Author's Note: This is a sequel to Chapter 36/WPW #91.
It wasn't the first time she went over just to look at him.
It wasn't the first time she looked down at his features and saw his father and not herself. That made it easier for her to hide how she felt when she interacted with him, when she towered over and looked down at him, when she made him beg at her heel and reminded him of his place.
At first.
Then he did little things like rush to Cinder's defense when Watts berated her. Or stood between Tyrian and the green-haired girl Cinder had partnered him with. It may have been rooted in pragmatism or self-preservation, but Salem couldn't help but let her mind wander and think of it as an act of gallantry.
It had been thousands of years since she last had children, and they never saw their tenth nameday. She didn't think this silver-haired boy had simply inherited some better nature from her -and he certainly hadn't received any from his father- but some part of her hoped the things that reminded her of her own humanity were incarnate in him too.
Watching him sleep had once been little more than a guilty pleasure. Now it was an act of torture as she continued to think on what might've been.
Before Watts and Tyrian left for Atlas, one of Salem's pets caught the end of a tense conversation between Mercury and his partner. He mentioned having unlocked a Semblance, only to have it stolen away: literally having a piece of his soul taken from him by the unworthy father who sired him.
Normally such thoughts would be inconsequential to her: the petty grievances that divided humanity that she could count herself well above. But because Salem had herself returned Mercury to that life, she couldn't disassociate herself so easily.
He was never meant to be. From both Salem's perspective and his father's. But now that he did exist, now that he lay before her…
On occasion, Salem would peer into the minds of her subordinates to test their loyalty. The focused rage of Hazel, the calculated ambition of Watts, the chaotic melange of raw emotion that was Tyrian, and the thirst for power of Cinder… all to clearly identify whom to watch and whom to mold.
She had never used her magic on anyone she did not consider worthy of being in her service. Before she recognized him, before she remembered a moment when she might've embraced weakness rather than shun it, she'd have never considered giving a moment of her time to Mercury Black.
Maybe it was an excuse to peer into his mind and snoop around.
He'd never know.
Salem drew carefully on the thin fibers of the tapestry of his mind. She wanted her presence to go undetected, like a passing shadow in omnipresent dark.
But Mercury's mind was a carefully constricted web. He was surrounded on all sides by mistrust, even from Cinder and Emerald -those nominally his closest allies- because he did not have anything that made him special. Even his formidable mastery of combat would be easily shunted aside in favor of a more powerful Semblance. And whatever skills he acquired wouldn't best more experienced foes like Hazel and Tyrian. He was out of his depth and very much aware of it.
Normally Salem would scoff at such weakness. But thinking on how much of it she inflicted upon him…
He was her child. Perhaps he had more to offer than just a Semblance. Perhaps he was capable of something much greater than that.
Some part of her knew this was foolish sentiment and she shouldn't dig any deeper; that she should let the boy sink or swim without her guiding hand.
No, that was what Ozpin allowed of those who pledged their loyalty. She would harshly reprimand failure, but failing to guide her allies properly may have led to her recent setbacks.
Allies. Was that what she wanted to craft him into?
It'd be easy to understand for him. It'd allow Salem to retain some separation from him, by casting him under her banner rather than standing at her side and seated at her table.
But first, a bit deeper. There was something important she wanted to know.
When Mercury and Emerald spoke, Mercury apologized to Emerald that Cinder wasn't the maternal figure Emerald had been seeking. He'd said so bluntly -even snidely- but never once had he struck her with anything but the truth.
Salem wondered: whom did Mercury call 'mother?'
She sunk her fingers deep into the dark webs of his mind. She wasn't as immaculate as she should've been in separating the strands: she just wanted to hear him say the word.
It had been years ago for him, speaking to other children who had such a luxury. He mocked them their weakness for having to cling to such a person, only to return to his meager home and long for isolation and silence… for it was preferable to the back of his father's hand.
He said the word many times. He never said it to anyone, never referred to any other person as such.
He had no mother, and while he tried to draw some strength from that absence, tried to let himself become greater from his pain shaping him… he could not pull power from the emptiness it left in him. He may have better resisted the pain his father doled out, but the hollowness left in his absence had no other thoughts to fill the void.
Not everyone knew a mother: the Grimm had seen to that, and the humans and Faunus slaughtering one another only made more orphans to go without. Salem paid those poor children no heed… but this one..
This one could have had a mother, had she not tried to cast him aside and purge any thought of him from her memory. If fate had not seen to bring them together again, she'd have spared no more thoughts for Marcus Black's son.
That was how she thought of him before. But now…
She hadn't felt like this since he last felt the skin of her daughter, running black nail over pale skin beside the hearth in her castle. She hadn't known what it was to be called 'mother' since then.
And if Mercury couldn't call anyone else mother…
Was it so wrong to give him one?
It'd complicate things, to show him such favor.
It'd give Cinder undue leverage over her, but Cinder was away from this keep and her hooks in Mercury were too old and worn to be much effect. Emerald might still have his ear, but she feared Salem more than Cinder ever had…
If she wanted it…
If she wanted to…
Salem drew her fingers from the darkness of his mind. For a long time she sat at his bedside, her hand over his forehead.
As it had thousands of years ago, a black nail ran over the skin of a pale forehead. A child woke from slumber and looked up at her.
It wasn't in Salem to be afraid. But here, there was no task more frightening than admitting who she was.
"Mercury," she began, trying to speak softly, to assuage the fear she knew would build in him at being caught so vulnerable… she tried using…
The tone wasn't rare to her. But using it sincerely, using it without the intent to manipulate and control…
She wanted him to know she meant it. She wanted him to hear sincerity in her voice.
She didn't command his attention as she normally would. She looked into his confused eyes and tried to implore him, to remind him of something other than the woman Cinder taught him to fear.
She wanted to try something different. Speaking the truth without reserve seemed a good place to start.
"There's… something we need to talk about."
