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Serving the Serpent - 9

Briar owes Lord Isen her life. She works off her debt by serving in his castle. Dealing with the rapidly changing circumstances of her life, she’s not used to anyone paying her much attention. It’s hard when Isen seems set on interacting with her.

Cis female human with selective mutism x male naga (slow burn, co-workers to lovers, power imbalances, eventual smut). 4700 words. Content warnings for this chapter include discussion of Briar’s cult-like upbringing, sleep deprivation, and Briar experiencing significant anxiety. Divider from firefly-graphics.

Thank you for your patience everyone <3 It's been a month and a half, whoops. I present the only one bed trope. Enjoy.

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The phrase ‘when it rains, it pours’ is not always accurate in the Ophidian Lowlands. Usually, the sky hangs low and overcast, drizzling on and off throughout autumn. Perhaps the saying is a holdover from when the Pilgrims lived on the continent. Perhaps it was never meant to be used literally, and only ever used to refer to misfortunes of other kinds. Regardless of the phrase’s origins, it proves especially true the morning lord Isen is supposed to start his tour.

Briar finds him amidst a tangle of blankets, unresponsive. She’s not surprised. The serpent is cold blooded, and the temperature can’t be doing him any favours. Opening the curtains doesn’t do much to rouse him, and neither does stoking the fire.

Briar approaches the bed, staring down at the pale scales that peek out from the blankets, wondering if she should wake the lord. She’s never had to do so before, as he’s never had to be up quite so early.

She coughs softly, but Isen doesn’t respond. Neither does he move when she shakes the bed. She waits a moment before trying again. And then a third time. Her anxiety grows when she realises she’ll have to take more drastic measures.

She’s just doing her job. She won’t get in trouble. She won’t.

Isen lets out a hiss when she pulls the blankets from the bed. He curls up tighter and attempts to sink beneath his pillows. Briar starts removing them, one cushion at a time until Isen lies bare on the bed. Still, he does not wake.

Briar lets out a loud sigh – practically a groan with the way exasperation colours her voice. They have things to do and places to be, and they’re going to be late.

She flinches when Isen sits up, quite suddenly.

He squints at her, bleary, hair mussed. “D’you say somthin, Leg?”

She’s taken aback by his slurred speech. Enough so that she doesn’t even have room to worry at the question. Instead, she raises her brow. ‘Did you?’

He rubs his face. Lets out a groan.

And lays back down.

Briar watches him with widened eyes. She no longer has any compunctions about shaking him awake.

Isen is saved from Briar’s ire when Arol blows into the room, completely abluster.

“You do this every year Kovit!”

Briar jumps back as the lizard grabs Isen’s tail and pulls; heaving until Isen’s bottom half is hanging off the bed.

“The weather broke, I’ve been rearranging things since sunrise, we are already behind. And you’re not even out of bed!”

Isen lets out another groggy noise before sitting up. “Sss fine Arol. The tide doesn’t change ‘til midmorning.”

“The tide doesn’t- are you not listening? It’s been raining all night. We’re not taking the Ophidia, we have to go on foot!”

Isen takes a moment. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He sighs. Rubs his face again. “Okay, okay. What time is it?”

“Time to leave. The sun has been up for nearly an hour.”

“Okay. I’m moving.” He slides off the bed, moving sluggishly towards the wardrobe.

Arol turns tail and is about to leave when Briar taps him on the arm. She doesn’t want to deal with his mood, but would prefer that to being left in the dark.

“What?”

She stills at his tone. Stares him dead on, and waits for him to deflate a little.

To his credit, Arol seems to understand her expression. “You’re right, sorry. I’m just feeling quite frazzled.”

She shrugs, and waves off the statement. Then she shakes her head. ‘What is happening?’

Arol eyes her hands with a wince. “I’m sorry, I haven’t learnt Sign yet. Isen, can you translate?”

Isen leans out from his wardrobe as Briar repeats herself. “She’s asking what happened.”

“Of course, you’re new around here.” Arol’s posture loosens. “Most of the time we travel the lowlands via barge. This trip would only take a day or two if we could do that. But it stormed all last night, and now the river isn’t safe to sail.”

