#cruelty of the beast ch.9

[damienthepious]

lizard kissin’ lizard kissin’ lizard kissin’ lizard kissin’ but actually. in reality. maybe just some lizard hand holdin’. sortakinda. :3c

The Beast In On His Chain (chapter 14)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ch 10] [ch 11] [ch 12] [ch 13] [ao3] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Lord Arum, Rilla, Sir Absolon

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, prisoner/guard dynamic, Dehumanization, (which feels like a weird word to use for a nonhuman person bUT. it’s what i got.), Despair, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (EVENTUALLY!!!! it’ll take a while), Captivity, Suicidal Thoughts, (that will be a theme throughout. inescapable in this particular fic. alas.), Eventual Romance, (Yes the dynamics in this one are fucked. honestly i’m kinda Stretching my limits these days.), (having fun with it. fucking around. it’s fine.), Recovery, (eventually), Self-Reclamation

Chapter Summary: A couple of conversations, from alternating perspectives.

Chapter Notes: Chapter specific warnings for descriptions of Arum's early captivity, implied torture, continuing references to starvation/dehydration, mentions of injury. Take care of yourselves and i love you!

~

Arum looks... better. A week or so of water and already-

He does not seem healed, exactly. He is still... worryingly thin, still with the echoes of bruises across his arms and his chest and his eye, though the swelling has gone down substantially. It's subtle, really. Damien is unsure if he would have noticed if he hadn't been looking quite so closely. His color-

He looks less... ashen grey, Damien thinks. His scales are colorless, still, washed out, but- paler, now. Almost... clearer? And the scales themselves seem less dry, cracked, brittle. Claws, too. He breathes a little easier.

(Damien's stomach twists and twists and twists and he cannot make himself believe that this is enough, but-)

Arum has been suspicious of him, still, intermittently. Now and again. He hasn't gone so far as to dump any more cups on Damien's head, thankfully, but- the amount of trust he has in Damien's motives seems to vary by the hour, as Damien sits patiently at the edge of Arum's plinth.

Damien asks, now. If Arum would not mind hearing Damien speak, compose, pray. His responses vary, as well, glaring and shaking his head or rolling his eyes into a reluctant nod, by turns. Damien stays quiet when asked, of course. It is difficult, admittedly, but- it seems a cruelty to give Arum a choice and then fail to follow through.

Once, Arum denies Damien's request to compose aloud, but then after a few hours the monster huffs, grimacing when Damien glances back towards him. He wrinkles his snout, the motion almost- cute, in a strange way, and then he looks away. Damien tries to give Arum a bit of grace, then, politely turning back to the front and his own thoughts, but after another heavy few seconds, he feels Arum's knuckles, just barely brushing the edge of Damien's elbow.

He twitches, turning perhaps a bit too quickly in surprise, and Arum pulls back, startled in his own right. The monster flicks his tongue after a moment, still uncomfortable, still flinching, and Damien-

"Did you..." Damien trails off, biting his lower lip for a moment before he tries again. "Did you need something of me?"

Arum's expression sours, and Damien remembers belatedly- pride, of course, and implying that he needs anything from Damien- poor choice of words, politeness seen as an insult, of course-

Arum sags after only a moment, though, something defeated in his eyes, and then he lifts a hand and gestures to the journal of poetry drafts in Damien's hands.

"Ah..." Damien blinks, lifting the journal almost unconsciously to press against his chest. "Wh... what would you... I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you mean."

Arum huffs again, points to the book, and then he flexes his hand oddly before he reaches to tap his own snout, his lips. He rolls his eyes as he does this, as if annoyed with himself, and then he flicks his hand out, waving vaguely towards Damien. It would seem like something of a dismissal, but...

Damien feels his own lips part. He swallows, and then tries, "You... you've changed your mind, about my... speaking?"

Arum frowns, and nods. He gestures to the book again.

Damien feels heat in his cheeks, the rawness of his poetic drafts inherently embarrassing, but...

It seems a cruelty, to give Arum a choice and then fail to follow through.

He lowers the pages from against his chest, takes a slow breath in, and starts to run through a verse that has been giving him particular trouble.

He tries, with difficulty, not to flush at the intensity of Arum's gaze upon him.

~

Arum does not know what to do with the new... amendments to his captivity.

Not that he has the freedom to do much of anything with it, but regardless. The sentiment stands.

His throat feels less raw than it has in... well. He does not actually know how long. Since the very first time he screamed it raw under the collar, when he raged and roared until the pain rendered him unconscious.

He think that he feels less tired, as well. That could be illusion, perhaps. It could be, instead, that Damien's presence in (what he assumes are) the daytime hours prevents him from fading into half-dreaming malaise, now. Even when the poet- when the knight is quiet, his presence is still a distraction, now that he simply prefers to... sit. On Arum's plinth. Within reach. The entirety of the shift, barring his allotted breaks.

(The knight is becoming oddly smooth, when it comes to rising and snatching up his weapons and pretending that he had been doing nothing whatsoever that he isn't allowed, when the other guards creak the door open to relieve him.)

He comes and sits close enough that Arum can scent the world outside on his skin, on his clothes.

Always, he smells of feathers and paper and ink, and the particular scent of his own hair and skin (which Arum, to his consternation, thinks that he could recognize in his sleep, now). Intermittently he smells of horses, of turned soil. Flowers. The scent of honeysuckle returns now and again, alongside lavender and roses and mint. He must enjoy plums, for how often his hands bear the scent of that delicate, cool flesh. The scent of other humans lingers on him with reasonable frequency, as well, but without their context, that is all Arum knows. Someone who enjoys talking as much as Sir Damien... it isn't particularly surprising that he would require other creatures with which to prattle and fritter away his time.

Once, he comes-

Droplets crowning his hair, again, damp darkening the armor on his shoulders, and when Damien puts his weapons on the stones away from Arum and shakes himself out, the reality of thunderstorm shivers in Arum's bones. He can taste it. The vague hint of a spark on the air, the thick rich scent of the rain. Mud on the knight's boots. And the distant, almost ignorable intermittent rumble Arum can sense through the stone, buzzing against his scales, he recognizes at last as thunder.

Damien had been grimacing as he shook a hand through his hair, but something in Arum's eyes must stop him short, because the poet's steps falter for a beat, and his cheeks darken when he meets Arum's gaze.

"Ah- er, it's just... raining," he says, lamely, and Arum wishes for perhaps the thousandth time that he could simply tell this creature how utterly absurd he is. In all capacities. He settles for a look, and Damien's face scrunches in something of a wince. "I know, I know." He sighs, and then he tilts his head, considering, his eyes up on the ceiling for a long moment. "Hm."

Arum glares. The force of it draws Damien's attention, and after a moment he shakes his head again (the rain-scent redoubling in Arum's snout).

"The thunder," he says, quietly. "I didn't realize... this deep, you can barely even hear it. It could just as well be the middle of a sunny day, or the depths of a snowstorm, or a humid haze, and we would never know the difference, secreted away in this cryp-"

He pauses, inhaling sharply and almost swallowing the word, but- he catches Arum's eye again. Arum knows what word he said. Damien knows he knows. The knight gives a rather mirthless, uncertain smile, and he sighs.

"Well. Regardless. I'm sup-" another pause. "Rather, I thought I should ask... may I take a look at your hand? The one that was injured, I mean," he says when Arum pulls his head back, wary. "I want to see how it has been healing, if that's alright with you."

Arum glances down to the hand in question, then glares back up at Damien. He can see the hand perfectly well, can't he?

Damien's smile takes on a little more warmth, and he takes a step closer. "May I look a bit closer, I mean," he says. "I- I'd like to see if the swelling has gone down. Your eye looks better, but... the hand was rather more unfortunate, and I want to be sure."

Why, Arum thinks, again. For perhaps the thousandth time. Why does the knight care?

He flexes his fingers, far less sore and stiff than they had been, and then he sighs. He settles a little more comfortably (not comfortably, in truth, but- more so) and offers the offending limb out towards the knight.

Damien almost looks surprised, for a heartbeat, and then his smile shifts even wider, and softer, and he leans against the plinth, lifting his own hands to take Arum's.

Arum twitches at the touch. He can't help it. Even his fingertips are hot like coals, and Arum can feel droplets of water from the rain dotting his skin, too, oddly intimate against Arum's scales. Damien makes a noise in the back of his throat, wordless but soothing, and he very carefully turns Arum's hand in his own, his eyes intent and observant.

Arum imagines that his own eyes must bear a similar look, watching Damien in return, trying to focus on anything besides that touch. He flicks his tongue, taking all of it (rain hair orange peel spark of lightning skin rain soil honeysuckle linen rain green growing things rain) in as one sensation. It feels something like hunger, at the core of him. A want so sharp that it hurts. It coalesces oddly: he remembers with a sudden pulse a particular landscape Amaryllis had shown, raindrops on a river, hazy lines in the air to show the falling droplets, ruffling birds taking cover beneath a shrub, and-

(Ridiculous, the idea that he misses her. He does not know her. He knew her only briefly. She does not mean anything. She is not coming back.)

(She is not coming back.)

Arum swallows. Damien releases his hand, leaning back and leaving Arum's scales colder again. Arum curls his hands into fists, pressing them against his stomach as if that might keep the linger of mammal heat a moment longer. As if it isn't already too late.

"Seems that you're healing rather well," Damien says with a light smile, and then a sharpness comes to his eyes. "Now, at least. Do you imagine the water is helping?" he asks, and Arum-

(Rain on his cheek, still weighing his curls down, emphasizing every scent, is the water helping? Helping-)

(He means the canteen.)

Arum shakes his head to clear it, realizes that Damien will likely take that as a negation, and then he huffs. He gives a shrug, tipping his head sideways in what he hopes will read as a so-so gesture. He doesn't know, of course. It feels like, perhaps, it might be. But how would he know?

Damien nods slowly, a thoughtful turn to his lips, and then he allows himself to sit, perching on the lip of Arum's plinth, his usual place.

(His usual place?)

"Would..." the poet's voice slows, and then he hesitantly raises his eyes to meet Arum's. "Would food help, as well, do you think?"

[pandoraborn]

Cruelty of the Beast - Part 9

( previous. )

Characters: c!Ranboo, c!Dream, c!Wilbur, c!Tommy Word count: 2081 Content: jokes about brain damage, hypnosis, ranboo remembers everything

----

“Do you understand more?” Dream’s voice sounds almost too far away. Ranboo is still trying to grasp onto reality, still mentally lost in the end. Part of him doesn’t want to shake off the peaceful haze, but another part of him is struggling to surface, if not for himself then for Tommy.

Tommy’s hand is in his own, caressing the back of his hand tenderly. Ranboo can feel the comfort from the other teen, but the comfort only seems to keep him in this suspension. Still, he lifts his head and acknowledges Dream with a dreamy hum.

“He’s still lost,” Wilbur exclaims. “We shouldn’t have brought him there without preparing him.”

“Is he going to be okay though?” Not even Tommy’s brash voice can snap him out of it. There’s a distant thought that maybe this isn’t entirely his fault. Is it really such a bad thing though? Ranboo feels utterly at peace.

“He’ll be fine.” Dream presses his hands to Ranboo’s shoulders. “We could use this, actually. It’d be useful if we wanted to access his memories.”

“How do you suggest we use this? He’s barely responsive.” Wilbur sounds curious; Ranboo turns to gaze at the man. In this state of mind, Ranboo feels as though he can actually trust everyone around him. Though, shouldn’t that be a cause for concern? It’s not like the men are exactly plotting anything good.

