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Arum would absolutely never complain about the Keep. It had given him life, provided for him ever since he was a hatchling (which he definitely wasn’t anymore, he was a whole nine years old and absolutely all grown up now). It could create magic portals to wherever it wanted - not that Arum was allowed to go out through them yet, even though he was All Grown Up - and it could create whole rooms out of nowhere with nothing more than a few hummed notes, which never failed to amaze him. And yet there were still some things it couldn’t do.
It couldn’t actually read his mind for one, despite the symbiotic bond that ran between them. It could tell how he was feeling, basic emotions that might not have been clear from his body language, and sometimes when Arum was too upset for words the pair could communicate just through their bond, even if it was a little one sided. More complex thoughts and emotions, however, were more difficult.
For example, when Arum woke up in the middle of the night for the third time in a row because something just felt wrong, the Keep couldn’t do much more than offer a few soothing notes in reassurance. It knew he wasn’t hungry, or thirsty, or sick, but beside that it couldn’t help. It couldn’t explain the yawning emptiness in his chest, or the restless energy that was keeping him up, nagging away at his mind. It could sense he was close to tears from the frustration of it all, and offered up a few tendrils to rub slow, calming patterns into his back, but it couldn’t tell him why.
This time Arum could feel it humming in the back of his head, thinking about all the things that could be causing his restlessness while he curled into an even tighter ball, all four arms wrapped around his body like he was clinging on for dear life. He had to hold his hands carefully away from him to stop his claws from piercing his scales. There was a strange feeling in his chest, almost like the opposite of having something heavy lying on top of him. It was like when the bookshelves built by one of the Keep’s old Guardians fell on him, the feeling of lightness after the Keep had gently lifted all the bottles and books and plants off him. But back then it had felt like a relief, to have such a loose feeling on his chest. This time it was uncomfortable, like something was missing, worse than the phantom ache of his tail when it dropped.
It sounded silly, like something a dumb little hatchling would say, but Arum missed his nook. Until a few nights ago, he’d been sleeping nestled into one of the Keep’s walls, wrapped up in its vines so he wouldn’t hurt himself in his sleep. Arum had argued that he was far too big for it now, that he could be trusted not to roll off his new perch and hurt himself, and the Keep had finally given in. Now he slept in a pile of cushions, a nest without any scratchy or pokey sticks to keep Arum up all night. They were softer than being wrapped in the Keep’s vines, and he understood how much of a Big Responsibility it was to be trusted with a bed that was so high up.
But as he lay awake in his new bed, Arum couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The pillows were soft enough to sink into, was of course was nice, but a part of Arum missed the presence of the vines surrounding him, the tight pressure against his sides holding him and keeping him tight. He tried holding a pillow in his arms, pressing it up against his chest in a hope that it would make his flesh feel less like it was crawling off his skin, but it didn’t help. Instead he tossed and turned, kept awake for no reason whatsoever, or at least none he could think of. He was a Grown Up now, he didn’t need to be cuddled to get to sleep anymore.
He would just curl up smaller, pull his pillow in tighter, and ignore how much he wanted to be held.
~~~~
The second duel with Damien was exhilarating in a way Arum never expected. He had been buzzing with anticipation all day, setting his traps throughout the trees, carefully lying trip vines and hoisting boulders into the air. If anyone else had been there, they might have questioned why Arum was putting so much effort into this fight, all just for some human who got lucky in hand to hand combat. Honestly, Arum probably couldn’t give a proper answer if anyone did ask. He knew what he should say, something about regaining his honour, showing the human how much of a threat monsters really could be – after all, the knight hadn’t even met a monster who could count before, the complexity of these traps would send him reeling. If he focussed on that excuse, he could ignore the part of him that lit up at the idea of showing off, preened at the fantasies of praises coming from Damien’s lips.
Then the knight had the impudence to call it a present. Arum was caught between being offended at the implication and acknowledging the burning confusion inside. Obviously this wasn’t a gift for Damien, of course Arum wouldn’t have done this for his enjoyment. This was a matter of pride, Arum’s pride, not the amusement of some cocky primate with an arrogant grin and surprisingly strong arms. The memory of him pressing Arum into the cold stone of the Queen’s bedchamber was fresh in his mind, equal parts fuel for his rage and something deeper, an itch Arum hadn’t known he’d needed scratching until just then.