Briar nods her understanding. She tries signing something simple to him. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ (Why, you, bad)

He gets the gist of it. “It will take a whole day to travel to the Sisters on foot. Even if we can sail tomorrow, that’s a whole day we’re adding to our itinerary. I’ve had organise additional supplies, reschedule our appointments... It’s not a big problem. I’m just feeling foul. Sorry for yelling, you shouldn’t have to witness that.”

Briar waves him off again. ‘It’s fine.’

He nods. “Thanks, Legs. I’ll meet you both downstairs. Breakfast will be on the trail.”

Briar’s nose crinkles. It seems Isen’s nickname is sticking.

Arol is gone by the time Isen emerges from his wardrobe, dressed and looking marginally more awake. He lets out another yawn, before giving Briar an almost contemplative frown.

She raises her brow, accompanying him as he follows after his representative. ‘What?’

“I think I dreamt that you said something to me, right before I woke, but I can’t remember what.”

Briar immediately knows what he’s talking about. He had woken right after she’d groaned at him. She can’t help but stare at her feet as they walk, an unsourced feeling of anxiety curling in her gut. The idea of vocalising-

She doesn’t even want to think about it. Every time it had come up since she was a child, she’d been met with nothing but distaste. Exasperation. Blame. Even the kindest of the pilgrims had alienated her. Made her feel like she was deficit of something. She doesn’t want to hear it from Isen too.

It’s irrational. She knows he wouldn’t hurt her intentionally. Wouldn’t pressure her to speak if she made it clear that she didn’t want to. But everyone who’d ever found out that she could speak – or at least that she should be able to, that her vocal cords were not, in fact, damaged, did nothing but hurt her. Intentional or not. Even Stella, from time to time. It was exhausting.

She realises that Isen is silent. He’d been awaiting her reaction to his confession. Had possibly taken her silence the wrong way.

She can’t say why she does it. But the exhaustion is back, and part of her wants to confide in somebody. To share, and lighten the burden, just a little. To say ‘I am tired, and I hate this’. And she doesn’t think Isen will make a big deal out of it.

So she does it again.

She sighs, letting out an unpleasant, almost wheezing groan while she does, replicating the noise that had woken her boss.

Isen whips his head in her direction. He looks bewildered. Amused. “Is that what woke me up? I didn’t dream it?”

Briar shrugs, looking back at her feet again as they descend the stairs.

He’s silent for a moment, and she dreads the questions that might come.

But he only huffs. “I must have really annoyed you. Sorry Legs.”

She looks up, surprised.

“It’s the temperature. I wish I could tell you I’d be better, but it’s only going to get worse.” He runs a hand through his hair. Adds offhandedly, “I’d probably sleep through the whole of winter if it weren’t for my- well-” he looks embarrassed. “I guess you’ll see.”

No longer wracked with tension, Briar levels Isen with a mystified stare.

He waves her off. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry for making your job harder this morning.”

---

Briar does not enjoy travelling.

The path near Riversreach is manageable. It’s supplemented with wooden planks laid over the worst of the mud, keeping the muck from swallowing the ground. But by midmorning they’re trudging through the sludge– all of Briar’s concentration going towards sidestepping puddles and navigating mired pits that menace her boots with their depth.

She’d been aware that there are no major roads through the Lowlands, but seeing really is believing. If she were here alone, she’d become quickly lost amidst the wetlands. Now and then she spots markings on the trees – bits of rope and ribbon tied to the branches to make the way more visible. But most of her focus is on her feet as she scrabbles to keep hold of her luggage.

Pack animals wouldn’t be able to traverse the lowlands with any effectiveness, so everyone carries their own things. Even Isen drapes a bag over one shoulder, his partison over the other. He looks particularly miserable.

There are places where he can dodge the worst of the mud, but most of the journey he has no choice but to slosh through it. Briar understands now, why he’d elected to forgo a sarong today. Anything on his lower half would be spattered and ruined by the mud. Still, he wears a coat. It surprises Briar, who’d never seen him cover his chest. He really must handle the cold poorly.