Tommy seems to understand what’s being discussed, because he’s yanking his hand away from Ranboo and lurching to his feet. “Oy, no. He’ll snap out of it soon enough, neither of us need your help. You’re going to give him brain dama-”

“What are you talking about?” Wilbur sounds amused. “Do you really think he’ll get brain damage from being in trance?” Ranboo dimly notes a smirk on Wilbur’s face. “Tommy, I don’t know where you get your information, but you’re clearly looking at the wrong sources.”

“I know enough,” Tommy grumbles, seating himself back by Ranboo’s side. “He’ll get stuck like this, he’ll get brain damage and turn into some sort of puppet, then end up in a coma. You can’t use him.”

Wilbur snorts, but surprisingly, so does Dream. It’s almost enough for Ranboo to fully come back to reality as he glances back and forth. When he glances at Dream though, he notes the way Dream is presented. Dream’s hair is hanging loose around his face, no mask in sight. He’s not wearing his usual green for once, and instead a simple blue t-shirt hangs loose around his frame, paired with tan cargo pants. Dream looks like an ordinary man that’d be hard to pick out of a crowd normally, but right now, Ranboo feels completely and utterly drawn to him.

“If you’re going to do something, do it right now,” Dream urges Wilbur. “Before he completely snaps out of it.”

“Shut up dickhead,” Tommy mutters, snapping his fingers in Dream’s direction. “What if you two hurt him or some shit? You shouldn’t mess around with things you don’t understand!”

Wilbur drops his voice to speak quieter than normal. “What makes you think we don’t understand, Tommy? Remember all those nights I read to you until you fell asleep, all the times I was able to talk you out of a rash decision? Even when I was able to convince you the day we stood by the ocean, gathering sand. People find it so easy to listen to me, even more so when they’re already suggestible.”

“Wilbur,” Tommy warns.

Cocky grin in place, Wilbur moves around to stand behind Ranboo. Hands press down on the hybrid’s shoulders, heavy enough to keep him seated, light enough that he could wriggle out of the grip if he chose to. Ranboo leans back into Wilbur, head resting back against Wilbur’s chest.

“That’s it Ranboo,” Wilbur murmurs. “You enjoy feeling so relaxed, don’t you? Already so lost in the memory of your homeland, you’ll find it so easy to open the rest of your mind and let us in.”

“Us?” Ranboo finally finds his voice, and it’s shaky. He remembers what Tommy said five minutes ago. “I’ll be okay?”

“You’ll be more than okay.” It’s Dream now, and Ranboo is unconsciously leaning toward him. Dream means safety, he always has. But why?

Wilbur laughs. “I think he wants you, Dream.” He nudges at Ranboo before stepping back. “Should I keep going, though?”

Ranboo feels another arm wrap around him, holding him close. With a light sigh, Ranboo leans into the new body, recognizing the figure as Dream. He nods mutely toward Wilbur, encouraging him to keep going. He might not know what it is Wilbur is doing, but his voice is nice to listen to.

“Ranboo I want you to listen to me carefully.” Wilbur’s voice drops again, weaving gently through the room, before settling in his mind. “Just listen to me and let yourself go, back to the end. It holds all the answers you could possibly need. More specifically, the ones you’ve locked away from yourself.”

“Wilbur are you sure this will help?” Tommy whispers. The response Wilbur gives him is finger pressed to his forehead. Tommy goes cross-eyes trying to focus on the finger, but Wilbur jerks his hand downward, with Tommy’s eyes falling shut and his body falling forward. The man gathers Tommy in his arms and holds him before continuing to speak to Ranboo.

“You can see them just beyond your reach, Ranboo,” Wilbur whispers. “They’re not locked tight in a box, they’re open and available for you, you just have to be willing to reach for them.

In his mind, Ranboo’s in the end again. The purple haze surrounds him, leaving him feeling as though he’s completely alone. Wilbur’s voice is barely even heard, but Ranboo’s listening anyway. He can see what he only assumes are his memories (in the form of obsidian chunks), strewn about by the dragon’s small tower. His gaze locks onto those chunks as he moves closer, reaching an arm out. Though, Ranboo stops short of touching one. What if he finds something that scares him? He’s contributed to hurting Tommy as well as other people.

He doesn’t want to hate himself.

“It’s okay Ranboo,” Wilbur continues. “You’re safe with us. Your memories will not destroy you. Just breathe.”

He sucks in a breath, trying to steady his emotions. Everything seems to stretch out endlessly between himself and the obsidian chunks. It almost seems hopeless, but he finally closes his fist around the first one.

Everything rushes back.

He sees himself in Dream’s vault. This is his memory, he’s not watching it from an omniscient point of view, he recalls it perfectly now. Ranboo is with the rest of the SMP as they rush in to rescue Tommy and Tubbo, though he stands back to watch Tommy enact his revenge. Ranboo recalls staring at Dream, too, as the latter is led away to prison.

When he comes to, he’s still not back in the cabin, but back in the end. Obsidian chunks are still surrounding him, no longer stretched out, but pressed too close against him. The sensation is almost suffocating, and the only way out is to grab and push at them.

He remembers everything now.

Not all at once, it’s not a painful barrage against his brain, but more of a trickle, each memory dripping back in one by one. Everything he’d done, everything he’d help plan, everything he wanted to do. All the memories leave him feeling spent, even with Wilbur’s gentle cadence echoing in the back of his mind.

The last memory Ranboo picks up is the day Dream escaped from prison.

He pulls a sword on Tubbo, not to hurt him, but to warn him to stay back. He never wanted Tubbo to get hurt in the crossfire, he never wanted Michael to see this. Tubbo had always been better off away from any of this, where he can remain safe and raise Michael in peace.

Ranboo had pulled the sword and left him alone. He recalls the grief he’d pushed down in favor of guarding Tommy.

It was always about Tommy.

Ranboo had sworn to protect him from day one, hoping to guide him in the right direction, to steer him back toward Wilbur. Kind of a hard task to accomplish when he’s splitting his mind in half.

Everything makes sense now. Nothing’s changed, his mindset about Dream being evil has never changed. That much has always been true, the only difference now is Ranboo no longer feels remorse over being here.

He’d seen how everyone had twisted their morals and viewpoints into something barely recognizable. He’d seen how quickly everyone cast aside someone else for opposing beliefs, himself included. Everyone on the SMP is some level of selfish, and Ranboo had immediately gone to Dream, who had presented an idea.

He’d learned that Wilbur had the same mindset before he died. Ranboo had learned that in the deep pits of Pogtopia, where not even Tommy could reach, Wilbur had vented about his need to destroy more than just L’Manburg, that the two men had discussed starting over and creating a society where everyone would be on the same page. No more betrayal, no more destruction, no more pain.

Ranboo had loved the idea.

He still loves the idea.

When he sits up straight, he’s in the cabin again. It’s the same cabin, with the same beds and counters and furnaces. Wilbur is there holding a dazed Tommy, who’s glaring around the room. Dream is watching him with an expectant grin on his face.

The person Ranboo wants to speak to most isn’t there.

“Are you with us again?” Dream asks. “You look way more alert than you did before we started.”

Nodding, Ranboo stares down at his legs, wiping imaginary dirt off his trousers. “Thanks, I think. I don’t know what that was but-”

“Classic hypnosis,” Wilbur says smugly. “Tommy here thought it’d give you brain damage. Tommy, do you have brain damage?”

“I’ll smack you over the head with an obsidian brick,” Tommy grumbles. “That’ll give you brain damage.”

“I remember now,” Ranboo continues as though the brothers hadn’t just bickered. “I think I remember everything. Or at least, I know enough.”

“Do you still think I’m the bad guy?” Dream presses.

Ranboo snorts, but nods. “We’re all the bad guys, but I don’t mind as much. At least now I know what I’m doing.”

“Traitor.” There’s no bite in Tommy’s voice. “You lot are all traitors. Let me off this crazy ride.”

Reaching over, Ranboo gives Tommy’s hair a teasing ruffle. “You know you love us.”

“Two of you.” The younger teen shoots a pointed glare in Dream’s direction. “I only care about two of you.”

Dream shrugs. “That’s fair. I’m coming to terms with the fact that you hate me. I’ll live.”

“We’ve had a busy day,” Wilbur interrupts, pushing Tommy off his lap. The teen falls to the floor with a pained groan. “We should all sleep. We still have a lot of prep to do and things won’t be ready for awhile, but we’re making progress.”

“Wilbur you’re such a dick.” Tommy stretches out. “I’m sleeping on the floor.”

With a chuckle, Ranboo pulls Tommy up and drags him over to their makeshift double bed. “Just share with me again, alright?” He’s suprised when Tommy latches onto him, causing Ranboo to topple backwards into the bed. He makes a grab for Tommy in hopes of moving him, but it’s clear Tommy’s not moving.

“Don’t turn against me now that you have your memories back,” Tommy whispers. “I’m tired of losing people.”

Softening, Ranboo moves to grab at Tommy’s hand instead of his wrist. “No, never,” he promises. “It was always about you and your safety. I won’t let you down again, alright?”

“I’m tired of not trusting people either,” Tommy mumbles. He already sounds half asleep. “Just promise me that you and Wilbur won’t turn into Dream.”

“I promise.” Ranboo gives Tommy’s hand a squeeze. “We’re both here to protect you with everything we have. You can trust us unconditionally.”

“Thanks.” Mostly asleep, the teen’s voice is slurred. Ranboo settles for playing with Tommy’s hair to lull him down the rest of the way. He’d forgotten that in all this mess, Tommy probably doesn’t get very much comfort anymore.

That’s okay, Ranboo’s happy to provide. Just because they’re the bad guys doesn’t mean they have to be evil.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 10

<- Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 ->

Summary: It’s your wedding day. Things are... great. 

Thank you @sexy-opium-ravioli​ for helping beta! This is an important chapter, so I hope it scans! 

Everything feels numb. There is a veil draped between you and the world, even before someone—your mother, perhaps—drapes a veil of gossamer over your face. It’s fitting. You sit behind it and pretend you are not there as the world moves you.

Someone fusses with your hair. Someone dresses you in a gown. Someone takes your arm and you are inside a church. Someone puts a plate in front of you, a rich meal of savory meat that tickles your nostrils—the kind of meal you should expect with a wealthy husband (as wealthy as this small village can offer). But you don’t eat.

It’s funny. You had worried about starving if you ran away with your monster, but now you have food and can’t eat anything.

Where was he at this moment? Far away, you suppose. You broke his heart and betrayed him. You’re marrying a man you despise because you were too afraid to go with him. He always did try to push you away whenever his feelings were too raw—to claim you were better off without him—so you know exactly what he did. He left without you, thinking it was what you wanted.

Or maybe he is close—he loves you too fiercely to just leave, doesn’t he? He might be watching the proceedings from some secret hiding place, weeping and raging, unable to do anything to stop it. It’s not as though he could claim you as his rightful wife. He can never show his face to the world without putting himself in danger; he can’t protect you from the realities of life. He can’t undo your choices.

Then again, he had also told you he was afraid of the evil he was capable of in the absence of love. You spurned him, and threw him back into a loveless world, where all he will ever know is rejection and isolation. Seeing you, who had promised yourself to him, start a family with another could be enough to push him over the edge. You had seen flashes of his anger before, his fits of passion. If Ferdinand had gone though such lengths to reclaim you after you left him, and he is a mere mortal, what is the daemon capable of?

