#pain.....

Feeling at all, he means.

Arum does not remember the last time he truly felt anything quite so strongly. The fact that the only emotions he can manage to wrestle just at the moment are hate and fury and ice-sharp sorrow- that fact seems fairly small, next to the relief of realizing that he is still capable of them. He doesn't know how long he's been trapped here, but he had begun to think-

He had gone dull and blank with hopelessness.

If there is one thing, perhaps, that he could thank that wretched human for-

It is good, at least, to be reminded of his own defiance.

Perhaps he will never escape this place. Perhaps.

But that does not mean he will ever stop trying.

~

Damien's attention is faraway and gone, this morning. He came to the hut late last night, visibly exhausted, and Rilla only pulled him into bed and played with his hair until he wound down and into sleep.

He doesn't seem remotely better this morning, though. He keeps forgetting his food, staring absently at... nothing in particular, his eyes almost glassy.

A poetry mood, more than likely. Or, maybe, a bad dream dragging out of bed and messing with his morning. The first would be fine, if he didn't seem actively upset about it. The second, she doesn't particularly like the idea of.

When he sets his tea down without actually taking a sip for the fourth time that morning, Rilla tears off a chunk of her roll and pings it at the knight, grinning when it bounces off of his cheek.

When Damien flinches and looks towards her, though-

Shit. He looks about a breath from crying. Which- obviously wasn't the intent.

"Oh no," she says, and Damien's face scrunches in an embarrassed sort of discomfort as he tries to look away again. "I didn't hit you that hard, did I?" she tries, aiming for at least a little bit of lightness, but Damien's face doesn't even twitch towards a smile.

"Not at all," he says in a mutter, still not looking at her, and Rilla bites her lip for a long moment. She shifts, then, scooting closer on the cushions and reaching to touch his arm.

"Sorry," she leads with, and when he flicks his eyes towards her to circumvent any other apologies she cracks a wry sort of grin. "I thought you were just getting distracted by rhyming and assonance again. I didn't realize something was wrong."

"Nothing is-" he tries, and then again, "there isn't anything-"

She waits, watching his face twist as she moves her hand down from his forearm so she can slip her fingers between his own and squeeze.

He looks at their tangled hands for a moment, swallows, and then drops his eyes again. "I only... I have been... preoccupied, as of late."

Her smile tilts a little more earnest at that. "Yeah. I've noticed. Which is why I want to know what's bothering you. Because if it's something I can help with-"

"It isn't," he says, shaking his head sharply, and then he winces and gives an apologetic look. "Rather- I don't- I don't know if h- if it is something that demands help or... or if I simply need to... to toughen my own skin. I have always been too soft by far, and-"

"No you haven't."

Damien blinks, then laughs. Weakly and a little bitterly, but- it's still technically a laugh, she supposes. "I have. Of course I have. I needed train myself out of a thousand fears and frailties before I could even raise a bow properly for the first time, I have always been too soft-"

Rilla narrows her eyes, and then she reaches to take his chin in her other hand, tilting his face so she can press a kiss just at the corner of his mouth, stuttering him to silence for a moment. "You're exactly the right amount of soft for you, Damien. I'm glad that you've worked towards the things you wanted to be able to do, but there's nothing wrong with being gentle, or caring. I love how much you care, you know that, right?"

Damien flushes dark across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, but he still won't quite look at her as his mouth twists into a deeper frown.

"Damien..."

"Not everything deserves care or gentleness," he mutters, sharp.

Rilla recognizes the tone- it's one she privately thinks of as his Knight Voice. She frowns as well, then, tilting his face a little more and kissing his cheek again. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself, not me."

He stiffens, then, finally looking towards her, and his eyes flash with something like guilt.

"Did something happen? Did they put you in the dungeons yesterday or something?"

Another flash, grim humor this time. No, then?

"No, not as such," he murmurs, sitting back and gently pulling out of her arms. "No. I was... was still in the Trophy Room."

Rilla watches him for a long moment, then. "You really don't like it in there, huh?"

Damien chokes on a laugh. "No. Not particularly. But-" something crosses his expression then, and fuck if Rilla wouldn't kill for the ability to read thoughts, sometimes. "I shouldn't complain. Truly. Compared to... I shouldn't complain."

"I don't know," she says lightly. "You seem miserable, so complaining is the least you could do. Though- if you are miserable, why don't you just... I don't know, request a different assignment? In the Citadel," she adds quickly, before he can get any ideas about running off into the Wilds again before his injuries fully heal. "Guard the parapets or something less- draining. Dismal. Whatever."

Damien sits worryingly still for a long moment, his eyes distant again but flicking back and forth as if reading through something Rilla can't see. He works his jaw for a moment, then, and glances towards her for only a breath before he looks away again.

"Have you... have you ever seen the Trophy Room? Ever been inside of it, seen the- the trophies?"

Rilla blinks. "Well... no. My parents thought- no offense, but they thought it was gross. And then, y'know, I was Exiled, and then- I dunno, it never really appealed to me. Why?"

"Do you know what, precisely, is housed there?"

Rilla considers her options, but only for half a second. "Trophies?" Damien shoots her an unamused look and she gives one quick laugh before she schools herself. "Sorry. Too easy. I don't know, Damien. Monster heads and weird weapons and taxidermied beasts, I figure?"