Shivering in the drizzle, she can’t help but sympathise with him.

By the time they arrive at their first stop, Briar is regretting her choice to join Isen on this trip. She knows she should take in the sights; examine the first settlement of the Lowlands with keen interest. But her skin is splotchy from insect bites, her feet are wet and blistered, and her hair is frizzing something fierce in front of her eyes.

Arol takes one look at her and snorts. “You look as miserable as our lord.”

She acknowledges him with a grimace.

The sun is setting when they make their way into the raised and stilted village. It’d be a relief to climb out of the mud if it hadn’t followed her, clinging to her legs with what feels like malicious intent.

A stocky lizard greets them, chest bare despite the rapidly cooling air. He’s an older male, his colours faded somewhat, and scars dotting his hands and arms. “Welcome to the Lower Sister, lord Isen. I hope the road didn’t give you too much trouble?”

Isen doesn’t bother with pleasantries. Or even smiling.

The lizard chuckles. “The spare room has been prepared for you, sir. The boathouse has also been cleared for your use.”

Isen inclines his head to the lizard. “Thanks, Varan. Arol will handle things for a bit.”

Briar isn’t quite sure what to do when Isen wanders off, trailing around the scaffolded path; the stilts barely wobbling under his bulk and weight. Arol seems to have the luggage under control, and is chatting familiarly with the greeter.

Suddenly worried she’d be left behind in the skeletal village of planks and ladders, Briar follows after Isen, towards a lowset building.

She stops at the door he’d disappeared through, and gives it a tentative knock.

No response.

She tries again.

After a moment there’s a muffled groan. “Yes?”

Briar cracks the door open, suddenly apprehensive about bothering the lord. She wishes she knew the protocol for such situations.

The first thing she sees is Isen’s pack, discarded nearby. Then his jacket, in a heap on the floor.

Before she understands the implications of the shed layers, her eyes come to rest on his back.

It takes her a moment to work out what she’s seeing. That the building is open on one end, to accommodate the river. That Isen is in the water, leaning against a pier of some sort.

Then her eyes widen, and she becomes painfully aware of her intrusion. She might be used to seeing Isen’s top bare, but knowing that he’s in the process of bathing has the sight hitting differently.

She lets out a humiliating squeak of a noise, before turning hastily away. It is, however, too late to retreat.

Isen sounds tired, but not mad. “Did you need something?”

Briar closes her eyes. She can feel her whole face flush with embarrassment. ‘No. Sorry. I was just following you.’

“Right.” He’s still tired. But she can hear the amusement in his tone. “My apologies, I should have let you know where I was going."

‘It’s okay. I’ll wait outside.’

“You can stay, if you wanted. I’m sure you’d like to wash the mud off too.”

The suggestion winds her. She fumbles with a response, blinking at her feet several times before shaking her head. ‘I’ll wait until you’re done.’

She shuts the door firmly behind her, even as Isen’s wry laughter follows her outside.

---

None of the villages in the Ophidian Lowlands are large enough to need an inn. There's simply not enough travel to the region to warrant accommodation. The closest thing the Lower Twin has is a spare room in the Elder’s house.

It’s a stark place, furnished with a single bed and wardrobe, and dimly lit by the light of the doorway. Varan, The Lower Sister’s leader, had freshened the room up with clean bedsheets and some dried flowers in a vase.

Briar eyes the single bed, warily.

‘Where is Arol staying?’

“With a friend. They don’t have enough room for,” Isen gestures to his tail, “me, though. So, I stay with Varan.”

‘And where am I staying?’

“Here. The bed is large enough for two, if you wanted to share.” Isen frowns. “Next time we’ll bring you a hammock. Most Lowlanders use them. Sleeping off the ground keeps the water out.”

Briar’s not sure what her face is doing, but Isen takes one look at her, and backtracks. “We could also track down Arol. See if his friend has room for another. If not, I imagine somebody has a spare hammock somewhere...”

Briar’s stomach knots with anxiety. Torn between imposing on a stranger and a lizard she barely knows, or potentially sharing a bed with Isen. The Serpent; reviled by the Pilgrims. And more pertinently, an unwed male. She really wishes she’d stayed at Riversreach.