He would never hurt you, you’re sure of that. Or you were sure. You never betrayed him before. What if he hates you, and that hate turns into vengeance? If he burns Ferdinand’s house down with you inside, that might be the most satisfactory ending left to you now. It would be favorable to living as Ferdinand’s wife for the next twenty years, unless you could manage to die in childbirth sooner.

Your mind drifts to that deep and rapid river, flooded with icy spring snow-melt, and you wonder how much trouble everyone would have been spared if the creature had never pulled you from its deathly current. At the bottom of that black stream, you imagine the sheer layers of your gown floating gently above your head, surrounded by bubbles, and the veil pulling off your crown and washing away into the turbid dark. A kind of peace settles over you. You think of nothing else for a long time.

 **********

 The organ plays a funeral march as your father drags you down the aisle, and you find yourself, through no will of your own, standing before an altar with vows being read to you and practically no memory of how you came to be there.

You feel sick.

Perhaps if you throw up on your husband’s shoes it will be some small rebellious victory. You feel your face want to smirk at that, instinctively. It’s what your cheeks would normally do. Yet your facial muscles remain slack and lifeless.

A sea of uncaring faces watch with curiosity from the long wooden pews, with a faded red carpet dividing them in two. Neighbors turn to whisper in each other’s ears with a frown or a smirk half-hidden behind a hand. They all came to watch. None of them had spoken to you in years, but they came for the show.

As the priest makes his pronouncements, your mind swirls with a torrent of self-reproaches. Why didn’t you fight while there was still a chance? You could have screamed and struggled until your parents had no choice but to let you go. Until Ferdinand realized you weren’t worth the trouble. You could have tied your sheets together and sneaked out the window before dawn—the storm had stopped by then.

It’s too late, you gutless fool. You can’t make a scene in front of all these people.

“If anyone knows a reason why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

Someone save me, you silently pray, but the large wooden cross looming above the altar seems to be on their side. Your eyes dart across the indifferent faces of the guests, desperately hoping for a savior, but they were only spectators. They know you’re being forced into this, and they’re complicit. Not that you had fought it either.

Not that you had fought it. The realization breaks upon you like an avalanche in spring. How could you expect someone else to save you when you would do nothing to save yourself from this fate? When you turned down your own best chance of escape because you were afraid? Now it was too late. There was no way out anymore.

Your stomach turns, and a sob breaks through the numbness that had swallowed you. Even through the veil, there was no hiding your tears, or your wail of abject sorrow.

The crowd gasps in unison, but not at you. At that same moment, the heavy double doors of the chapel burst open, banging against the walls in an explosion of splinters and a shattering roar: “I object!”

Standing beside you with a clear view down the center of the aisle, your mother makes a sign of the cross over her chest and points into the doorway, now filled by a massive silhouette. “The demon!”

A wave of reaction spreads through the crowd like the churning of a river around a large rock as the witnesses scream and push each other trying to get away from the enraged monster, flooding toward the back of the church and pressing themselves against the far walls.

He stands glowering in the doorway, eight feet tall and filling the entire entrance that he has to stoop to get inside. His arms spread wide from throwing open the doors make him appear even larger—inescapable. Silhouetted in the light streaming behind him from outside, his face is a vicious mask of cruelty and stark shadows.

Your heart stops beating, or races so quickly that you can’t distinguish one beat from the next, and you feel the blood running from your face. He—he came. He’s here. How can he be here? He can’t be here! Not like this. There was a chance you could have introduced him little by little to people you trusted, like Bess, if she hadn’t walked in with such poor timing. She might have understood. But this? He is poisoning himself to them forever. Why? Has he come to rescue you… or to take revenge?

“It is I—the Serpent,” he snarls in a voice that booms and resonates through the arched ceiling. You haven’t heard this voice since the day you encountered him in the forest and he tried to scare you away. “He who reigns among of the Legions of Pandemonium, sprung from the Deep, through the gates of Hell lays claim upon this woman. All the Seraphim of heaven shall not keep me from my prize!” He raises himself to his full height, scattering guests left and right with his sheer enormity and the terror of his presence. Your mouth goes dry as you suddenly become aware of how much he hunches over when he’s with you to make himself less intimidating. You’ve never seen him like his—his teeth bared and his long black hair whipping around him. The gentle creature who milked your cows and waited patiently for you in the dusty hayloft was gone. A cold shiver runs down your spine.

The demon snaps his huge white jaws at the crowd like a feral beast, lashing out at one side of the aisle and the other as he stalks up the faded strip of carpet. Each crashing footfall shakes the whole floor under your feet and sends dust streaming down from the rafters. With each threatening lunge, fresh screams of panic erupt from the congregants still frozen in their seats, and those fleeing toward the rear of the church now creep along the walls toward the front as he moves away from the broken doors. A trickle of congregants risk sneaking out the doors behind him, and when the first brave group manages to run to freedom without the monster whipping about and killing them, more flood out the doors in a turbulent stream of pushing and screaming.

What is he doing? You spent so much time and care hiding him, and now he’s in the middle of the village, exposed in full view, deliberately calling attention to himself. It’s as if everything you strived for together doesn’t even matter. Is he trying to get himself killed? Does he not even care anymore?

“Your God cannot help you now,” he thunders as he approaches the small wedding party at the altar. “I am the Prince of Darkness, the Morning Star, and a curse be upon any soul who stands in my way!” Your mother takes a quick step backward, then drops to the ground with a thud. Your father turns and runs, abandoning her.

No one is trying to stop him. They’re too terrified. You rip off your gossamer veil and look around the church—those who are not mobbing the exits are fainted or quivering in shock.

Everything you strived for doesn’t matter. All that hiding and pretending didn’t work—if you stay on that road, it leads to you marrying Ferdinand and living the rest of your life in a cold fog waiting to die. It’s time to try something different.

This.

All cards on the table. Winner takes all.

He towers over the trembling priest, and pronounces with a warning glare, “I claim this woman for my wife! No mortal shall touch her; no contract under God may bind her—her soul belongs to me!”

His eyes flit down to you and he stutters in his fierce tirade. Your wedding dress is new—a modestly expensive modern gown purchased by the groom to show off his assets. A taffeta robe the color of summer is pulled back to reveal a bright white petticoat underneath, and a neckline plunging almost scandalously low shows off more of your cleavage than he is used to seeing. His pale cheeks redden at your beauty, and for a moment he looks so much like an infatuated school boy it nearly gives away his act. To you it does, at least. At that moment, you’re certain what his intentions are, and the relief at those loving eyes you thought you would never see again makes your vision swim with tears.

He drops to one knee, sweeping his cloak out behind him, and holds a hand out to you. “Take my hand, and be my bride,” he commands in a booming voice, then adds, softly, earnestly, locking his eyes with yours, “If you will have me.”

You smile and cover your mouth, a warm feeling fluttering through your stomach.

You take his hand.

“I knew it,” growls a voice behind you. “I knew I did not imagine you, fiend! And you,” he shoves aside the preacher, still a trembling mass of robes, so he can grab the hand raised to your mouth roughly by the wrist and pull you back toward him. “I knew you were a whore! I’ll teach you to know your place!”

“Let me go!” you scream and try to twist away toward the creature, but Ferdinand holds on with bruising force. You cry out in pain.

The creature roars in outrage and snatches Ferdinand’s wrist just below where it grips yours. There is a sound of snapping bone as his hand goes limp and releases you, and the giant being of immense strength pulls the smaller man’s arm upward until he hangs off the ground like a limp rag doll. You pivot and join the creature at his side, interlacing your fingers with his.

“Her place is where she chooses. No one shall force her hand so long as I will live,” the creature snarls in the boy’s face, gnashing his dripping teeth. “You should have begged to be worthy for her to choose you.”

A slow, unhinged laugh shakes Ferdinand’s dangling form. “Choice?” he cackles, “She would choose to leave me? For this thing?! Then it is fortunate you have no choice, you filthy sow!” He lashes out with his feet, but the creature whips him away, a symphony of popping joints and screams following, until he hangs limp and defeated again.

“Yes, I do,” you growl. “I always have; you just didn’t want me to see it. But I see it now, and you can never have me.”

“Would you like me to rend him limb from limb?”

“No,” you reply coldly. “He isn’t worth the mess.”

“Disgusting wench!” Ferdinand coughs, wriggling impotently like a marionette on the end of a string. He’s at least learned not to kick. “Your defile yourself in the eyes of God!”

“If God wants me to be with the likes of you, then consider me happily defiled,” you sneer. You’re feeling downright brazen now at seeing your oppressors so weak and helpless—how pathetic they really are. You have every right to be with the one you love, with the one who makes you happy. “There is nothing wrong or immoral about what we have.”

Ferdinand’s eyes spark with rage. “So you admit it, then. All along you’ve made a cuckold of me. You were mine! Corrupting devil,” he spits, “She was the perfect woman when I chose her for my own—meek and biddable—there was no competition for her hand due to her social defects, but I could have tamed those peculiarities in short order. Instead you made her stubborn and willful. I will not forgive you for making her your whore, beast!” His free hand reaches into the lining of his waistcoat, and he pulls out a dueling pistol. “This time my aim will be straight for your heart—die, vile adversary!”

You see him raise the gun to the creature’s chest, and you don’t think. You slam your full body weight against his arm, pushing it out to the side as he pulls the trigger. A shower of sparks erupts from the muzzle with a loud bang, and a lead round embeds itself in the chapel wall. Burning black powder makes you cough. The creature grabs the gun from Ferdinand’s hand and crushes the barrel with a single squeeze, then tosses it and Ferdinand away like so much garbage.

Ferdinand crashes into the altar, candles toppling down over him in a heap.

“Bitch! You bitch!” Ferdinand shouts disparaging swears from his position on the floor. It’s more than the impotent rage of defeat. He pulls the second dueling pistol of the set from the other side of his waistcoat—he was paranoid enough to be wed with two loaded weapons strapped to him—more shrewd than paranoid, considering the outcome. He takes aim at you this time.

He had struck the creature while both were sprinting through the undergrowth of the forest—he was a good shot. At only a few meters distance, he is unlikely to miss. The blood freezes in your veins and time seems to stand still as you watch his finger slowly depress the trigger, millimeter by millimeter. This is what you had been terrified of for the past months, why you had so feared discovery. You squeeze the creature’s fingers, still locked in yours, and you smile. You smile like it’s the last time you will ever get the chance to, because you’re afraid to die.

The flint snaps down onto the flashpan and tiny golden sparks spray out from the top of the pistol. The spark reaches the barrel, but carelessly loaded and ill-maintained, the ball does not fire, but the barrel explodes in his hand, sending shrapnel whizzing past your head and setting the cloth of the altar ablaze. He shrieks in agony, dropping the wreckage of the gun from his mangled and bleeding hand.

The creature pulls you to him in a protective embrace as time starts moving again.

“Goodbye, Ferdinand,” you say through your teeth. “If you ever come near me again, I’ll kill you.” Eyes wide with terror and pain, Ferdinand scrambles away from the spreading flames.

You leap into the creature’s arms, a grin spreading from ear to ear as he holds you in a bridal carry. He smiles back triumphantly, chest heaving from adrenaline. You don’t know how this happened, how everything turned upside down so suddenly, but you’re ready now. You already felt the cold jaws of a living death closing around you, and as the fire begins to spread out from the altar, you feel alive again—truly alive, for perhaps the first time in your life.