Damien presses his lips together, looking almost ill for a second or two. "That is... some of it, yes. You've studied enough of these creatures, though, my flower, so I will ask..." he pauses, and swallows roughly. "Not all monsters die, when their heads are removed from their bodies, is this not true?"

Rilla's mind goes unhelpfully blank for a moment, and then she shakes her head. "N... no, not... some of them need to be killed in really particular ways or they just- hang on. No. Damien-"

"Some of the trophies, yes. I did not expect it to be quite so... so noisy, in there."

Rilla leans back. "Saints."

"And- and that isn't- that isn't even-"

"Damien," she says, more gently, but when she reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, Damien flinches and pulls back, moving fully to stand and pace instead.

"Some of the trophies are beastless heads, yes, still giving breathless howls when I am furthest from them, or whispering insults or barbs when I am barely within earshot. Some are- are seemingly haunted weapons, cursed heirlooms, some are trophies in the traditional sense, racks of horns or antlers, talons, but then- then-"

Rilla stands as well, tilting her head and watching Damien's twitchy movements with sharp concern.

His pacing slows, after a moment, his eyes gone dark and his mouth twisting into a scowl.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to tell me, Damien."

He laughs, then, bitter and toneless. "But you can feel it within me, my flower. Traitorous sympathies. May as well... out with them, and let the pieces fall where they may."

Traitorous sympathies? she thinks, raising an eyebrow, but she gestures anyway for him to continue.

"In the Trophy Room," he starts, his tone flat and serious and dark, "against the wall the farthest from the door, there is a stone plinth. Upon that plinth rests something that may, at first, be mistaken for a statue, gray as the granite beneath him. But he- it-" Damien falters, dropping his eyes and squeezing his hands into fists. "He is chained to the stone by his wrists and his ankles. A thick stone collar weighs his neck, and- and keeps him from even speaking. And he- this monster- he is the most jealously guarded trophy within the collection."

Rilla imagines-

She can't, actually. Damien's description is vivid and awful and Rilla should be able to picture it, but she can't. Maybe she doesn't want to.

"Why?" she says, after a long moment. It's the only question she can think of.

"Because keeping him tames an enormous swath of the Northern Wilds, reducing the foothold of the monsters immensely." Damien ducks his head, his scowl deepening. "Which should be more than enough reason to- to accept the state of things, as they are. And yet. And yet."

Rilla half-hears the second part of Damien's words, her brain spinning off in another direction.

"Wait. The Swamp Lord. You're talking about the Swamp Lord? I've heard rumors, but I didn't think it was an actual-" she blinks. "People make it sound like it's- it's some enchanted alligator they keep in the Queen's menagerie. You're telling me-"

Damien barks a pained-sounding laugh.

"They're just... keeping someone there. Chained up. Surrounded by corpses and half-corpses."

"Something, Rilla, not someone," Damien says, but-

Oh.

"You don't actually believe that," she says, her own voice coming out stunned to blankness. "Or you wouldn't even be telling me about it."

"He's a monster. Whatever they've done to him, whatever punishment or pain-"

"Bothers you," she interrupts. "You can't stand it. And you don't know what to do about it. So you're trying to argue yourself out of being upset about this whole situation by arguing with me about it."

Damien opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "I- that-" he presses his hand to his mouth for a moment, exhaling through his fingers. "I should not care. He's a monster, he's a prisone- a- a trophy, and-"

"He's a prisoner," Rilla says, more firmly. "Being treated like a trophy."

Damien says nothing, breathing slowly, and then he nods. "I still shouldn't... he's a monster. Nothing else should matter. I'm a Knight of the Crown, Rilla, and I should be- I should not care to see a beast weep, I should not feel as if his voice has ripped something open within me-"

"Weep?"

Damien freezes. "I did not do anything to harm him," he says quickly, and then he instantly winces at his own words. "Rather- not- not intentionally. And I shouldn't care even if- oh Saint Damien preserve me, still my mind, keep me in the calm of your waters-"

"Damien. Breathe."

He does, sucking in a sharp and jagged sort of inhale. "It shouldn't matter. None of it should matter. None of it does matter, the assignment is only temporary anyway and soon enough I'll be back in the Wilds where I belong, questing and protecting the citizens from uncomplicated harm."

Rilla tries not to let it show on her face, exactly how unconvincing that line of argument feels.

"I cannot allow this to interfere," he continues in a mutter. "I have my duties. I'm expected to report again today, and I will. I will patrol and I will hold my tongue and I will not even look at him."

Rilla breathes very slowly, a deliberate inhale and exhale, and then she nods.

"Okay," she says quietly, and then she reaches out and takes Damien's hand, slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. He doesn't. "Okay," she says again. "But first, you're gonna actually finish your breakfast before you leave."

His expression melts into something much softer as he breathes a laugh, and then he nods and allows her to lead him back to the table.

He seems a little bit more like himself as he eats, which is a relief, but Rilla isn't convinced. This is a bounce, but this is obviously not an issue that's just going to go away on its own.

Damien won't be on shift in the Trophy Room tomorrow, and she knows he'll spend the better part of his morning off meditating. Especially if he has this much on his mind, right now.

Which means that there won't be anything in the way of Rilla paying a little visit to the Citadel herself, tomorrow.