#strangerland

They eat in silence again. Arum tries to spend this little pause thinking on further solutions, creatures he could make to try to work towards solving the Keep's illness on his own-

Sir Damien exists to serve as a distraction, possibly. Something of the meter of his poem from the night before- it catches in the back of Arum's mind, bouncing there and making it impossible to think. Or, at least, to think of anything remotely useful.

Obnoxious.

Small comfort: Sir Damien looks precisely as irritable and uncomfortable as Arum feels.

"How long will this little outing take, anyway?" Arum asks, after they've finished, feeling preemptively exhausted.

"It will take as long as it needs to," Damien says, flat and vaguely sour, and then he sighs. "A quick trip to the market, likely. A few shops. The queen insisted upon providing a small allowance with which to purchase the gift, as well, so you need not worry upon that front."

"I have my own coin," Arum snaps, insulted, and Damien furrows his brow. "I do not need to be paid for."

"Queen Mira insisted," he says again, as if that ends the discussion, and when Arum inhales to argue further he continues, "As you were unaware of the custom, she says that it would not be fair to press such an... imposition upon you. The act of choosing the gift is enough."

"The lie, you mean?"

Damien ignores his sneering with fair competence. "I imagine I will be perfectly able to find a number of suiting gifts without much trouble, and then you may choose between them. Hardly a lie at all."

It makes enough sense that the poet would know the tastes of his own betrothed, of course, and the strategy is... nearly clever. He will need to find a way to pay the queen back, then, soon enough. It would not do to be any more in her debt than he already is, despite her previous insistence to the contrary.

Arum resists the urge to sigh, and simply stands, resettling his cape.

"Very well. Let's get this over with, then."

Damien gives him another look, as if Arum's eagerness to have done with this whole day is somehow meant to insult him personally, but he does not say anything. He nods, and moves to open the door.

~

The market square is slightly less crowded than it was the day Damien met Arum, but only slightly. Despite that, Lord Arum glares balefully at the civilians as Damien leads them towards the section of shops he thinks will be most promising.

Damien bites his tongue. Berating the monster will do very little, and to be entirely frank-

He would rather not do anything to provoke any more attention than strictly necessary while out and about with a monster. He can already feel eyes upon him, worry and scrutiny and judgment from the citizenry. He might wither and die if any of his fellow knights see him so occupied in public. Lord Arum is not exactly inconspicuous, either, considering the height and the horns and the vivid purple of his cape and his eyes. He stands out like a flash of lightning, and he is rather clearly following Damien through the square.

He considers a few shops, weighing options in his mind, trying to remember tools and trinkets his flower has mentioned a desire for in the past. He settles on a glassblower, the shop filled with delicate instruments and bottles and vases. Rilla is always in need of containers for her herbs and mixtures, of course, and while she is not preoccupied with aesthetic over function... well, the two can coexist, regardless. An item may be as beautiful as it is functional.

He glances back towards Arum from in front of the shop, trying not to feel the tense annoyance bleeding off the monster in waves.

"Well?" Arum says, his eyes flicking behind Damien, scanning the crowd. "Have you found something yet?"

"Just here," he says. "Though... the shop is... fairly small. It does not seem that it would accommodate someone of your... stature."

Arum tips his head towards the shop, eying the narrow aisles between shelves, the delicate glasswork balanced in cases and on little wooden stands, the notably low ceilings, and his cheek twitches. "Hm," he says simply. "I suppose I should... remain... out here, then."

Damien considers his tone, for a long moment, trying to decide if the flat discomfort might belie something more nefarious, but- well, the longer he spends in that effort, the longer they need be out in the market entirely. Best to find something quick. He nods.

"I won't be long," he says, and before the monster can make a rejoinder, he slips inside.

He does get caught up, but only for a few minutes. He's selecting a gift for his beloved; how could he possibly commit any but the most serious effort to that cause? She deserves something truly beautiful, even if she is meant to receive it from a monster.

The noise outside catches his attention while he's investigating the relative merits of two different sets of vials, and he nearly knocks both sets to the floor as he straightens, trying to get a look outside at the sudden- is that shouting?