The growing fire spurs a rapid call to activity—swooning parishioners startle awake at the smell of smoke, and shake their stunned companions out of their trances. The priest, to his credit, kneels beside your mother and lifts her to her feet. She gives one last bleary-eyed look of confusion at you with your bright wedding gown streaming down from the dark-haired monster’s arms before the priest guides her out a side door.

You clasp your arms around the back of the creature’s neck. His smile has faded to a faraway sort of sadness. “I never meant to hurt you, I just… panicked,” you explain quietly. “I was so afraid of dying with you, but I realized just now, there are worse things. When I resigned to marrying him, I kept thinking of the merciful ways my life might be cut short so I wouldn’t have to grow old in his house. I was afraid of living. You make me afraid to die.” He carefully wipes a tear from the corner of your eye with a calloused thumb. “Can you forgive me for being such a coward?”

“Of course I do. I only wanted to give you a choice. You could have renounced me, and then all would know you were innocent. That none of it was your fault. So disrupted, the ceremony would at least be postponed, and if you cast out the demon, perhaps they would not force you into marriage.”

“That… that was really your plan?” You hadn’t considered for a moment the possibility of turning against him.

“I was hoping you would choose me,” he shrugs sheepishly. “What is your choice, my angel? Do you wish to leave with me?” His question is uncertain and soft and familiar now that you’re alone. You lift a hand to his cheek, and he turns his face to nuzzle into your palm.

“I do!”

Your sweet daemon leans his head down and kisses you before the burning altar. As the church begins to fill with the dry smoke of ancient timber, the creature hefts you in his arms, hugging you closer, and carries you down the aisle.

[claudinei-de-jesus]

The origin of sin

The third chapter of Genesis offers the key points that characterize man's spiritual history, which are: Temptation, guilt, judgment and redemption.

1. Temptation: its possibility, origin and subtlety.

(a) The possibility of temptation. The second chapter of Genesis reports the fact of man's fall, reporting on man's first home, his intelligence, his service in the Garden in Eden, the two trees, and the first marriage. It specifically mentions the two trees of destiny - the tree of the science of good and evil and the tree of life.

These two trees constitute a sermon in the form of a picture constantly saying to our first parents: "If you follow good and reject evil, you will have life." And isn't this really the essence of the Way of Life found through the Scriptures? (See Deut. 30:15.) Note the forbidden tree. Why was it placed there? To provide a test by which man could, lovingly and freely, choose to serve God and thereby develop his character. Without free will, man would have been merely a machine.

(b) The source of temptation. "Now the serpent was more astute than all the animals in the field that the Lord God had made." It is reasonable to deduce that the serpent, which at that time should have been a beautiful creature, was the agent employed by Satan, who had already been thrown out of heaven before the creation of man. (Ezek. 23: 13-17; Isa. 14: 12-15.) For this reason, Satan is described as "that ancient serpent, called the devil" (Rev. 12: 9). Usually Satan works through agents. When Peter (though without bad intent) sought to dissuade his Master from the path of duty, Jesus looked beyond Peter, and said, "Behind me, Satan" (Matt. 16: 22,23). In this case Satan worked through one of Jesus' friends; in Eden he employed the serpent, a creature that Eve did not suspect.

(c) The subtlety of temptation. Subtlety is mentioned as a distinguishing feature of the serpent. (See Matt. 10:16.) With great cunning she offers suggestions, which, when embraced, open the way to sinful desires and deeds. She begins by speaking to the woman, the most fragile vessel, who, in addition to this circumstance, had not directly heard the divine prohibition.

(Gen. 2:16, 17.) And she waits until Eve is alone. Note the cunning approach. She twists the words of God (See Gen. 3: 1 and 2:16, 17) and then pretends to be surprised that they are so twisted; in this way she, shrewdly, sows doubt and suspicion in the heart of the naive woman, and at the same time insinuates that she is well qualified to be a judge on the justice of such a prohibition. Through the question in verse 1, she casts threefold doubts about God.

1) Doubt about God's goodness. It says, in effect, "God is withholding some blessing from you."

2) Doubt about God's righteousness. "You will certainly not die." That is, "God did not mean to say what he said".

3) Doubt about God's holiness. In verse 5 the serpent says, in effect: "God has forbidden you to eat from the tree because he is jealous of you. He does not want you to become as wise as he is, so he keeps you in ignorance. It is not because he is interested in you. , to save you from death, but in his interest, to prevent you from becoming like him. "

2. Guilt.

Notice the evidence of a guilty conscience:

1) "Then their eyes were opened, and they knew that they were naked." Expression used to indicate miraculous or sudden clarification. (Gen. 21:19; 2 Kings. 6:17.) The serpent's words (verse 5) were fulfilled; however, the knowledge acquired was different from what they expected. Instead of making them similar to God, they experienced a miserable sense of guilt that made them afraid of God. Notice that physical nudity is a picture of a naked or guilty conscience.

Emotional disturbances are often reflected in our features. Some commentators maintain that before the fall, Adam and Eve were dressed in a halo or light garment, which was a sign of communion with God and the dominance of the spirit over the body. When they sinned, that fellowship was interrupted; the body overcame the spirit, and there began this conflict between the flesh and the spirit (Rom. 7: 14-24), which has been the cause of so much misery.

2) "And they sewed fig leaves, and made aprons for themselves." Just as physical nudity is a sign of a guilty conscience, in the same way, trying to cover nudity is a picture that represents the man trying to cover his guilt with the dress of forgetfulness or the costume of excuses. But, only a garment made by God can cover sin (Verse 21).

3) "And they heard the voice of the Lord God, who was walking in the garden at the turn of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden." The guilty man's instinct is to run away from God. And just as Adam and Eve sought to hide among the trees, so people today seek to hide in pleasures and other activities.

3. The judgment.

(a) About the snake. "Because you have done this, you will be cursed more than every beast, and more than all the animals of the field; you will walk on your belly, and the dust you will eat every day of your life." These words imply that the serpent was once a beautiful and honorable creature. Then, because it became the instrument for the fall of man, it became cursed and degraded on the scale of animal creation. Since the serpent was simply Satan's instrument, why should it be punished? Because it is God's will to make the serpent's curse a type and prophecy of the curse on the devil and on all the powers of evil. Man must recognize, by the serpent's punishment, how the curse of God will wound all sin and wickedness; crawling in the dust would remind man of the day when God will bring down to the dust, the power of the devil. This is a stimulus for man: he, the tempter, is standing upright while the serpent is under the curse. By the grace of God, man can hurt his head - he can overcome evil. (See Luke 10:18; Rom. 16:20; Rev. 12: 9; 20: 1-3, 10.)

(b) About the woman. "And he said to the woman, I will greatly multiply your pain and your conception; in pain you will have children; and your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you" (Gen. 3:16). Thus said a writer: The presence of sin has been the cause of much suffering, precisely in the manner indicated above.

There is no doubt that giving birth to children constitutes a critical and painful moment in the woman's life. The feeling of past faults weighs in a particular way on her, and also the cruelty and madness of the man contributed to making the process more painful and dangerous for the woman than for the animals. Sin has corrupted all relationships in life, and particularly the marriage relationship. In many countries, women are practically slaves to men; the sad position and condition of widowed girls and mother girls in India has been a horrible fact in fulfilling this curse.

(c) About man. (Verses 17-19.) The work for the man had already been assigned (2:15). The punishment consists of the eagerness, disappointments and afflictions that often accompany the work. Agriculture is specified in particular, because it has always been one of the most needed human jobs. In some mysterious way, the land and creation in general have participated in the curse and fall of their master (man) but are destined to participate in their redemption.

This is Rom's thinking. 8: 19-23. In Isaiah 11: 1-9 and 65: 17-25, we have examples of verses that predict the removal of the curse from the earth during the Millennium. In addition to the physical curse that has taken hold of the land, it is also true that human caprice and sin have hampered labor in many ways and have provoked the most difficult and hardest working conditions for man. Let us note the death penalty. "Because you are dust, and in dust you will become." Man was created capable of not dying physically; he would have physical existence indefinitely if he had preserved his innocence and continued to eat from the tree of life.

Even if he returns to fellowship with God (and thus overcomes spiritual death) through repentance and prayer, he must nevertheless return to his Creator through death. Since death is part of the penalty of sin, complete salvation must include the resurrection of the body, (1 Cor. 15: 54-57.) Nevertheless, certain people, like Enoch, will have the privilege of escaping physical death. (Gen. 5:24; 1 Cor. 15:51.)

4. Redemption.

The first three chapters of Genesis contain the three revelations of God, which throughout the Bible figure in all of God's relations with man. The Creator, who brought everything into existence (ch. 1), the God of the Covenant who enters personal relationships with man (ch. 2); the Redeemer, who makes provision for the restoration of man (ch. 3).

(a) Promised. (See Gen. 3:15.) (1) The serpent sought to make a covenant with Eve against God, but God ended that covenant. "And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed (descendants) and your seed." In other words, there will be a constant struggle between man and the evil power that caused his downfall. (2) What will be the result of this conflict? First, victory for humanity, through the Representative of man, the Seed of woman.

"She (the woman's seed) will hurt your head." Christ, the Seed of the woman, came into the world to crush the power of the devil. (Matt. 1:23, 25; Luc. 1: 31-35,76; Isa. 7:14; Gal. 4: 4; Rom. 16:20; Col. 2:15; Heb. 2: 14,15 ; 1 John 3: 8; 5: 5; Rev. 12: 7, 8, 17; 20: 1-3, 10.) (3) However, victory will not be without suffering. "And you (the serpent) will hurt his heel." On Calvary the Serpent struck the heel of the woman's Seed; but this wound brought healing to humanity. (See Isa. 53: 3,4,12; Dan. 9:26; Matt. 4: 1-10; Luc. 22: 39-14,53; John 12: 31- 33; 14: 30,31; Heb 2:18; 5: 7; Rev. 2:10.)

(b) Prefigured. (Verse 21.) God killed an animal, an innocent creature, to be able to dress those who felt naked before his sight because of sin. Likewise, the Father gave his Son, the Innocent, to death, in order to provide atoning coverage for the souls of men. ... A origem do pecado

O terceiro capítulo de Gênesis oferece os pontos chaves que caracterizam a história espiritual do homem, as quais são: A tentação, a culpa, o juízo e a redenção.

1. A tentação: sua possibilidade, origem e sutileza.

(a) A possibilidade da tentação. O segundo capítulo de Gênesis relata o fato da queda do homem, informando acerca do primeiro lar do homem, sua inteligência, seu serviço no Jardim no Éden, as duas árvores, e o primeiro matrimônio. Menciona especialmente como duas árvores do destino - a árvore da ciência do bem e do mal e a árvore da vida.

Essas duas árvores afetam um sermão em forma de quadro constantemente a nossos primeiros pais: "Se seguirdes o bem e rejeitardes o mal, tereis a vida." E não é esta realmente a essência do Caminho da Vida encontrada através das Escrituras? (Vide Deut. 30:15.) Notemos a árvore proibida. Por que foi colocada ali? Para provar um teste pelo qual o homem pudesse, amorosa e evoluir, escolher servir a Deus e dessa maneira desenvolver seu caráter. Sem vontade livre o homem teria sido meramente uma máquina.

