hand reached for his. The fingers brushed his before wrapping around them. It was an uncertain touch, nervous, awkward. Godwyn unclenched the fingers, taking his hand back. The first time they had done it. It was almost strange, if it didn't feel so good. His heart raced, and for a moment he was afraid to make any sudden movements and push Messmer away again.
“We should go back,” Messmer said, his hand still clasped in Godwyn’s. “Thou hast gotten them worried. Thou hast gotten me worried.”
“Let’s stay a little longer,” Godwyn urged. “As before. Please.”
They looked at each other, this time without any challenge. He allowed Godwyn to come closer, resting the head against his shoulder. Messmer stood still for a moment, then rested the face against his hair. Their hands remained clasped together, their fingers intertwined.
“Just a little longer.”