The place is full of glass. Damien can see the colors of Lord Arum through the window, distorted between a thousand tiny trinkets, and beyond him- other figures. He cannot see properly, but- something about the noise and the vague suggestion of Arum's stance sends the sensation of ice down into the pit of his stomach. He moves, as quickly as he is able within so fragile a place.

"-left alone," Arum hisses as Damien slips through the door, and he realizes quickly that the monster has either backed into the alley between this building and the next, or he has been backed into it by the crowd currently blocking the way. "I do not know why such a simple concept is lost on the lot of you."

"Your kind are getting too comfortable here," a voice sneers, and the crowd murmurs agreement even as Damien starts to push through, his armor a rather firm argument in his favor. "We've had enough of-"

"Do I look comfortable, human?" Arum says, his tone utterly derisive as he pulls his head back, and Damien wants to groan. Antagonizing, even while surrounded by the growing core of a mob. Damien can feel the tension already, a small flame yet, but not one to be underestimated. Some of those in the crowd are laborers, carrying tools that can very well be put to more violent use, and-

Damien sees the knife. Not in the hands of the loud one, the one riling the crowd, but the man at his side, playing a long narrow knife between his fingers with his pale mean eyes fixed on Lord Arum. He can't tell- the distance and the shuffling of the crowd make it impossible for Damien to tell if Arum is aware of the weapon as well. But-

"Strolling through the market, all haughty and dressed in finery, with one of our knights for an escort? Who do you think you are? I don't know what sort of nobility beasts and bastards like to pretend to be, but around here you're just another animal."

Arum's jaw tightens, but he does not respond. The quiet man with the knife, however, takes his turn to speak.

"I think that's a lesson that needs taught," he says, almost too quietly to be heard above the growing murmur surrounding them. "Wild animals don't do well in the city, do they? They go wandering where they don't belong... animals get put down."

Damien steps out from the mass of bodies between the two instigators and Lord Arum, lifting his chin and drawing his bow, though he keeps it low at his side, a warning and not a threat.

"I think that is rather enough," he snaps in his most knightly voice, and thankfully the crowd seems to thin immediately as the less committed onlookers flee at the first hint of authority. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Go on, stop this nonsense at once before I-"

"Defending a monster?" The loudmouth bares his teeth, then spits on the ground, his eyes blazing.

Damien narrows his eyes. "Defending the peace in this Citadel. I will not abide a mob. By rights I should arrest the both of you before you cause any more trouble. Drop your weapons right this instant, and I shall be content to call this a misunderstanding and we may all go on with our days."

By the time Damien says the word "mob," the majority of the citizens have disappeared again, leaving only stragglers and curious eyes at the edges. The two instigators stand firm, for the moment. The one with the cool pale eyes stares over his shoulder, still glaring at Lord Arum instead, still squeezing the hilt of his knife. The louder one manages his own glare for only a few moments longer before he flinches, apparently recognizing that his footing has moved out from under him. He glances to the side, hesitates, and then looks back towards Damien with an uncertain grimace.

Damien-

Damien locks eyes with the remaining threat, stepping slowly forward.

"I truly do not think that you mean to attack a Knight of the Crown, my good sir," he says, very mildly, and the man finally stops staring hatefully at the monster behind him, aiming that ire towards Damien instead.

Damien strides forward, and he does not stop until he is nearly nose to nose with the man. Or- they would be nose to nose, were Damien not somewhat less tall. Nevertheless. He breathes steady, and he lifts his free hand.

"Your knife. Now. Or you will be spending your night, at least, in the dungeon."

The man's face twitches, a muscle by his nose tensing as he clenches his teeth, and his arm jolts forward-

Damien twists and strikes a beat late, but the maneuver is well practiced and he manages to divest the man of his weapon and reposition at his back. He turns the both of them and then lifts his boot, kicking him in the backside and sending him tumbling out of the alley and towards the rest of the market. Damien twirls the knife and then slips it into his own belt with a disdainful look. "Well," he says stiffly. "I suppose in all technicality, you did just give me your knife. I suppose I shouldn't have to arrest you, so long as you are no longer within my sight in ten seconds. Ten. Nine. Eigh-"

"Fucking traitor," the pale-eyed man spits as he scrambles back to his feet, and then, "No good knights left. No honorable knights, only heretics and weak-minded fools."

