#siegwolf

Her memories of the time before she was selected as the Green Mermaid are faint, but she remembers the transformation in vivid detail, which means she remembers her first meeting with Wolf vividly. She remembers her first sight of him, descending into the magic circle with the glowing silver held in his hands. The tight mask of stoicism on his face that fractured, just slightly, when his gaze met hers. The wobbly brave smile she gave him, and the reflexive twitch of a smile he almost gave her in return. His hands—unpracticed, rough, but arduously gentle even then—as they wound the chains around her legs for the first time. The flare of magic reflected in his eyes as the transformation took hold, making her the Green Mermaid, chaining her for the rest of her life to the pool at the center of the village, their hope, their protector, their sacrifice.

Ever since, he has been her tall and gentle butler. Officially, his duty is to bring her meals, provide her materials to work on her formulas, and attend to the upkeep of the pool. He does so much more than that, though: sits beside her pool and talks with her, brings her toys and books and won’t tell her about the outside world but will tell her secret funny stories about the women of the village. He holds her after the monthly ceremony, when she has run dry of tears for the attendants of the Green Mermaid to collect but she’s still heaving with quiet, shivering sobs, and he frantically kisses her hair and tells her it will be alright and she did well and she’s so brave and the village will stay safe because of her efforts. He pulls her onto the edge of the pool once a week and with gentle, gentle hands he cleans the criss-cross silver chains that spiral up her emerald tail, using a cloth of the softest cotton to wipe the scales underneath.

He brings her dinner tonight—trout from the nearby river, always fish since she became the Green Mermaid, it’s the only thing she wants or can stomach—and sits by the edge of the pool as he always does. She chatters at him as she eats, telling him about the squirrel she’d spent the day watching build a nest in the crook of the ash tree, about Hilde stopping by, about the magic formulas she’d scribbled on, though without much success today. He is quiet as she eats, his eyebrows drawing further and further into a frown until she finally stops, setting down her plate and leaning up onto his knee.

“Wolf,” she says, “what’s wrong?” He startles, looking down at her, and brushes a hand over her hair. He visibly forces his brow to smooth out, though he doesn’t manage a smile.

“It’s the ceremony tomorrow,” he says. Sieglinde feels her face fall, a little, but she squeezes his thigh reassuringly.

“I know,” she says. She puts her brave smile on her face.

“I’ll be fine, Wolf, you know I will. I always am.”

"I—” He moves his hand over to cover hers, takes it, and squeezes so hard it hurts. “My Lady, I want nothing so much as I want to protect you.”

“Oh, Wolf.” She leans her full weight into his leg, squeezing his hand back. “You do protect me. I know you hate seeing me hurting, but the ceremony protects everyone in the village. I’m proud to have given up my legs for my sisters. And it’s really not so bad! It’s not like they’re torturing me.” Her eyes dart reflexively to the lines of thin, pale scars over her skin. A little blood and tears really wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like plenty of women didn’t have far worse times once a month. She presses her cheek against Wolf’s thigh. “Don’t be upset, Wolf. It hurts more when you’re sad.”

He goes stiff beneath her. Abruptly, she finds her face being tilted upwards by his hand on her chin. She gasps a little, at the surprise of it, and finds her face close enough to Wolf’s to feel the heat of his breath on her nose.

“Lady,” he says, “I can’t stand this any more. No, I won’t stand this anymore. This village—the Green Mermaid—all of it is a lie.”

“What?” she asks, blank with confusion.

“They’re just using you.” His voice is low and rushed, almost too soft to hear, too loud as it bounces and carries over the water. “Mermaid tears are a powerful source of magic, and you were the most magical child they’ve seen in decades. Your intuition and power are both unmatched. They wanted a way to capture it and keep it for themselves.”

Sieglinde reels back from him, tail thrashing in the water. “What are you saying?” she asks, voice cracking. “What do you mean?”

“This village—the pool—the story of the Green Mermaid—the myth about the Green Mermaid’s binding keeping the village safe—they’ve done it before, but it’s all a lie. It’s a way to hoard a child’s magic, to drain them of it and keep the child’s magic for themselves. There’s no protection. I can’t stand it anymore, Lady Sieglinde, I can’t let them keep you here as a prisoner.”

“But—” Something heavy and hot and nameless is roiling in Sieglinde’s stomach. Fear, disbelief, horror, betrayal, possibly all of them at once, too big and too painful to hold. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she hears herself say, distant and small. Wolf reaches for her. She lets him take her hand again.

“I know,” he says. “I know. But please, Lady, I— I care about you too much to let this go on. Will you trust me?”

She looks up into his eyes. The answer waits for her there, as easy and simple as every meal and day they’ve shared by her pool. She grips his hand and surges up until her lips meet his. He makes a noise of surprise, his lips parting in shock, and she opens her mouth in reply. They both almost fall, unbalanced by her tail and the water and his unpreparedness, but his hands catch her and pull her into his lap. She twines her arms around his neck. He makes a helpless sort of noise and pulls her closer to him in response as she kisses him harder. He tastes like pine needles and dirt, like the land she’s so long left behind. She pulls her mouth free, sitting on his lap, water streaming off her tail into the pond.

“Of course I trust you, Wolf. More than anyone.”

His eyes are bright and his lips are redder than she’s ever seen. Wordlessly, he reaches down, seizes the delicate chain in his hands, and breaks it.

The surge of magic is immense and searing. Sieglinde bites on her own hand to keep from screaming. She feels like she is unraveling, feels like something tight and constricting that had been there so long she had ceased to notice it bursts around her chest. She breathes in and oxygen feels golden and heady. She can see magic breaking and reforming and breaking and reforming in every molecule of air. She can hear every sound of the forest. A fire of pain splits her tail.

When she comes back to herself, she is gathered into Wolf’s arms, naked, with pale, thin legs she hardly remembers having. The chains are a dull heap on the ground. Wolf presses a kisses to her forehead.