But he didn’t have the time to ponder that now. Not while his prey was running towards his hiding place, drawn just as Arum knew he would be by the false screams of the shriek-weed. His plan was working even better than expected; he had no idea who this ‘Rilla’ was but it was pathetically easy to convince Damien it was her screaming, taunting him with empty threats. The way the colour drained from the little knight’s face was almost amusing, as was his panicked run towards the plant, and the complete confusion that washed over his face when he discovered the truth. Just as he had planned, it distracted Damien long enough for Arum to pounce.
The two of them tumbled to the forest floor, Arum pinning Damien to the floor to stop him escaping. Finally, finally he had the upper hand, he had defeated this impudent human through cunning, not brawn or luck or whatever tricks Damien had used on him last time. He could loom over his literally captive audience, savour the way the knight’s breath came in short, heavy pants, the wild panic still lingering in his eyes.
“Well, well,” Arum chuckled, unable to hide the taunting in his voice. He allowed himself to bask in the moment, in his victory. “It looks like the smallest trap was the one you finally fell for…”
“So I have” the knight said grimly, “An impressive flower, friend lizard” Something hot and bright burned in Arum’s chest as he spoke, although whether that was from the praise or the nickname, he wasn’t entirely sure. There was something about hearing Damien call him a friend, even if it was in such a flat tone, that stuck in Arum’s head.
It made him want to chase the feeling even further, to boast and preen in front of this knight, seeking out praise like a fuzzbug drawn to the flame. It was distracting, of course, and later Arum knew he would be kicking himself later at the way he was… showing off but in that moment, the possibility of praise and the intoxicating proximity were clouding his judgement.
“Shriekweed” he hissed, trying to mask the pride in his voice beneath threat “My own creation. And here you are, pinned beneath my claws. I love to make you panic, honeysuckle. The sound of your pounding heart makes my stomach growl.”
Below him, Arum could see the effect his words were having on the little human. His skin was flushed a deep red, pupils dilated and almost consuming the deep brown of his irises. Arum hadn’t been lying about hearing his heartbeat, thudding away beneath him, almost matching the pace of Arum’s own. The heat of Damien’s body was radiating out, warming the cool surface of the lizard’s scales and sinking into his bones, making him hyperaware of all the points at which they touched. There was a light sheen of sweat on his brow, no doubt from a combination of exertion and the damp heat of the jungle around them.
Damien’s words seemed to reach him through a fog, taking him a couple of seconds to focus on what he was saying.
“I think… I can hear that stomach, Lord Arum.” the little knight panted, his voice surprisingly breathy. Arum didn’t know what it meant, not the strange tone to his voice, nor the odd look in his eyes, eyes that drew Arum in almost as much as the promise of more touch, the intense and almost painful desire to stay close to this human. He wanted to get lost in the sound of his heartbeat, drink in the warmth that emanated from his weird primate body like a plant drinking in the rain after a drought.
“You are… very close to me”
It wasn’t as if Arum hadn’t noticed their closeness, hadn’t previously been hyperaware of Damien’s hot breath against his scales. But there was something about the knight putting it into words that made the whole scenario suddenly feel painfully real.
“So… so I am…” Arum panted, almost embarrassed by how breathy his own voice sounded. The pair were frozen in that moment, so close they were sharing the air between them. It could have lasted an hour or a minute, staring deep into Damien’s eyes, feeling the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through him, the thrill of the hunt they both knew all too well a tangible spark in the air, like the moment before lightning struck.
As with all things, the moment couldn’t last forever. Damien’s quiet request for a prayer, for some final words, was like being hit with cold water. The reality of the situation came flooding back to Arum, a bolt of truth bursting the quiet bubble the two had carved out. He remembered the terms of the duel, their stupid argument that seemed so petty now. He remembered how the world worked outside of him and his knight, those invisible rules that forced them into combat and opposition. Reluctantly he took his revenge, a slash on Damien’s arm mirroring the one on his own, even though he found himself binding it tight afterwards with the same care and attention Damien had shown him that previous night.
