Legend: The Serpent And The Maiden
The story goes that there once was a chieftain's son in these lands, a boy that was both charming and cunning, strong his arms and his will. Many in the village liked him, and they were glad to know that he would one day lead them, but the boy himself thought different. The dour life of the villagers did not satisfy him, for he was young and wanted to see the world. So he often went out on his own, climbing the hills and striking out into the deepest forests. Never did he find the excitement he craved, the beasts roaming the lands too easily outwitted, the new vistas he found too much alike the things he already knew.
One day, though, he met a girl in the forest, and she was strange and exiting indeed. Vines grew in her hair, adorned with lushest green, her skin smooth and pristine as the fresh snow, and though she bore no clothes neither discomfort nor grime seemed known to her. He spoke to her, first hesitant, for even he knew caution before the things that are other, but soon with confidence. For three days and three nights they spoke, about themselves and their lives, about their fancies and their desires. When they finally parted ways again, it was not as strangers but as friends, and they would meet again and again. On the hidden glades they played with each other, on the side of the pond where she lived they told tales to each other. And as they spent their days together, from friendship grew love, and from love an oath. Never would they part, so they swore.
But the boy grew into a man as they won't to do, and with age came expectations. Less and less they could see each other as the young man's days were spent training at arms and being taught the wisdom of his elders. For all these years he had kept the girl a secret from his village, worrying that the dour people might fear his love, and so there was no reason he could give to his teachers for why he often missed his lessons. His father grew angry with him, seeing his heir waste his time instead of pursuing the greatness that so clearly was his due. So a plan was hatched to see him grounded, a reason for him to stay in the village instead of traipsing through forests and hills.
A fair maiden was chosen from a nearby village, her hand in marriage to the young man meant to seal an alliance. But for all her beauty, her charm and her wit, the young man felt only dread when seeing her for the first time. All her virtues meant nothing to him, for she was not the girl that waited for him in the forests. So when his father spoke that he would marry her, he felt dread, and when he was told that it was to be done by the morrow, the dread grew to despair. He pleaded and begged, saying that he would be terrible husband, for he loved her not, but his father was unmoved. Thus in his desperation, he offered him a bargain. One more day he asked from his father. One more day to spend as he please, then he would return home to marry the maiden and take his place in the village, never to leave it behind again. To this, his father agreed.
When he walked into the forest his heart grew lighter again, the shadows on his mind banished while he walked among the trees. And when he came upon the pond, the air filled by a whimsy song of the girl from the woods, he forgot about his worries. One more day he had and he would make good use of it. That night, he laid with her for the first time.
Though when the morning came, he knew what he had to do. He had given his word and thus he would have to leave his beloved, now and forever. She asked him to stay some more when he turned to leave, but he said nothing and the dread came back to him tenfold. With each step he took, his heart became heavier and with each step he took, her pleas became more desperate. When he had reached the edge of the glade, he pondered to turn around. To behold her one last time. But he knew that he could not do it. Were he to see her tears, he would not leave her. And so he walked away, not turning back, no matter her pleas.
That evening, he was wed to the woman who so many envied him for, yet he cared nothing about. He planted the crown of flowers upon her head, though he felt nothing as he did. There was drink and food aplenty, a bonfire and merriment, but he just sat on his stool and waited for it to be over, each song and each dance a dagger in his heart for how false they felt. He drank and drank, to forget and to numb, but he could not drown out the memory of her sobs. So when the songs stopped, he thought he was just drunk. When the people became quiet, he did not understand. Though when he looked up, he saw her face again. His beloved had come and the villagers parted in fright at her approach. Tears still streaked down her face, but not in sorrow. Her face was set in wrath.
"You swore an oath, but it was broken." She passed the bonfire, the flames high as two men, but the wind blew it out like mere embers. "You took my heart, but it was broken." In his stupor he looked around himself, but where there once were people all around, he now was alone on the table. Even his wife having forsaken his side, huddling behind his father in fear. "You took me, but I was broken." He tried to raise his voice, to shout a denial, but he could not. His breath had forsaken him, for try as he might, he could not deny her words.
"A serpent you are, no warmth in your heart, and your lips hiding poison." Her voice was chill as the winter and each word cutting like the cold. "May you take the shape befitting of you." And as these words were spoken, pain wracked the young man. His skin drew tight upon his flesh, his arms and legs seizing up. He heard the cries and shouts, but only knew the pain. His beloved was gone as sudden as she had come, and in her stead, the warriors of the village came. Spears did they thrust into his face and he knew not why, but they dug into his flesh all the same, adding to his torment. Torches they thrust into his eyes, blinding him though just for moments, just to do it again whenever he could see again.
And from pain grew panic and from panic wroth. And so he twisted and turned, blindly flailing at his attackers, biting and twisting to turn them away. How long it went, he did not know, but when the pain faded, he saw what he had done. The village lay broken, no house still standing. The villagers lay dead, their bodies crushed and torn, wounds of spears in their chests and the marks of poison on their cheeks. And among them all, he saw his beloved again. Above the broken body of his wife she stood, the crown of flowers held in her hands. And as he saw her, he saw that she was bloodied, just as the crown of flowers.
And so the young men wept, for he knew that it was him who had spilled that blood upon her, and turned in shame. He fled in blind anguish, pausing not to look back, and all the way to the sea he went. The sea was calm on that day, and when he approached it's edges, he saw his reflection upon the still waters. A serpent she had named him, for he had forsaken all those that loved him, and a serpent she had made him in truth. So he wept again, for all the things he had lost, and yet he felt shame for doing so. A beast he was, not now, but since long ago, and it was not a beast's due to cry. Thus he went into the sea, his tears mingling with the waters and hidden from view so that no man might see his sorrow, and striking in wrath at all those might see and pity him.
And there he is until this day.
AN: Argurios had some success, giving you a first glimpse of the local folklore. More on the circumstances of said success in the next chapter.