She bites her lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, and pulls herself together. ‘No. I don’t want to stay with a stranger.’ She steps into the bedroom. Gives the bed a wide berth as she lowers herself to the ground. ‘I’ll sleep on the floor.’

Isen frowns. “It’ll be uncomfortable.”

She shrugs. ‘I’ve slept on the floor my whole life. I will be fine.’ She’s not entirely honest. Technically she’s slept in a ditch lined with hay and fur. It’s moderately better than sleeping on a hard surface.

“Seriously, Legs. We’re close to the water. It will be much colder in the small hours. There’s no shame in sharing. If you’re worried about modesty, I can keep my hands to myself.”

He’s not wrong about the cold. Just sitting on the floor gives her an idea of how uncomfortable the night will be. Perhaps she shouldn’t brush him off so quickly. Not that she’s in a hurry to share with him. But it might be worth considering the option more carefully. Looking past the scandal of the notion.

She’s never slept with a man before. Never even slept close to one. In New Haven it had been forbidden for her to be even near a man who wasn’t family. Women had been watched closely, to ensure they weren’t cavorting with strangers, or breaking the rules of modesty.

The people in Riversreach are freer with their touch. Briar didn’t know what to make of it at first. Had thought of the other servants as rude or indecent before realising that the Ophidians lived by entirely different rules. Seeing everyone else share light touches – bumped shoulders, brushed arms – is one of the main reasons she’s hadn’t been quite so put off when Isen had displayed these tendencies.

But sharing a bed?

She’s mortified that Isen would even suggest such a thing. Bed sharing is for family. For spouses. Not whatever she and Isen were. Servant and lord. Employer and employee.

She shakes her head, firm, and begins to make herself comfortable. Her coat and boots are set out to dry and she uses her pack as a pillow. It’s only got clothes in it, so it works well enough.

Isen lets out an exaggerated sigh. He sets his own clothes out to dry before closing the door and engulfing the room in darkness. “The offer remains if you change your mind.”

She scoffs at the suggestion, but without the light there’s no obligation to sign a reply.

Still, listening to Isen climb into bed fills her with envy. She’d manage well enough, but that doesn’t stop her from wishing for a blanket. Wishing she had the nerve to even ask for one. And though she staunchly tries to ignore the thought, it keeps resurfacing throughout the night. She keeps wondering how warm it would be, sharing the bed with Isen. And how long she could wait until he withdrew his offer to share.

---

Wisps of conversation drift past Briar, barely registering, as she glares down at her drink. Her tongue wants to recoil out of her mouth, but she still sips at it, knowing that the coffee has something of an energising effect on people.

Isen had been right, of course. Not that she’d admit it. She’d slept fitfully last night, waking every hour or so. Her back had ached upon rising. Some movement helps her body loosen, but does nothing to banish the bags under her eyes, or the cloudiness to her thoughts.

The coffee doesn’t help. It just makes her jumpier. More likely to flinch when somebody bumps into her, and sets her heart pounding at the slightest of exertions. She concentrates so hard on staying present and focused that she barely has any awareness to spare towards Isen and their companions.

Still, she takes in her surroundings with muted interest. Between the light of the sun and the guided tour Varan gives them, she’s able to paint a clearer picture of life in the Sisters.

Built above the silt and reeds, the Lower Sister is a fishing village. They have the most established dock in the Lowlands, and receive what little trade makes it to the region. Most interestingly to Briar, the wooden buildings aren’t permanent; able to be taken apart and carried to higher ground in the case of severe flooding. In this part of the marsh, wood is scarce, and is treated as such.

They cross the river at midday. The currents have settled enough for Varan to pole them over on a flat raft. Then they hike.

The Upper Sister is located atop the steep cliff that cradles the far side of the Ophidia. A trail has been hewn into the cliff face, but the climb is still arduous. Briar is panting by the time they reach the top. Then her breath is stolen entirely by the view.

She’d been too focused on the climb to note the height they’d gained, but with the trail finally below her, she’s able to take in her surroundings.