Arum was angry. Angry at Sir Damien, for catching him, for forcing him into this game of duels, for distracting him long enough that he could pretend their back and forth could last forever. He was angry at all of monster-kind, all those he knew would have his head on a platter if they knew he let a human go or would laugh behind his back at the idea of that haughty Lord of the Swamp of Titans Bloom had been bested by a puny human.
Above all, he was furious with himself. For getting caught up in all of this. For… forgetting himself. Getting all starry eyed over the first human he’d properly met. For the way his chest ached like a physical pain when he saw Damien in the distance, embracing his… Rilla. Even from his perch in the tree, hidden from the world, only barely able to make out the figures clutching each other, Arum could feel the deep ache of longing.
That was irrelevant though. All of this was just useless fantasy. Distractions from his true purpose. And so, Arum silently dropped down from the tree and stalked away into the forest.
He had some grubs to hunt.
~~~
Amaryllis was infuriating. If Arum wasn’t at his wits end trying to come up with a cure for the Keep he’d have gotten rid of her the minute that damn recording device had revealed she didn’t know anything about the grubs. His secret was safe, the monster’s plan still kept from the humans, but the numbness at the back of his mind, the ache deep in his bones, forced him to keep her around.
Yet somehow, irritating questions and constant meaningless requests aside, it wasn’t… awful, having someone else with him. Amaryllis’ presence in the Keep, while very much unwelcome, was also soothing in a way Arum didn’t expect. It was nice being able to make a remark and hear someone respond, even if it was just a distracted hum. The way her eyes lit up when he showed her something new, the novelty of having someone to talk to about his inventions, someone who really appreciated his work. As much as Arum loved the Keep, there were only so many times he could hear a polite hum in response to a new discovery. Not to mention the fact that it was had been completely unreasonable recently, fawning over the human like a new child.
Ever since he’d gotten back from his first visit to the Citadel, the Keep had been unbearable, \probing him for information about the humans, about his feelings on them, not listening to his protests that he didn’t have feelings about humans beyond irritation and a touch of morbid fascination. Damien was… a distraction, a mere outlier, feelings that would be forgotten as quickly as they appeared. Surely Amaryllis would be the same, an interesting experience, and a chance to learn more about humans, but nothing more.
Even Arum couldn’t deny the joy he felt however, when they cured the Keep.
Weeks spent depriving himself of sleep, staying up at all hours until his body gave up on him – or the Keep decided to sing him to sleep like a little hatchling who couldn’t look after himself, and he would be having words once this was all done and the human was gone. All his work in all that time had been leading up to this moment, the slow spreading of green life returning to the petrified plant as the two of them moved throughout the workshop, spraying the strange concoction over its walls (and, much to Arum’s disgust and Amaryllis’ apparent delight, each other).
Arum could literally feel the Keep’s relief, even at the smallest change. It was like a muscle he didn’t know he’d been tensing had suddenly relaxed. It was a dizzy feeling, bubbling through his veins and making everything seem brighter, more cheerful. Rilla’s joke, a simple sarcastic remark that even a human would recognise wasn’t exactly the height of comedy sent him into fits of laughter that, any other time he would have been embarrassed by.
It must have just been those feelings that made him do it. The sleep deprivation, the sense of accomplishment crossed with the pure, invigorating relief – both at the solution to such a nagging problem but also, as he realised later, the knowledge that his Keep was safe. It was an abrupt end to so long spent worrying that it had become a constant thrumming presence in the back of his mind, worrying away like a splinter caught in his scales, infecting his mind with fear and doubt. It was almost like a physical weight had been lifted from him, along with the actual physical discomfort he had felt over his bond with the Keep. The combination of all this, the rush of sensation completely overwhelmed him, until the only thought in his mind was to share his joy, reach out to Amaryllis and literally sweep her up into his happiness.
“It’s saved! My Keep is saved!” he crowed, throat rattling as he spoke, his lower arms reaching out to grasp the herbalist around her waist and lift her into the air. “We’ve done it!”
