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Arum and Rilla are out near the edge of the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms, harvesting Serrated Palm fronds, when the distant drum of hoofbeats catches Arum’s attention. His horns twitch, almost imperceptibly, as he tracks the source of the sound; he doesn’t want to alarm Amaryllis unnecessarily, but he wants even less for the two of them to be seen out here, together. The hoofbeats grow steadily louder – it’s clear this mystery rider is approaching them dead on – and soon even Amaryllis with her weak human ears will hear them coming. Just as Arum is about to snatch her up in his arms and scale the nearest tree for cover, he catches the faintest fragment of a voice… a human voice; a voice he recognizes.
Arum straightens up, brushes the dirt off his claws, and waits. Rilla follows his gaze, curious, until the horse and its human emerge from the greenery up around the bend.
Rilla smiles. “Hey, Marc!” she calls out. “What brings you over this way, training?”
He doesn’t answer right away; once Dampierre’s pulled up close enough for Rilla to pet in greeting, Marc glances around furtively before replying. “No, uh, just takin’ a walk, y’know, stretching my legs—”
Dampierre interrupts with an indignant snort.
“It’s just a saying, jeez. Why does everything have to be so literal with you?”
Dampierre huffs again, but it’s gentler this time. Encouraging.
“Fiiiine,” he groans. “Okay, okay! Fine, I’ll, uh…” he trails off, then takes a deep breath. Squares his shoulders.
“Hey, uh, Scales? Can I, um, talk to you for a bit? Y’know, mano-a-monster?”
Rilla stares open-mouthed between the two of them. She’s desperately curious to know what this is about, but, restrained enough to respect her brother’s privacy—even if that respect isn’t always mutual, she thinks dryly. Arum, for his part, is composed enough to mask his utter confusion that this creature would choose to seek him out over one of its own, and nods. Then he gestures down the path, and they walk off, in uncomfortable silence.
Several minutes pass. Marc says nothing.
Finally, Arum clears his throat. “As much as I prefer quiet to the endless prattling you humans are so accustomed to, I must point out that you did request to speak to me. So,” he growls, “…speak.”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m just…” Marc lets out a nervous chuckle. “I guess the fact that I’m worried about even saying it means it’s real, right? Or at least that I can’t ignore it any longer, right, that I’m gonna go crazy if I keep wondering and don’t just do something about it so toughen up, Marc, just—”
“I changed my mind,” Arum snaps. “This is unbearable; tktktktktktktk.”
“Okay.” Marc turns to look at Arum. “Scales, how did you know you… liked… Damien? Y’know, like– like that?”
Whatever Arum was expecting, that certainly wasn’t it, and he’s not entirely sure how to respond. “I…” he coughs, “I have feelings for Amaryllis as well as for Sir D—”
“No, yeah, I know, I know that,” Marc cuts him off. “But uh, you and Damien are… y’know, both… guys.” At this, Marc’s face flushes a deep red.
“Oh,” Arum muses. “I… I see.” He chuckles. “You humans and your fixation on rules, and order. Putting everything in neat little boxes and refusing to acknowledge anything that doesn’t fit squarely within them. What is that axiom your Citadel is so fond of, again? ‘Two in unity.’ Feh. Male and female, black and white, this and that; any other permutation of love is wrong and cannot be abided—”
“Hang on, love?!” Marc sputters. “You– you love them?”
“I– I did not say that! Tktktktktktktktk,” Arum rattles. “I was– speaking generally, ah, using metaphorical langu—”
“Yeah yeah, sure, alright, Scales. Your secret’s safe with me.” Marc winks. “…So, I guess I should be able to trust you with mine.”
He fidgets momentarily with a buckle on his saddle. “I, um… think I like… Sir Angelo.”
Marc pauses, waiting for some sort of reaction. When he doesn’t get one, he presses on: “we’ve been training together these past few weeks, and he’s just so kind and supportive and just genuine, y’know? And obviously he’s also a really good fighter; when he gets into the zone and he’s dueling and those muscles am I right? And I just wanna—” he snaps his mouth shut, blushing furiously. He takes a deep breath, then shakes his head quickly, as if to shake off these distracting thoughts.
“But,” he continues, “I have no idea if he feels the same way; I mean he probably doesn’t, right, ‘cause I’m… a guy. And I definitely don’t wanna ruin our friendship or make him uncomfortable at all because he’s been nothing but good to me since the day we met. …Which, huh, I guess isn’t really that similar to how you and Damien met, is it.”
Arum snorts. “Perhaps not. But, I hardly see that as a deficit, hmm? You are already friends, so, how different could it be to become, well, more than that?”
Marc stares. “…You really don’t have any friends, do you, Scales.”
“That is not the point,” Arum snaps. “Tktktktktktktktktk.”
“You’re right, you’re right – I’m sorry. I just…” Marc sighs. “I have no idea what to do.”
He looks so lost and desperate that Arum almost feels pity for this foolish being, almost wants to actually see him succeed in this endeavor. “Hmm. Well… have you tried dueling him?”
“What? I– yeah, actually, the same day we met. In front of hundreds of pretty nymph-bug-ladies, and– and oh Saints, I was naked! I completely forgot about that part!” Marc moans, burying his head in his hands.
“Alright, then, what about kidnapping him and forcing him to help you cure your sick, ehm, relative, only to later realize the error of your ways, grant him his freedom and surrender yourself to forces that will likely kill you unless he rescues you from their grasp?”
Marc lifts his head, staring. “That’s… very specific, Scales.”
“Hmph.”
Then, Arum is struck by a sudden curiosity. He cocks his head, peering down at the odd knight. “Why did you not come to Amaryllis with this… issue?”
“Ew, what? Talk to Rilla?” Marc yelps. “About my– my feelings? No way!”
“Why not? If she is truly like a sister to you, then surely her opinion of you should not change based on who you find yourself attracted to. In fact, given our current… arrangement, I believe she and Damien amongst all humans would be most able to empathize with your feelings; tktktktk.”
Marc sighs. “I guess because, I… well… I’m scared, okay? I’ve never felt like this before and it’s intense and it’s overwhelming and if I told Rilla about it she’d, I-I dunno, she’d run out and find Angelo and make me talk to him and I don’t know if I’m ready for that!” He takes a breath. “Sure, I’ve had crushes before – between you and me, Scales, there are a lot of pretty girls in the Citadel – but, uh, not that you should go kidnap one of them, I mean you already have a girlfriend and a boyfriend! Psssh, save some for the rest of us, pal, haha, come on! Uh… what was I saying?”
“I have even less idea than usual, and considering all the nonsense you humans routinely spout, that is saying something,” Arum grumbles.
“So, I cannot profess to know the nature of Sir Angelo’s thoughts towards you—nor would I want to, to be perfectly honest. But I will tell you what I said to Sir Damien, when he so feared to act upon his own feelings: ‘you have a choice. You can either step away from these stirrings, and never have your curiosity sated; or, you can step towards them, and find out.’”
Arum turns to face Marc, unblinking. “The choice is yours, little knight. There is no guarantee of safety down either path, no promise of shelter from hurt, so – should you not at least try?”
A flicker of something warm, something that feels strangely like hope, sparks inside Marc’s chest. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I think maybe I should.”