(b) A origem da tentação. "Ora, uma serpente era mais astuta que todas as alimárias do campo que o Senhor Deus tinha feito." É razoável deduzir que a serpente, que aquele tempo deveria ter sido uma criatura formosa, foi o agente por Satanás, o qual já foi lançado para o céu antes da criação do homem. (Ezeq. 23: 13-17; Isa. 14: 12-15.) Por essa razão, Satanás é descrito como "essa antiga serpente, chamada o diabo" (Apoc. 12: 9). Trabalha Satanás trabalha por meio de agentes. Quando Pedro (embora sem má intenção) aguarde dissuadir seu Mestre da senda do dever, Jesus olhou além de Pedro, e disse, "Para trás de mim, Satanás" (Mat. 16: 22,23). Neste caso Satanás investigou por meio de um dos amigos de Jesus; no Éden empregou a serpente, uma criatura da qual Eva não desconfiava.

(c) A sutileza da tentação. A sutileza é mencionada como característica distintiva da serpente. (Vide Mat. 10:16.) Com grande astúcia ela apresenta sugestões, como quais, ao serem abraçadas, abrem caminho a desejos e atos pecaminosos. Ela começa falando com a mulher, o vaso mais frágil, que, além dessa circunstância, não tinha ouvido diretamente a proibição divina.

(Gên. 2:16, 17.) E ela espera até que Eva esteja só. Note-se a astúcia na aproximação. Ela torce as palavras de Deus (Vide Gén. 3: 1 e 2:16, 17) e então finge surpresa por estarem assim torcidas; dessa maneira ela, astutamente, semeia dúvida e suspeitas no coração da ingênua mulher, e ao mesmo tempo insinua que está bem qualificado para ser juiz quanto à justiça de tal proibição. Por meio da pergunta no versículo 1, lança a tríplice dúvida acerca de Deus.

1) Dúvida sobre a bondade de Deus. Ela diz, com efeito: "Deus está retendo alguma bênção de ti."

2) Dúvida sobre a retidão de Deus. "Certamente não morrereis." Isto é, "Deus não pretendia dizer o que disse".

3) Dúvida sobre a santidade de Deus. No versículo 5 a serpente diz, com efeito: "Deus vos proibiu comer da árvore porque tem inveja de vos. Não quer que chegueis a ser sábios tanto quanto ele, de modo que vos mantém em ignorância. Não é porque ele se interesse por vós , para salvar-vos da morte, e sim por interesse dele, para impedir que chegueis a ser semelhantes a ele. "

2. A Culpa.

Notemos as evidências de uma consciência culpada:

1) "Então foram abertos os olhos de ambos, e conheceram que estavam nus." Expressão usada para indicar esclarecimento milagroso ou repentino. (Gên. 21:19; 2 Reis. 6:17.) As palavras da serpente (versículo 5) cumpriram-se; porém, o conhecimento adquirido foi diferente do que eles esperavam. Em vez de fazê-los semelhantes a Deus, experimentaram um miserável sentimento de culpa que os fez ter medo de Deus. Notemos que a nudez física é um quadro de uma consciência nua ou culpada.

Os distúrbios emocionais refletem-se muitas vezes em nossas feições. Alguns comentadores sustentam que antes da queda, Adão e Eva estavam vestidos com uma auréola ou traje de luz, que era um sinal da comunhão com Deus e do domínio do espírito sobre o corpo. Quando pecaram, essa comunhão foi interrompida; o corpo venceu o espírito, e ali começou esse conflito entre a carne e o espírito (Rom. 7: 14-24), que tem sido a causa de tanta miséria.

2) "E coseram folhas de figueira, e fez para si aventais." Assim como a nudez física é sinal de uma consciência culpada, da mesma maneira, o cobrir procurar a nudez é um quadro que representa o homem a procurar cobrir sua culpa com a indumentária do esquecimento ou traje das desculpas. Mas, somente uma veste feita por Deus pode cobrir o pecado (Verso 21).

3) "E ouviram a voz do Senhor Deus, que passeava no jardim pela viração do dia: e escondeu-se Adão e sua mulher da presença do Senhor Deus entre as árvores do jardim." O instinto do homem culpado é fugir de Deus. E assim como Adão e Eva procuraram esconder-se entre as árvores, da mesma forma que as pessoas hoje em dia procuram esconder-se nos prazeres e em outras atividades.

3. O juízes.

(a) Sobre a serpente. "Porquanto fizeste isto, maldita serás mais que toda a besta, e mais que todos os animais do campo; sobre o teu ventre andarás, e o pó comerás todos os dias da tua vida." Palavras Essas implicam que a serpente outrora foi uma criatura formosa e honrada. Depois, porque veio a ser o instrumento para a queda do homem, tomou-se maldita e degradada na escala da criação animal. Uma vez que a serpente foi simplesmente o instrumento de Satanás, por que deve ser punida? Porque é a vontade de Deus fazer da maldição da serpente um tipo e profecia da maldição sobre o diabo e sobre todos os poderes do mal. O homem deve reconhecer, pelo castigo da serpente, como a maldição de Deus ferirá todo pecado e maldade; arrastando-se no pó recordaria ao homem o dia em que Deus derribará até ao pó, o poder do diabo. Isso é um estimulo para o homem: ele, o tentado, está em pé, erguido, enquanto a serpente está sob a maldição. Pela graça de Deus o homem pode ferir-lhe a cabeça - pode vencer o mal. (Vide Luc. 10:18; Rom. 16:20; Apoc. 12: 9; 20: 1-3, 10.)

(b) Sobre a mulher. "E à mulher disse: Multiplicarei grandemente a tua dor e a tua concepção; com dor terás filhos; e o teu desejo será para teu marido, e ele te dominará" (Gên. 3:16). Assim disse certo escritor: A presença do pecado tem sido uma causa de muito sofrimento, precisamente do modo indicado acima.

Não há dúvida que dar à luz filhos constitui um momento crítico e penoso na vida da mulher. O sentimento de faltas passadas pesa de uma maneira particular sobre ela, e também a crueldade e loucura do homem contribuíram para fazer o processo mais doloroso e perigoso para a mulher do que para os animais. O pecado tem corrompido todas as relações da vida, e muito particularmente uma relação matrimonial. Em muitos países a mulher é praticamente escrava do homem; a posição e a condição triste de meninas viúvas e meninas mães na Índia têm sido um fato horrível em cumprimento dessa maldição.

(c) Sobre o homem. (Versos 17-19.) O trabalho para o homem já tinha sido designado (2:15). O castigo consiste no afã, nas decepções e aflições que muitas vezes acompanham o trabalho. A agricultura é fontes em particular, porque sempre tem sido um dos empregos humanos mais comuns. De alguma maneira misteriosa, a terra e a criação em geral têm participado da maldição e da queda do seu senhor (o homem) porém estão destroçados a participar da sua redenção.

Este é o pensamento de Rom. 8: 19-23. Em Isaias 11: 1-9 e 65: 17-25, temos exemplos de versículos que predizem a remoção da maldição da terra durante o Milênio. Além da maldição física que se apossou da terra, também é certo que o capricho e o pecado humanos têm dificultado de muitas maneiras o trabalho e provocado como condições de trabalho mais difíceis e mais duras para o homem. Notemos a pena de morte. "Porquanto és pó, e em pó te tornarás." O homem foi criado capaz de não morrer fisicamente; teria existência física indefinidamente se tivesse preservado sua inocência e continuasse a comer da árvore da vida.

Ainda que volte à comunhão com Deus (e dessa maneira vença a morte espiritual) por meio do arrependimento e da oração, não obstante, deve voltar ao seu Criador através da morte. Visto que a morte faz parte da pena do pecado, a salvação completa deve incluir a ressurreição do corpo, (1 Cor. 15: 54-57.) Não obstante, certas pessoas, como Enoque, terá o privilégio de escapar da morte física. (Gên. 5:24; 1 Cor. 15:51.)

4. A redenção.

Os três primeiros capítulos de Gênesis estudados como três revelações de Deus, que por toda a Bíblia figuram em todas as relações de Deus com o homem. O Criador, que trouxe tudo à existência (cap. 1), o Deus do Pacto que entra em relações pessoais com o homem (cap. 2); o Redentor, que faz provisão para a restauração do homem (cap. 3).

(a) Prometida. (Vide Gên. 3:15.) (1) A serpente juntar fazer aliança com Eva contra Deus, mas Deus por fim a essa aliança. "E porei inimizade entre ti e uma mulher, e entre a tua semente (descendentes) e a sua semente." Em outras palavras, haverá uma luta constante entre o homem e o poder maligno que causou a sua queda. (2) Qual será o resultado desse conflito? Primeiro, vitória para a humanidade, por meio do Representante do homem, a Semente da mulher.

"Ela (a semente da mulher) te ferirá a cabeça." Cristo, a Semente da Mulher, veio ao mundo para esmagar o poder do diabo. (Mat. 1:23, 25; Luc. 1: 31-35,76; Isa. 7:14; Gál. 4: 4; Rom. 16:20; Col. 2:15; Heb. 2: 14,15 ; 1 João 3: 8; 5: 5; Apoc. 12: 7, 8, 17; 20: 1-3, 10.) (3) Porém a vitória não será sem sofrimento. "E tu (a serpente) lhe ferirás o calcanhar." No Calvário a Serpente feriu o calcanhar da Semente da mulher; mas este ferimento trouxe a cura para a humanidade. (Vide Isa. 53: 3,4,12; Dan. 9:26; Mat. 4: 1-10; Luc. 22: 39-14,53; João 12: 31-33; 14: 30,31; Hb . 2:18; 5: 7; Apoc. 2:10.)

(b) Prefigurada. (Verso 21.) Deus matou um animal, uma criatura inocente, para poder vestir aqueles que se sentiam ante a sua vista por causa do pecado. Do mesmo modo, o Pai deu seu Filho, o Inocente, à morte, um fim de prover uma cobertura expiatória para como almas dos homens.

[pamphletstoinspire]

BOOK OF JOB - From The Douay-Rheims Bible - Latin Vulgate

Chapter 19

The Book of Job shows how human affairs are ruled by Divine Providence using probable arguments.

"Although you hide these things in your heart, I know that you still remember everything." - (Job speaking to God)  

***

INTRODUCTION.