As he span Amaryllis around, the thought occurred to him that this was the most contact the two of them had shared in all the time she’d been there. Arum was suddenly hyperaware of every place where her skin was pressed against his scales, the sparks that flew along his body, lighting up his veins and making his chest feel light as air. His mind was filled with images; Amaryllis’ strong arms wrapped around his just as his four arms were supporting her, the comforting pressure of her body pressed against his in an embrace.
He was so giddy with joy and relief and, frankly, exhaustion, that in that moment it seemed like he could imagine a future with them together, happy and affectionate, making breakthroughs and celebrating afterwards, chasing this feeling time after time. For a few shining seconds he forgot about their arguments, Amaryllis’ obsession with order and logic and her tiny part of the universe, and let himself enjoy the feeling.
The bubble was burst however, when Rilla spoke. The apprehension in her voice was evident, the way it shifted slightly higher as she asked to be “put down, now”. It felt like a physical shock to the system, a painful reminder that, even if Arum was feeling anything other than hostility towards the human, his feelings were not shared. There would be no idyllic future of illuminating breakthroughs and tender touches, no chance of Arum feeling the softness of Amaryllis’ skin pressed against his, the warmth emanating from her body like the sun itself. This was just a moment of weakness, his sleep deprived brain making him illogical, spinning wild fantasies based on the slightest brush of skin. He said as much, hoping the brusque tone of his voice would hide the longing, provide an excuse for the way his hands lingered on her hips as he let her gently to the floor, before he snatched all four of them away like she burned him.
She would go, he’d make sure of it. Leave his Keep, taking her recorder and her scientific questions and her insatiable curiosity with her. And he’d be left in peace. Alone. How it was supposed to be.
How it always was.
~~~ The cool stone of the Fort felt awful against Arum’s scales. For someone who was so used to the comforting roughness off the Keep, the way it seemed to radiate heat despite what the humans’ petty rules about nature would suggest, the rock against his back felt… unnatural. An awfully fitting reminder of his situation.
It still wasn’t enough to distract him from his thoughts. They swirled in his head like the waters of the Terminus itself- and that really wasn’t what he wanted to be reminded of in this moment. Not on top of all he was already occupied with.
Arum took a deep breath. As loathe as he was to admit, and he likely never would, the best way to deal with this seemed to be to… categorise. While splitting the infinite wonder of the universe down into lists and boundaries usually felt not only futile but disrespectful presuming one could understand the true scope and wonder off that life offered, the same effect might just be helpful. In this moment, facing the inevitability of his death staring him straight in the face, the last thing he wanted to feel was that his worries were infinite, that they were spiralling out of control and beyond even his capabilities. Sometimes a little control might even be welcome, if it stopped him feeling this… tiny. This helpless.
After all, it would be a secret he would take to his grave.
That was, in fact, the first thing on his mind. His impending demise. Of course, no one really knew what happened to those thrown from the Terminus’ edge. There were rumours naturally, even Arum in his solitude had picked up on a few. Some claimed if the wind was right, you could hear the screams of monsters gone before as they fell for all eternity, a constant vertigo. Others claimed it wasn’t the fall that killed you, it was the landing. The cruel, sharp rocks at the base of the world would pierce your hide, ripping you limb from limb, breaking any bones you may or may not have.
Admittedly neither fate sounded particularly enticing to Arum. But the worst part was the not knowing. Apparently his time with the insatiable herbalist had rubbed off on him – he felt like a frightened hatchling again, full of confusion and fear, hating every second of being in the awful limbo of ignorance. If they had told him what he could expect, give him any vague warning of what his fate would be beyond “thrown off the edge of the world”, then it might not have been so bad. Then again, it probably would have lessened the impact of the punishment in their eyes. After all, he had committed treason, broken the one rule monsters held themselves to, above all else. He deserved whatever fate he got.
That was the next part of his dread. He had gone against the will of the universe, shirked his responsibility, and for what? A couple of humans had batted their eyelashes at him and he’d thrown away all he’d worked for – quite literally in fact. The Hermit was who knows where now. Amaryllis had disposed of it, or taken it somewhere far away from the monsters. It was out of his hands.
That really shouldn’t feel as freeing as it did.