The entirety of the sister village stretches beneath them. She’s struck by just how small the settlement really is. The marsh extends behind it, gradually transitioning into a thicker swamp, and eventually climbing up into the highlands, emerging as the forest.

Varan catches her staring, and gives her a smile. “It’s really something, isn’t it?”

She nods.

Briar tries not to let her mind wander as much during their tour of the Upper Sister. Many of the buildings are sturdy and permanent, made from brick, with some even incorporating the surrounding outcrops of stone. The Upper is reserved for buildings that can’t be dismantled or easily relocated. There are workshops of several kinds – a forge, a kiln – and even a handful of shop fronts.

Isen listens politely as Varan regales him with the finer details, pausing occasionally to ask a question. The focus of the tour is mostly on the plans in place during the thaw, and discussion of storage, rations, and evacuation procedures.

Briar is happy for him to take the lead in conversation. Thankfully he doesn’t seem intent on forcing her interactions. Appears to read her detached mood. At least until lunch time.

They’re treated to some kind of crayfish. The dish could rival the meals served at Riversreach – seasoned masterfully, and cooked to perfection. She and Isen have been served greenery with their food, while Arol and Varan eat only meat. Briar takes her time, picking carefully at the crustacean.

Isen makes several comments in her direction, and she doesn’t process that he’s even speaking to her until he leans into view and signs her name.

She blinks. ‘Yes?’

‘Are you okay?’

She’d been staring into space after finishing her food. It hadn’t taken long – she'd been ravenous after the day’s exercise.

She forces a smile. ‘Fine. Why?’

Isen frowns. ‘You haven’t been talking. Listening.’

She flushes, caught out. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt.’

Isen stares her down, brows raised in exasperation.

She looks away, chastened. ‘I’m a little tired. Yesterday was a long hike.’ (Walk. Travel)

“Uhuh,” he says, deadpan, and bringing to Briar’s attention that the prior conversation had been entirely silent.

Arol and Varan tactfully ignore the interaction.

It’s close to sunset when they finish in the Upper Sister. Briar is feeling spent and overwhelmed by the time they make it down the cliff. Her muscles are jellied from exertion, and her mind is foggy from fatigue. So tired, she is, that when stepping down from the pier to the barge, she doesn’t brace for the wobble of the raft.

Briar yelps as she loses her footing, certain she’s about to fall face first onto the wood, or worse – into the water.

Someone grips her upper arm. Pulls her back firmly enough to steady her.

“I’ve got you.”

Briar takes a second to recompose herself. Still, she’s quite shaken when she looks up at Isen.

He’s standing far too close – practically flush with Briar’s back – but for once she doesn’t care.

‘Thank you,’ her fingers tremble as she signs.

The corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “You’re welcome.”

She doesn’t speak much on the way back. Not that she’d spoken, or rather, communicated, much before. But now the weight of embarrassment stiffens her body. She can’t lie about her state anymore, not when there’d been so blatant a display of her ineptitude.

Her brooding must be noticeable, because Isen sighs over dinner. Reaches out to ruffle her hair.

The action snaps her out of her miserable stupor.

“Don’t fret so much. Missing your landing is hardly the worst thing to happen on that barge.”

Arol snorts from his side of the table. “Pryden has fallen off at least twice.”

Briar gapes at Arol. Struck with the image of graceful, arrogant Pryden, with his dagger sharp quips and lingering eyes. Falling off a barge.

“You boys never could handle your drink,” Varan murmurs with a smile.

Isen’s face crinkles. “We can handle them fine. Just not that swill you brew down here.”

Arol stays late, reminiscing with Varan about some of their drunken escapades from older days. But when the sun sets and the fire burns low, Isen stretches and gives Briar a meaningful look.

“I think it’s time we turn in.”

Somehow Briar had been too tired to remember the bed situation. It comes back to her now.

They both say their goodnights before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind them. Then there’s silence.

Briar stares at the ground, trying to hide her nerves. She flinches when Isen’s arm shoots out, barring her path.

“You’re sleeping in the bed tonight.”