This Book takes its name from the holy man, of whom it treats; who, according to the more probable opinion, was of the race of Esau, and the same as Jobab, king of Edom, mentioned Gen. xxxvi. 33. It is uncertain who was the writer of it. Some attribute it to Job himself; others to Moses, or some one of the prophets. In the Hebrew it is written in verse, from the beginning of the third chapter to the forty-second chapter. Ch. --- The beginning and conclusion are historical, and in prose. Some have divided this work into a kind of tragedy, the first act extending to C. xv., the second to C. xxii., the third to C. xxxviii., where God appears, and the plot is unfolded. They suppose that the sentiments of the speakers are expressed, though not their own words. This may be very probable: but the opinion of those who look upon the work as a mere allegory, must be rejected with horror. The sacred writers speak of Job as of a personage who had really existed, (C.) and set the most noble pattern of virtue, and particularly of patience. Tob. ii. 12. Ezec. xiv. 14. Jam. v. 11. Philo and Josephus pass over this history, as they do those of Tobias, Judith, &c. H. --- The time when Job lived is not clearly ascertained. Some have supposed (C.) that he was a contemporary with Esther; (D. Thalmud) on which supposition, the work is here placed in its chronological order. But Job more probably live during the period when the Hebrews groaned under the Egyptian bondage, (H.) or sojourned in the wilderness. Num. xiv. 9. The Syrians place the book at the head of the Scriptures. C. --- Its situation has often varied, and is of no great importance. The subject which is here treated, is of far more; as it is intended to shew that the wicked sometimes prosper, while the good are afflicted. H. --- This had seldom been witnessed before the days of Abraham: but as God had now selected his family to be witnesses and guardians of religion, a new order of things was beginning to appear. This greatly perplexed Job himself; who, therefore, confesses that he had not sufficiently understood the ways of God, till he had deigned to explain them in the parable of the two great beasts. C. xlii. 3. We cannot condemn the sentiments expressed by Job, since God has declared that they were right, (ib. v. 8) and reprimands Elihu, (C. xxxviii. 2.) and the other three friends of Job, for maintaining a false opinion, though, from the history of past times, they had judge it to be true. This remark may excupate them from the stain of wilful lying, and vain declamation. Houbigant. --- However, as they assert what was false, their words of themselves are of no authority; and they are even considered as the forerunners of heretics. S. Greg. S. Aug. &c. T. --- Job refutes them by sound logic. S. Jerom. --- We may discover in this book the sum of Christian morality, (W.) for which purpose it has been chiefly explained by S. Gregory. The style is very poetical, (H.) though at the same time simple, like that of Moses. D. --- It is interspersed with many Arabic and Chaldaic idioms; (S. Jer.) whence some have concluded, that it was written originally by Job and his friends (H.) in Arabic, and translated into Heb. by Moses, for the consolation of his brethren. W. --- The Heb. text is in many places incorrect; (Houbig.) and the Sept. seem to have omitted several verses. Orig. --- S. Jerom says almost eight hundred, (C.) each consisting of about six words. H. --- Shultens, in 1747, expressed his dissatisfaction with the labours of all preceding commentators. To explain this book may not therefore be an easy task: but we must be as short as possible. H. --- Those who desire farther information, may consult Pineda, (W.) whose voluminous work, in two folios, will nearly (H.) give all necessary information. C.

The additional Notes in this Edition of the New Testament will be marked with the letter A. Such as are taken from various Interpreters and Commentators, will be marked as in the Old Testament. B. Bristow, C. Calmet, Ch. Challoner, D. Du Hamel, E. Estius, J. Jansenius, M. Menochius, Po. Polus, P. Pastorini, T. Tirinus, V. Bible de Vence, W. Worthington, Wi. Witham. — The names of other authors, who may be occasionally consulted, will be given at full length.

Verses are in English and Latin.

HAYDOCK CATHOLIC BIBLE COMMENTARY

This Catholic commentary on the Old Testament, following the Douay-Rheims Bible text, was originally compiled by Catholic priest and biblical scholar Rev. George Leo Haydock (1774-1849). This transcription is based on Haydock's notes as they appear in the 1859 edition of Haydock's Catholic Family Bible and Commentary printed by Edward Dunigan and Brother, New York, New York.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Changes made to the original text for this transcription include the following:

Greek letters. The original text sometimes includes Greek expressions spelled out in Greek letters. In this transcription, those expressions have been transliterated from Greek letters to English letters, put in italics, and underlined. The following substitution scheme has been used: A for Alpha; B for Beta; G for Gamma; D for Delta; E for Epsilon; Z for Zeta; E for Eta; Th for Theta; I for Iota; K for Kappa; L for Lamda; M for Mu; N for Nu; X for Xi; O for Omicron; P for Pi; R for Rho; S for Sigma; T for Tau; U for Upsilon; Ph for Phi; Ch for Chi; Ps for Psi; O for Omega. For example, where the name, Jesus, is spelled out in the original text in Greek letters, Iota-eta-sigma-omicron-upsilon-sigma, it is transliterated in this transcription as, Iesous. Greek diacritical marks have not been represented in this transcription.

Footnotes. The original text indicates footnotes with special characters, including the astrisk (*) and printers' marks, such as the dagger mark, the double dagger mark, the section mark, the parallels mark, and the paragraph mark. In this transcription all these special characters have been replaced by numbers in square brackets, such as [1], [2], [3], etc.

Accent marks. The original text contains some English letters represented with accent marks. In this transcription, those letters have been rendered in this transcription without their accent marks.

Other special characters.

Solid horizontal lines of various lengths that appear in the original text have been represented as a series of consecutive hyphens of approximately the same length, such as ---.

Ligatures, single characters containing two letters united, in the original text in some Latin expressions have been represented in this transcription as separate letters. The ligature formed by uniting A and E is represented as Ae, that of a and e as ae, that of O and E as Oe, and that of o and e as oe.

Monetary sums in the original text represented with a preceding British pound sterling symbol (a stylized L, transected by a short horizontal line) are represented in this transcription with a following pound symbol, l.

The half symbol (1/2) and three-quarters symbol (3/4) in the original text have been represented in this transcription with their decimal equivalent, (.5) and (.75) respectively.

Unreadable text. Places where the transcriber's copy of the original text is unreadable have been indicated in this transcription by an empty set of square brackets, [].

Chapter 19

Job complains of the cruelty of his friends; he describes his own sufferings: and his belief of a future resurrection.

[1] Then Job answered, and said:

Respondens autem Job, dixit :

[2] How long do you afflict my soul, and break me in pieces with words?

Usquequo affligitis animam meam, et atteritis me sermonibus?

[3] Behold, these ten times you confound me, and are not ashamed to oppress me.

En decies confunditis me, et non erubescitis opprimentes me.

[4] For if I have been ignorant, my ignorance shall be with me.

Nempe, et si ignoravi, mecum erit ignorantia mea.

[5] But you have set yourselves up against me, and reprove me with my reproaches.

At vos contra me erigimini, et arguitis me opprobriis meis.

[6] At least now understand, that God hath not afflicted me with an equal judgment, and compassed me with his scourges.

Saltem nunc intelligite quia Deus non aequo judicio afflixerit me, et flagellis suis me cinxerit.

[7] Behold I cry suffering violence, and no one will hear: I shall cry aloud, and there is none to judge.

Ecce clamabo, vim patiens, et nemo audiet : vociferabor, et non est qui judicet.

[8] He hath hedged in my path round about, and I cannot pass, and in my way he hath set darkness.

Semitam meam circumsepsit, et transire non possum : et in calle meo tenebras posuit.

[9] He hath stripped me of my glory, and hath taken the crown from my head.

Spoliavit me gloria mea, et abstulit coronam de capite meo.

[10] He hath destroyed me on every side, and I am lost, and he hath taken away my hope, as from a tree that is plucked up.

Destruxit me undique, et pereo : et quasi evulsae arbori abstulit spem meam.

[11] His wrath is kindled against me, and he hath counted me as his enemy.

Iratus est contra me furor ejus, et sic me habuit quasi hostem suum.

[12] His troops have come together, and have made themselves a way by me, and have besieged my tabernacle round about.

Simul venerunt latrones ejus, et fecerunt sibi viam per me, et obsederunt in gyro tabernaculum meum.

[13] He hath put my brethren far from me, and my acquaintance like strangers have departed from me.

Fratres meos longe fecit a me, et noti mei quasi alieni recesserunt a me.

[14] My kinsmen have forsaken me, and they that knew me, have forgotten me.

Dereliquerunt me propinqui mei, et qui me noverant obliti sunt mei.

[15] They that dwelt in my house, and my maidservants have counted me a stranger, and I have been like an alien in their eyes.

Inquilini domus meae et ancillae meae sicut alienum habuerunt me, et quasi peregrinus fui in oculis eorum.

[16] I called my servant, and he gave me no answer, I entreated him with my own mouth.

Servum meum vocavi, et non respondit : ore proprio deprecabar illum.

[17] My wife hath abhorred my breath, and I entreated the children of my womb.

Halitum meum exhorruit uxor mea, et orabam filios uteri mei.

[18] Even fools despise me; and when I was gone from them, they spoke against me.

Stulti quoque despiciebant me : et cum ab eis recessissem, detrahebant mihi.

[19] They that were sometime my counsellors, have abhorred me: and he whom I love most is turned against me.

Abominati sunt me quondam consiliarii mei, et quem maxime diligebam, aversatus est me.

[20] The flesh being consumed. My bone hath cleaved to my skin, and nothing but lips are left about my teeth.

Pelli meae, consumptis carnibus, adhaesit os meum, et derelicta sunt tantummodo labia circa dentes meos.

[21] Have pity on me, have pity on me, at least you my friends, because the hand of the Lord hath touched me.

Miseremini mei, miseremini mei, saltem vos, amici mei, quia manus Domini tetigit me.

[22] Why do you persecute me as God, and glut yourselves with my flesh?

Quare persequimini me sicut Deus, et carnibus meis saturamini?

[23] Who will grant me that my words may be written? Who will grant me that they may be marked down in a book?

Quis mihi tribuat ut scribantur sermones mei? quis mihi det ut exarentur in libro,

[24] With an iron pen and in a plate of lead, or else be graven with an instrument in flint stone.

stylo ferreo et plumbi lamina, vel celte sculpantur in silice?

[25] For I know that my Redeemer liveth, and in the last day I shall rise out of the earth.

Scio enim quod redemptor meus vivit, et in novissimo die de terra surrecturus sum :

[26] And I shall be clothed again with my skin, and in my flesh I will see my God.

et rursum circumdabor pelle mea, et in carne mea videbo Deum meum.

[27] Whom I myself shall see, and my eyes shall behold, and not another: this my hope is laid up in my bosom.

Quem visurus sum ego ipse, et oculi mei conspecturi sunt, et non alius : reposita est haec spes mea in sinu meo.

[28] Why then do you say now: Let us persecute him, and let us find occasion of word against him?

Quare ergo nunc dicitis : Persequamur eum, et radicem verbi inveniamus contra eum?

[29] Flee then from the face of the sword, for the sword is the revenger of iniquities: and know ye that there is judgment.

Fugite ergo a facie gladii, quoniam ultor iniquitatum gladius est : et scitote esse judicium.

Commentary:

Ver. 3. Ten times; very often. --- Oppress me. Heb. word occurs no where else, and is variously translated. It may signify, "to dig a pit for me." C. vi. 27. Ps. vi. 6. Job repeats nearly what he had said before, only with greater vehemence. He admits that Providence treats him in an unusual manner. Yet he still retains an assured hope, and arraigns his adversaries before the divine tribunal. C. --- Yet he rather hesitates; (v. 4. 6.) and this species of ignorance is the folly of which he, at last, accuses himself. C. xlii. 3. It was no real fault, ib. v. 8. H.

Ver. 4. With me. I alone am answerable for it. But I am no wiser for your remarks. If I have sinned, have I not been sufficiently punished? C. --- Sept. "Yea, truly, I was under a mistake; and the mistake still remains with me, to have spoken a word which was not becoming. But my speeches are erroneous and importunate." He talks thus ironically. H.

Ver. 5. Reproaches, which I endure, as if they were a sure proof of your assertion. H. -- I must therefore refute you. C.

Ver. 6. With an equal judgment. S. Gregory explains these words thus: Job being a just man, and truly considering his own life, thought that his affliction was greater than his sins deserved; and in that respect, that the punishment was not equal, yet it was just, as coming from God, who give a crown of justice to those who suffer for righteousness' sake, and proves the just with tribulations, as gold is tried by fire. Ch. --- He knew that God would surely give a just reward. 2 Tim. iv. S. Greg. xiv. 16. W. --- The friends of Job had too contracted a notion of Providence, supposing that the virtuous could not be afflicted. Job allowed that the ordinary rules were not here observed. Heb. "the Lord hath perverted or overthrown me." C. --- This gave him no small uneasiness. If the thing had been as plain as it appears now to us, he might have refuted all with a bare denial. Houbigant.