Arum had been having second thoughts about the monsters’ plan ever since his fateful trip into the Citadel. Of course the humans would be no match for a monster attack, not with what he had currently pupating in the depths of Fort Terminus. But it seemed a shame really. Humans, with their insatiable appetites for knowledge and yet such single-minded focus – they were a paradox, an oxymoronic mess, and yet somehow that drew Arum in even further. Amaryllis’ expression when she encountered the Keep, her insistence on recording everything she saw like that was the key to unlocking all of life’s mysteries. The light in Damien’s eyes when he fought, pushing himself towards a victory that meant nothing in the greater scheme of the universe and yet meant everything in that moment, consuming and intoxicating.
If Arum was being honest, there were more reasons why he didn’t want to wipe out all of humanity. Even here, even at this moment at the end of his life, he couldn’t stop thinking about them. His two beautiful blooms. Even if he couldn’t have them, even if he was doomed to whatever awful fate awaited him, he could do so knowing they were safe. He’d set them free, he’d explained that much to the crowd at the trial, even if his words were intended for the ears of only one of their number. It had been nothing more than a glimpse, a glimmer of hope that might have just been his exhausted mind playing tricks on him – the Judge’s summons had after all come so soon after Amaryllis’ departure that Arum hadn’t even had the time for a nap. But if there was even a chance she might have heard him, might have any kind of warning for what lay in store for her people… It was a thought Arum clung to in that dark dank cell, the last hope that still burned in his chest. It didn’t matter what happened to him, he realised, because they were okay. Besides, the Citadel would probably appreciate having one less monster around.
It didn’t stop him from fantasising though. Arum closed his eyes, stopped focussing on the slow drip of water from the ceiling, or the faint sounds of his porcine guards, and instead allowed himself to imagine.
In his mind, the three of them were together. It didn’t matter than Damien and Amaryllis probably didn’t even know each other, Arum certainly couldn’t imagine the stubborn, short-tempered herbalist and the cocky, poetry-spouting knight surviving more than ten minutes in a room together. But that was irrelevant in his mind. All that mattered was that they were together, preferably in the Keep, safe away from all monsters and humans alike and anyone who could judge.
His fantasies didn’t extend much past a general idea of closeness, warm bodies pressed against cool scales. Comforting pressure on every side, surrounding Arum, making him feel safer than he ever had before.
It was a fine image. Almost fine enough to distract Arum from his surroundings, from the loneliness that was beginning to tinge his complete and utter resignation, the grey fog descending on his mind as his doom crawled ever closer.
Almost.
~~~
The three of them limped back to the Keep, bloody and battered, but alive.
Arum almost couldn’t believe his luck. It still didn’t really feel… real to him. There was almost too much to take in, too many incredible and awful and downright confusing things had happened in the space of one day that he was losing track of what he should be focussing on. Even after their hours of talking, of discussing what this relationship meant for the three of them, of how it changed the dynamics that had already been so established between them. His mind was full of thoughts, of possibilities and fears and above all else, the love he was finally able to confront and accept.
The only thing stopping him from just sitting down dazed in the middle of the swamp was the presence of the two humans by his side. Somehow both Rilla and Damien had ended up with broken legs, even if Damien’s was slightly better healed, and Arum was quite nobly not making any references to the fragility of human skeletons or their insane, albeit admirable, stubbornness. The latter seemed to have carried them through their ordeals, but now the danger had passed their energy was ebbing like the tides, leaving the pair to lean on Arum for support. It was… strangely comforting, he mused, as the Keep’s portal shimmered into view in front of them. Having such a physical presence beside him was grounding, a solid and tangible reminder of what he had gained and what he needed to protect.
Even through his pain and exhaustion, the wonder on Damien’s face when he entered the Keep was truly something to behold. Rilla had been unconscious when she arrived, and her anger at being captured had somewhat dampened her excitement, but her fiancé had no such qualms. His eyes were wide with awe, drinking in the sights around him with an eagerness Arum had never seen. It was clear even from his expression alone that as he took in the sights around him, the poet was frantically composing, head full of attempts to put what he was seeing into words. Even though Arum knew the Keep’s majesty was beyond anything humans could express within the limits of their speech, it was still a flattering thought.