"Seven," Damien hisses, hand tightening on the grip of his bow, and the man-

The alley is completely empty before he makes it to six. He sighs, and glances over his shoulder to meet Lord Arum's eye.

"Perhaps it was unwise to leave you unaccompanied, even for so short a time," he says in a murmur.

Arum blinks, inhales, and then bares his teeth.

"I do not require your help, honeysuckle. I can defend myself perfectly well. It is insulting to presume-"

"If you defended yourself, as you say, you might very well have caused a diplomatic incident, Lord Arum," Damien says, wincing as he puts his bow away again.

"So you come barreling in like a fool, putting yourself in harm's way with a crowd of idiots that you refuse to fight properly in return, that you won't even arrest, simply so I do not-" he pauses. "I smell- honeysuckle. Your arm is bleeding."

"I know," Damien says stiffly, angling his body to put his injured limb further away from Arum. "That fool with the knife may have only meant to threaten, but- well. They say one should not threaten if one does not intend to carry through." He shakes his head, frowns. "And I did not do this for your sake, Lord Arum. If the war is revived for so foolish a reason- surely you know as well as I, the sheer number of lives that could be lost."

"Your arm is bleeding," the monster repeats, his teeth bared, "quite profusely. We must return to the palace and find you a doctor immediately."

"It is hardly the worst of-"

The monster crowds closer, narrowing his eyes at the reddened sleeve as Damien attempts to conceal it behind his back, and then he lifts his vivid eyes to pin Damien in place. "Who, precisely, do you assume would be blamed if you collapse from loss of blood in the presence of the clawed and fanged beast you have been complaining of and vocally suspecting of malice? In what way would that not end precisely the same as if you had not interceded in the first place?"

"I," Damien says breathlessly, "am a Knight of the Crown, Lord Arum, not some wilting flower, and I will not collapse from something as inconsequential as a little light-"

"Stabbing?"

"It is barely a scratch!"

Arum scowls viciously, and the expression is so serious and so ridiculous that Damien cannot help a small shock of laughter, which seems to startle both the monster and himself. They both freeze for a moment in the aftermath, and then Arum steps closer, reaching and startling Damien again as Arum takes his wrist.

He goes down on a knee as Damien blinks confusion. Two of his hands pull his cape taut as a third rends the cloth with claws, his fourth hand still clutching stubbornly at Damien's wrist before he draws the limb carefully closer, and then he-

He lifts the cloth, and with more delicacy than Damien knew any monster could possess, he wraps the purple tight around the wound on his forearm, staunching the blood.

Arum watches the binding for a long moment, Damien's arm carefully balanced between two of his hands, and when it does not bleed through immediately he nods and straightens, still with a hand resting at Damien's elbow.

He stills, when he catches Damien's eye. Damien does not know what he sees, then, but- he swallows, dropping his own gaze.

"A doctor, honeysuckle," he says in a low, serious voice. "That is a temporary measure. Inadequate. Tell me where to bring you to find a physician or I will simply pick you up and carry to back to the Citadel Tower, and I do not think that either of us will enjoy that."

Damien-

Flushes, so quickly and completely that it stuns him, the idea of those strong hands lifting him into the air, the muted firmness in Arum's tone-

He wouldn't- he wouldn't enjoy- he certainly wouldn't-

"D-doctor," he manages, and then he clears his throat. "Back to the Citadel- with Rilla gone, the best physicians would be there, yes. If you- if you insist." He pauses. "But- but we haven't found anything for-"

"We may very well come back another day, honeysuckle," the monster growls, rolling his eyes, and then he shifts the hand at Damien's elbow to press at Damien's lower back, encouraging him forward. Damien jolts, the contact like a rippling flame that runs up the entirety of his back, and the monster startles in turn, eyes widening.

"I'm perfectly able to move on my own," Damien snaps, his words running on a sort of terrified automatic, entirely without his conscious intent, and Arum stares at him for half a beat before his expression flattens. "I- no. I'm perfectly fine, Lord Arum. I appreciate-"

"Fine. Lead. You know this city," he mutters, looking entirely away from Damien. "I would only get us lost, and I would hardly like for us to be caught by another mob. Go on."