Ver. 7. Hear. Jeremias makes the same complaint, Lam. iii. 8. C.

Ver. 12. Troops: (latrones) "free-booters," (H.) or "soldiers." Sanctius. --- Those nations made a practice of plundering one another's territories, without any declaration of war. Mercury and Autolychus are praised for thefts of this description. Odys. xix. See Judg. xi. 3. Sept. "his temptations (C. or militia; peirathria) came rushing together upon me; lying down (H.) in ambush, (C.) they surrounded my paths." H.

Ver. 17. Entreated. Prot. add, "for the children's sake of mine own body." Sept. "I invited with flattering speeches the sons of my concubines. (18) But they cast me from them for ever. When I arise, they speak against me." H. --- Interpreters generally suppose that Job speaks of the children by his inferior wives: though he might have some at home by the first wife, who were not old enough to be invited to the feast, with those who were destroyed. C.

Ver. 18. Fools; wicked men, (M.) or the meanest of the people, (C.) whom (H.) these unnatural children (C.) resembled. Heb. "young children." Prot. H.

Ver. 19. Some. Heb. "men of my secret." Sept. "who knew me;" my most intimate friends. --- And he. Heb. and Sept. "They whom I love are." H. --- These ungratefully joined with the rest, in turning their backs on their benefactor. W.

Ver. 20. Teeth. I am like a skeleton, so strangely emaciated, and my flesh corrupted: even my bones are not entire. H. --- Heb. "I have escaped with the skin of my teeth." Only my gums are left. My bones cut the skin. Sym. "I tore my skin with my teeth."

Ver. 22. Flesh? acting with the like inhumanity towards me. Am I not then sufficiently tormented in you opinion, that you insult over my distress? C.

Ver. 24. In a. Heb. "lead, in the rock for ever." Prot. Sept. have, "for ever," after book, (v. 23) and subjoins, "with a writing instrument of iron and (or) lead, or be engraven on the rocks for a memorial." Grabe insinuates that before there was only, "and on lead, or be engraven on the rocks." H. --- Instrument, (celte) means "a chisel," (H.) like cœlum from cœlo: " I engrave." Pineda. --- S. Jerom, (ad Pam.) and the late editor of his works, retain this word, as the older editions of S. Greg. did; (C.) though certè, "surely," has been inserted instead, from several MSS. by the Benedictines. H. --- Ancient MSS. and Latin Bibles have more generally the latter word. But the received editions are supported by many MSS. (C.) and the Sept. egglufhnai, expresses as much. Celtis est, glufeion. Amama. Casaub. in Athen. vii. 20. p. 556. --- An inscription, in Dalmatia, has the same sense: Neque hic atramentum vel papyrus aut membrana ulla adhuc; sed malleolo et celte literatus silex. "Here as yet was neither ink, nor paper, nor any parchments; but a flint stone was lettered with a mallet and a chisel.." The former modes of writing were not, in effect, invented by the days of Job. C. --- But it was long very usual to make use of lead. Pineda. --- What he desired to have written in such durable characters, (H.) was the following sentence, in proof of his unshaken confidence in God, and as a refutation of his friends, who accused him of despair and blasphemy, (C.) as also the whole history of his conflict. His desire has been granted. T.

Ver. 25. Redeemer may be understood of the Deity, without confining it to the second Person; (Isai. xli. 14. and lxix. 7. Piscator) though it may have a more peculiar reference to Christ: (Junius. H.) in whom he believed, as the Redeemer of all mankind. C. --- Earth. Yea, ere long I shall be restored to health, (S. Chrys. Grot.) as an earnest and figure of the resurrection. Nothing is more common, in Scripture, than for the same prophecy to have a double accomplishment; one soon after it is made public, and another more sublime and remote. Job seemed to have no expectation of surviving his present misery, (v. 7, and C. vii. 7. and xxiv. 15.) unless God now revealed it to him, as a figure of his future resurrection, founded on the hope of our Saviour's, which he expresses in much clearer terms. Heb. "I know that my Redeemer is living, and that he will raise himself one day upon the earth," (C.) like a conqueror, (H.) or wrestler, having overthrown his antagonist: (Amama) or, "he will stand the last upon the earth, or dust," (Piscator) ascending his throne, to judge all. Deodat. --- Yet Luther translates, "and one day he will raise me up from the earth;" which is not conformable to the Heb. Others explain, "he...will place (26) this, my skin, after they (worms) shall have ruined it." Pagnin. Mont. --- But Amama suspects that the latter is not in earnest. Pineda defends the Vulg. and observes that yakum (H.) may signify, "will raise" himself, or "me;" the latter being at least a consequence of the former, if S. Jerom did not read it me in his copy. So S. Paul argues; If Christ be risen, we also shall rise again. Sept. "For I know that he is eternal, who will set me free," (H.) by death, (C. or redemption; ekluein) "upon the earth."

Ver. 26. And I. Sept. "But he will raise up my body or skin, which has sustained these things. This now has been accomplished for me by the Lord; (27) which I know within myself, which my eyes have seen, and not another. For all things are accomplished in my bosom." I am as fully convinced of this glorious event, (H.) as if it were past. C. --- Heb. "and though, after my skin, worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God." Prot. or in the margin, "After I shall awake, though this body be destroyed, yet out of," &c. Various other interpretations are given. H. --- But we had as well adhere to the Sept. Vulg. &c. D. --- God. Sixtus V. and some other editions, add "Saviour." C. --- Job would see the Messias by the eyes of his prosperity. S. Aug. or Faustus, ser. 234. t. v. App. Sanctius. --- He hoped also to see God face to face in glory (C.) though not by means of his corporeal eyes, (H.) and to be restored to favour, so that God would no longer turn his back on him. , C. xlii. 5. S. Gregory, when legate at Constantinople, convinced the patriarch Eutychius, by this text, that after the resurrection, our bodies will be palpable, and not aerial only. C. --- It contains an express profession of Job's faith, on this head. We shall rise the same in substance. W.

Ver. 27. Myself. Heb. "for myself," and for my comfort; not like the reprobate, who shall see their judge to their eternal confusion. Job insists so much on this point, that he shews he in not speaking merely of the divine favour being restored to him, in the re-establishment of his health and affairs, but that he raises his mind to something more solid and desirable, of which the former was only a faint representation. C. --- "No one since Christ has spoken so plainly of the resurrection, as this man did before the coming of the Messias." S. Jerom, ad Pam. --- This. Heb. "though my reins be consumed within me;" (Prot. H.) or, "my reins (desires and tender affections) are completed in my bosom." C.

Ver. 28. Let us. Sept. "Why do we contend against him? and the root of the word (reason) we shall find in him." He provokes us to speak thus. H. --- Hebrew reads, "in me." But the Chal. &c. "have him," as the sequel requires; unless Job speak this in his own person. I am ready to answer you; or, have you really discovered in me any grounds for your virulent attack? C.

Ver. 29. Know. Sept. "And then they shall know that their power is nowhere;" or, "where is their substance?" Grabe. H. - Job menaces his friends with God's judgments, as they had done him. C.

[ciceroprofacto]

30 for John

30. What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?

This is going to sound weird, but human nature?

Like…the instinctual, animal drives that exist at the core of any man or woman that make them seek out hedonistic pleasure or selfish cruelties. He’s repulsed by the lack of refinement and the lack of control people have to give in to the urges that drive them to commit sins and do things they’ll later regret.  He thinks he holds himself to a standard above his own urges, so he’s disgusted when other people don’t.

It’s part of what’s made slavery so horrible for him to witness: because it’s driven by economic selfishness and facilitates inhumane cruelties.  He also sees it as stripping slaves of their own opportunity to reach refinement and rise above baser instinct.

It’s also part of what makes sex so difficult for him to enjoy. Physical pleasure is the epitome of hedonism and when he can’t bear to accept his own urges, it’s hard to act on them without being repulsed.

The weird thing is that it’s also part of what makes Alexander attractive to him. The way I’ve been writing him, Alex co-exists alongside his own instinctive, very human-self.  Even though, in The Beast, Alex described his limbido as a “beastial hunger”, John’s rejected an animalistic description (in ch 9) when thinking of him because he sees Alex constantly accepting his own urges and sort of…domesticating them?Alexander never does anything without the intent to do it, never indulges to the point of distraction (or hasn’t yet), and he never seems to regret it.It’s new and exciting for John to meet someone who’s comfortably able to have the same ugly urges he recognizes in himself, but still hold himself upright with dignity and effect the image of a gentleman.

[damienthepious]

yeah

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 10)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [ao3] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: Sir Damien is home again. He and Rilla's newer guest must learn to share the space, for however brief a time this arrangement will last.

Chapter Notes: Love you!! Happy LKT! Don't actually think there's anything new to warn for?? Fun fact! the next chapter is also basically entirely done. Just one or two brief scenes to add. Also. pay no attention to the fact that the theoretical total number of chapters keeps mysteriously increasing. I'm sure that's nothing. >.>;;;

~

When Damien wakes, Rilla is already gone from the bed. He can hear cutlery clinking on dishware through the wall, can smell breakfast, alluring and warm, and he slowly stretches his sore muscles against the softness of these familiar sheets, and he-

He realizes, with a pang of strange guilt, that he had forgotten, for a moment, all he needs be afraid of. The worry creeps back slow, like a draft slipping through the cracks in old stone, cool on his spine, but there is something distant about the feeling. Rilla is… Rilla is still safe.

He feels lighter, as well, with the story of Ballast and its curse no longer pressing dark and confusing on him alone. It will not plague his love as it does Damien.

(The cadence of the story slips from him, just briefly. He does not mean for it to happen, but it cracks through, the tragedy, the cruelty-

"His voice, Rilla, they took from him his very voice," he keens, and she holds him tighter, holds him closer. "He called out and called out, sent words on quick wing from so close by and still they would not hear- they put his voice in a box and they hid it in the dark, they buried it, they left it for the moths, Rilla! All he had left were words and they refused, they refused- not even the howling of the hound they heeded, Rilla, and were my hand not stayed, were I not stopped, I would have- I would have been the punctuation on his silencing- I would have-"

She holds him tighter. She holds him closer. She listens. His heart, oh, his twisting, uncertain heart-)

He rolls from the bed, still stiff, and runs through a quick light routine of stretches before he works up the nerve to see what awaits him outside the safety of Rilla's bedroom. He expects another argument, and- and his own mind is so unsettled that he is unsure he can hold his position steady. His beloved is too brilliant to contend with at less than his best.

When he gently pushes the door open, the monster is arranged on the cushions by Rilla's table, claws drumming on the wood as he raises an eyebrow, and Rilla is laughing. The bright familiarity of it jumps in Damien's stomach, but his eyes dart to the monster-

Lord Arum is leaning against the table, his body angled towards Rilla, something like a smile curving his mouth. There is some new cloth clasped around his shoulders, soft and shimmering and precisely as violet as his eyes. His eyes, which are fixed upon Rilla, and the look Damien can see in them is- is nearly the same as the look the monster wore while Damien had been reciting his poem to the creature. Attentive, rapt, patient- but less wary, even, than in that moment.

"Like you're one to talk," Rilla says, teasing, and the monster-

Snorts a laugh of his own, and the almost-smile blooms into a wide grin, and Damien takes a compulsive step forward.

Lord Arum turns his face towards him almost too quick for Damien to see the shift, his grin vanishing, his face going almost blank. Almost. The blankness does not quite manage to hide the flash of concern on the monster's face.