“A-arum?” Damien’s voice faltered slightly on the word. It was clear Damien still wasn’t used to saying his name without the title, despite Arum’s reassurances that it was fine, but the hesitant affection in his tone and the lack of formality made it sound so much more intimate.
“Yes, honeysuckle?” Arum replied, allowing himself to savour the way the nickname felt in his mouth, as sweet as nectar.
“Your house - your Keep, sorry - it’s… incredible. The twisting vines, all shifting and moving in perfect coordination, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen!”
Arum ducked his head to hide the proud expression on his face as the Keep sang a few appreciative notes. “Don’t say that, you’re only playing into its ego” he muttered, much to Amaryllis’ apparent amusement. The Keep’s vines, preening under Damien’s compliments, slowly shifted to open up a doorway into the room Amaryllis had stayed in before. Arum noted the appearance of several more cushions this time, however, as well as a tangle of vines forming what looked suspiciously like Arum’s bed. He could see from the mischievious sparkle in Rilla’s eyes and the blush that coloured Damien’s cheeks that the implications weren’t lost on them, especially due to the nature of their earlier… conversation, and the lizard could feel his blood rushing to his face in a mirror of the human’s bashful expression.
Thankfully Amaryllis – she had asked to be called Rilla, and Arum was trying to remember, but it wasn’t his fault the floral name was easier for him to recall – took the lead, saving her two partners from what would undoubtedly have otherwise been hours of awkward glances and flushed faces. Still limping on her leg and wincing with every movement, she made her way over to the pile of pillows and collapsed, letting out a contented sigh as she did.
“Well, this is where I’ll be remaining for the rest of the evening” she said, smiling wider than Arum had ever seen her smile before. Beside him, Damien let out a quiet huff of laughter, the sheer fondness on his face shining through like a beacon. He moved towards Rilla and the bed, leaving Arum standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway as Rilla rolled over on the pile to allow Damien to curl up beside her.
It took Arum a couple of seconds to pluck up the nerve to break the contented silence. “I’ll leave you two to your rest” he muttered almost under his breath, attempting to hide the yearning ache in his chest that wants to curl up beside them too, to bask in their warmth and the thrill of contact. He couldn’t impose though. He had to be patient, allow them to heal and enjoy just being in each other’s company, before they had to deal with a monster barging in and disrupting everything.
However, it seemed the humans had other ideas. A crease appeared on Damien’s forehead as his eyebrows knitted together in an adorable display of concern. “Are you not staying, Arum? I… cannot speak for Rilla, but I, for one, would not be averse to you spending the night with us. You have been through as much as we have, and I know that, were I in your position I would be grateful for some company – but of course, if that is not what you want, then do not feel in anyway pressured to remain here with us, I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable…”
“What Damien is trying to say” Rilla cut in, voice full of exasperated affection. “is that you don’t have to leave. Not if you don’t want to.” Her tone changed, a hint of vulnerability bleeding through. “I think we’d both appreciate keeping you close to us, just for tonight”
It took all Arum’s strength not to run across the room towards them. His relief must be painfully obvious on his face, in his body language, but in that moment he didn’t care. For once he allowed his emotions to be clear, let down his guard.
It was worth it to see the delight on Damien’s face. Already his eyes were beginning to droop from fatigue, the lines of his face softening as sleep rapidly approached, but his smile still shone through like the sun breaking through clouds. He stretched out an arm to welcome Arum in, shifting slightly to allow him room to slot in between the two of them.
For the first time in longer than he would like to admit, Arum found himself relaxing. The warm and constant pressure surrounding him as Damien pulled him close, and Rilla pulled one of his arms over to curl around her, protection against whatever may come. It brought a deep satisfaction, somehow, knowing that he had Rilla here in his arms, finally with him, and with Damien too, safe and warm and somewhere Arum knew he could look after them both. In this bed there were no knights, nor monstrous Senates, threatening to tear them apart. He had won – they had won, all three of them united. Tangled together as tight as the vines that surrounded them all.
As Arum drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the people who loved him the most in the world, he realised that finally, he was content.