She recoils. ‘What? But I’m-’

“You are not fine. You look dreadful. You’re taking the bed, and that’s an order.”

Panic begins to fill Briar at his commanding tone. To her humiliation, her eyes start to blur with tears. She hasn’t cried in months- and she has no intention of crying now. She turns her face away. Dashes the moisture. Holds herself stiff until the emotion passes.

Isen softens. “Legs. I’ll take the floor tonight. Okay? I’m not going to touch you without your permission. I won’t even look at you if you like. But I cannot have my aid stumbling around like the undead. You will sleep in the bed tonight.”

She doesn’t know what to say. How to refute him. The dim lighting gives an intimate air to their stare down, and it’s not long before Briar loses her nerve and drops her gaze.

‘Is this... allowed?’

He tilts his head. “Is what allowed?”

She gestures to the bed.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Briar has to think on that question. The situation feels so wrong to her. How does Isen not notice it? How does he remain so unaffected?

‘You’re more important than I.’

Isen blinks. He hadn’t expected an answer quite like that.

“I... suppose. In title, yes. But we’re both people. Why should lineage entitle one person to the bed and the other to the floor?”

Briar doesn’t know. She’d never thought to question these things before.

Isen seems to be processing her discomfort, considering it closely.

“The Pilgrims practice Conservatism, right?”

Briar blinks at the sudden turn in conversation. It’s a relief to focus on something other than the space between them, and the bed looming before her. But she hadn’t expected to be discussing religion.

‘Not quite. We migrated away from the mainland because the elders disagreed with several of its practices.’ (Migrated; travel, move. Practice; think, act, do.)

“Which ones?”

‘They believed Conservatism wasn’t modest enough. That the Patriarchs were too liberal. That changes within the church would lead to the loosening of values.’ She doesn’t care for the details, but can recite them, nonetheless.

Isen winces. He’s heard the rhetoric before. “Did you and Stella practice it?”

Briar nods. ‘It was called New Conservatism. And yes. Everyone did. Anyone who spoke out was...’ her hands slow and still. It takes her a moment to refocus. ‘Everyone did.’

There’s another silence. This one more thoughtful. Considering. Before Isen slithers a few inches closer. “I think that you are experiencing a bit of culture shock. It’s not unusual to those who move from home to live in foreign parts.”

Briar shakes her head, disbelieving. ‘These aren’t foreign parts.’

“No? Are you not experiencing a sudden language barrier? Surrounded by completely different styles of living?”

She shakes her head again, still in denial. She doesn’t like the way the conversation is turning. Doesn’t like how Isen is bringing it back to her. Personalising things again.

“New clothes, new job, different companions, different rules... I’m quite certain, Legs. But it’s okay.”

Briar sits heavily on the bed, taken off guard. ‘It’s not. It’s- I’m fine. There’s no problem. I can do this.’

He lowers himself before her. The naga equivalent of a crouch. “I know you can. I just want you to know that it’s okay to have doubts. To have questions. I went through something quite similar when I moved here.”

Her hands are pressed to her face. She peeks through her fingers.

Isen reads the question in her eyes and smiles. “It’s true. I was a mess. Completely embarrassed myself with my lack of knowledge. Can you imagine a lord who doesn’t know the number of settlements in his own lands? I had to hire Arol just to teach me about the area.” He leans back, offering another soft smile. “But that’s a story for another time.”

She senses his focus honing back on her. Braces herself for more scrutiny. More uncomfortable conversation. But he only sits at the foot of the bed.

“Rest. We have another big day tomorrow.”

They have another stare down, but her heart is no longer in it. Seated so close to him, she can’t stand to meet his gaze too long. Finally, she narrows her eyes at him, before staring pointedly at the ground.

He grins, raising his hands in surrender and slipping from the bed. “Of course.”

Only when he’s curled up at the foot of the bed, jacket draped insufficiently across his coils, does Briar relax. She slips her boots off, and lowers herself to the mattress. Gets comfortable beneath the blanket.

Her nose crinkles. The pillow smells like Isen.

“Goodnight,” Isen murmurs.

Briar hums a wordless reply, and falls swiftly into sleep.

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