He-

His eyes, violet and wary and piercing. A monster's eyes, and yet-

"Morning, Damien," Rilla says mildly, and Damien snaps back to himself.

"Rilla," he says, and his voice is a little rough at the edges, from sleep and exhaustion both, from the long tale told the night before. "I- I hope you-" he stammers, and he tries, he tries not to feel the monster watching them as Rilla steps close enough to touch his shoulder. He is unsure of his success. "I hope you slept well, despite my- despite-"

"I slept fine, Damien. Better than I've been doing, honestly. Sorry I didn't wake you earlier, but I thought you could use the rest."

"Y-yes. Yes, I believe you are correct. I- I am… I need not leave, today, so there is no hurry in my morning."

Arum is watching him, still. It prickles across Damien's skin.

He has not spoken, though.

Damien takes a breath, takes Rilla's hand, and turns his body towards the creature.

"Good morning to you, as well, Lord Arum," he says, his tone quiet and blank, and the monster blinks, his face going suspicious as Rilla's hand squeezes his own. "You-" Damien stops, wets his lips, observes the creature warily glaring up at him. "You look quite well."

"Do I?" Arum mutters, ducking his head. "How well may a monster look, little songbird?"

Damien pauses. "Certainly better than when last we met. It seems you are… recovering smoothly under the care of such a talented physician."

Arum's snout wrinkles, and he turns his face away, just slightly. "Hm. Yes, well." He mutters something too low to hear, and then he does not say anything else.

Rilla squeezes his hand again, and when he glances towards her she smiles, soft and warm. "Hey. Hungry?"

She puts together a plate for him, and Damien is ravenous, he has not eaten anything but rations for the road since last he was beneath Rilla's roof, but-

When she steps over to her table and settles to sit across from the monster, Damien can't- he cannot help but balk.

He cannot make himself sit beside a monster, not as Rilla can. With such ease, such lack of care.

"I think-" his words stumble, and Rilla must see the look in his eye, because her brow furrows, her lips turning downward in concern. "Perhaps I will- perhaps I will take- take my meal outside."

He has written countless poems on the mossy stump in front of Rilla's hut. The place feels safer, just in this moment, than the table beside the beast.

Rilla continues to stare at him, and he can see that her concern is struggling at the edge of frustration as she asks, "Outside, Damien? You… you don't want to-"

Lord Arum still is not looking at him, but Damien can see the twist of his mouth, the strange twinge of morbid satisfaction, as if this was precisely what Arum expected him to do.

"I- I believe I require a moment of fresh air," Sir Damien lies in a shaking voice, and then he retreats.

~

Damien does not remember, until the meal is halfway done, to be afraid that the monster might attack Rilla in his absence, and when the fear does come, he cannot seem to make it stay.

Something in the way Lord Arum looked at Rilla as she laughed, something in his eyes-

The worry feels false, now.

(he’s not gonna hurt me, Rilla says with a surety as sturdy as stone, and Damien thinks that she may have been correct, even then)

But Sir Damien still does not know if the monster has made Rilla an exception. Others may not be so lucky, when all is said and done.

~

While Lord Arum is resting in the exam room again in the afternoon, Rilla reaches across the table to take Damien's hand, startling him from his thoughts, soothing his surprise back with her thumb gentle on his wrist.

"Hey," she says softly. "If you're feeling up to it… I think we have a conversation we need to finish, Damien."

Damien feels his stomach fall, the sensation of missing a step. "R-right," he rasps. "Of course."

He should not feel this- this-

Damien should not-

"I want to apologize, first," Rilla says, and Damien startles, slightly, his hand fluttering in her grip as he looks up at her wry smile.

"Wh- you do?"

"I know this is… not easy. And I know that it's only gonna get harder, really."

Damien's heart and shoulders sink. "Ah."

"And the thing is," she leans back slightly, sighing. "You were right." She pauses, then quickly continues, "In one way, I mean. You were right that I was… I wasn't being- I wasn't planning ahead, because it was too hard to think about the consequences of this whole thing. And it came back to bite me in the ass, because of course it did."

Damien's eyes go a little wide. "It- what do you mean?"

"Arum saw it too. That I was…" she laughs. "That I didn't know what I was doing, not really. Not beyond like, the actual medical part."

The automatic instinct is to refute, to tell Rilla that she's brilliant, that of course she knows what she's doing-

She rubs at her wrists, not quite looking at him. "And, uh, there's another thing- but I really need you to listen right now and let me finish before you respond, okay?"

Damien opens his mouth, closes it, and then nods.

"So, while you were gone," she says, voice strained, "because- because Arum knew that I didn't have a plan, and because he thought- he thought that when you came back you would kill him, he- he tried to leave, and- well, I mean, technically speaking, he kinda grabbed me and tried to- to make it so I couldn't follow him-"

"What? He did- the beast attacked you?!" Damien's hands fly to his bow, his muscles clenching.

"Damien-" she reaches out again, gripping his shoulders. "Look at me. Damien, I'm fine. Please don't freak out. He didn't hurt me, I'm fine, nothing happened. Everyone is safe, I promise. Just- just breathe, okay?"

It's like trying to see through a pinhole, the panic. He can hear her words, but his ears are still rushing, his throat too tight for breath. Every ounce of him is screaming danger, is howling protect-

"Damien. I'm okay. We're okay, I promise. I- I'm telling you this even though I know it'll freak you out because- because it won't help anything to lie about it, but- but you need to actually listen to me, okay? I'm not hurt-"

"Your wrists," he manages in a strangled voice, reaching to hover his fingers just barely away from her skin. "I- I- I did not- the bruises- I should never have left you alone with that thing, I should have-"

"Damien, I did that to myself." She squeezes his shoulders, the pressure grounding, soothing. "C'mon, Damien, you have to breathe. I can't explain if you aren't listening."

He sucks in a breath and holds it, trembling, and Rilla rhythmically rubs her hands up and down his biceps. She- her wrists, but- but she- she is here, and she is- she is not hurt, not truly. Is she? He rakes her eyes over her, lingering on the light red speckling at her wrists, catching her worried eyes only briefly, but otherwise she- she seems precisely as he left her. She appears- otherwise unharmed. Damien exhales, and his breathing is still fast, now, but he is forcing it under his control again, by degrees.

"I am… I am sorry, my flower," he murmurs. "C-continue. I will- I will listen."

Rilla smiles, just barely, worry still visible on her brow, and then she sighs. "He- he was only trying to go home, Damien. He was- he was scared, and he was desperate." She pauses. "Don't- don't tell him I said that, he'd be upset that I know he's scared."

Damien-

Knows exactly what she means, somehow. The creature seems to have a rather distinct sense of pride. He nods again.

"He just wants to go home," she says again, and there is a note of strange sorrow in her voice. "And I… Damien, I know it's crazy, but- but I have to help him."

Damien blinks. "You- what did you say?"

She sighs and bites her lip. "You were right. I can't keep him here, not any longer than I have to. It's- it's dangerous. For him, mostly, but- he can't stay, and he'll never make it home on his own, and I- I can't just push him out the door with a wave and a good luck, that's not- I can't-"

She presses her lips together hard, looking away. "Rilla-"

She rubs a hand over her mouth, and then she meets his eye again, determination in her gaze. "I've already decided, Damien. I told him I would get him home, and that's what I'm going to do. If- if that's too much for you to handle, I- I can understand that, but I'm not going to let you hurt him, and I'm not going to let you stop me, either."

"Stop you?" he echoes faintly.

"I just kinda assumed," she says, smiling very weakly. "You've been pretty- pretty adamant about your position, Damien."

"I-"

Damien pauses.

He would have killed the creature in the depths of unconsciousness. Damien would have drawn and fired and stopped his heart cold. Would have never allowed the beast to wake again-

As he nearly did to the witch of Ballast.

Damien's heart pulls, as if it wishes to tear in half. His duty, his holy charge, his feet drawn forward into this endless battle-

And his love, and his rival, each by turns staying his hand.

Damien hesitates, and then he reaches, drawing his thumb careful along the soft redness circling Rilla's wrist.

"Precisely how did this happen, then?" he asks, voice low.

Rilla flinches. "He- he didn't hurt me, Damien. He could have, but he didn't. This- he just kinda- tied me to the stool?" she says, her voice going high and worried as she watches his face. "And I pulled my wrists breaking the bandages to get out. I could have done it more carefully and I wouldn't have been hurt at all but I was- I was worried that he would hurt himself trying to get home and I- I was too impatient to- to worry about myself. It's barely a burn, Damien, I swear-"

"I trust your medical expertise," Damien murmurs, and his brow softens as he lifts her hands to kiss the heel of one palm, and then the other. "I… my love, I- I may not- I still do not understand," he manages. "I do not understand what makes this creature different, what makes you- what makes you protect him. But-"

Rilla's hands flex in his own, but she does not pull away. "But?"

He inhales, exhales. "He is… he is your patient. You have claimed him as such, and so he must be. I must trust that you know best, how he should be cared for," he says in a near whisper. He swallows, then, feeling the terror of betrayal at the back of his throat. "If he threatens you- if the situation shifts- if you are in any danger, I will protect you. But I-" his heart stutters, he gasps a compulsive breath. "I will- I will not- I will not interfere, so long as you are certain that you are safe."

Rilla's expression falls open in shock, and then it goes pleased and warm. "Oh. Damien-"

"I only ask that you- you will allow me to- to keep an eye on the situation. To ease my worry, if nothing else. In case the worst should occur."

"Damien…" She stares at him. "Really? You're not- you really mean that? You're not going to-"

"I would not lie to you," he says gently.

"No," she says, "I know, but it's just- unexpected, I guess?"

"To be certain," he agrees in a murmur.

Rilla gives a breath of laughter, then squeezes his hands. "I- maybe I'm gonna regret asking this, but- what changed?"

Sir Damien does not know.

He pushes back his guilt. He pushes down his fear. He squeezes Rilla's hands, feeling her pulse, feeling that she is safe, alive, safe. If this be a trick, still- if the creature is merely acting as he knows he must to survive this, then-

Damien will still slay him, if necessary. But, for the moment-

The faster the creature is well again, the faster he will be gone from their lives, and the sooner Sir Damien can resume his life as it once was. The sooner he may again live with his beloved safe by his side, secure and familiar and right once more.

~

Damien comes and goes, as his duty calls him, but apparently the Queen isn't in dire need at the moment, because most nights he returns to the hut. Rilla can't decide if he's being more overprotective than he means to let on, or if he's just still trying to process what happened in Ballast, along with this whole Arum thing, but it really doesn't matter why. It's more important to her that he's here, even if he's quieter about it, more contemplative. It's more important that he still comes to bed with her and holds her tight when he needs the comfort. And- when she does, honestly.

He still acts stiff and strange with Arum, his words uncharacteristically awkward, but he isn't on the attack anymore, not like he had been, and he hasn't snuck off to play guard dog overnight since he came back. He makes Arum nervous, which is fair enough. He keeps his bow close by fairly often, and Rilla weighs Arum's discomfort versus Damien's and she can't make herself tell Damien to put the damn thing away. She has to trust that Damien won't use it, and she knows that it makes him feel safe. She just has to hope that Arum trusts her enough to know that she wouldn't allow it if she thought it was a risk.

Arum is different with Damien than he is with her, too. More antagonistic, but- in a sideways sort of way. He doesn't directly insult the knight, not usually, and instead he seems to get a kick out of irritating him in little, inconsequential ways. Seems to know exactly what buttons to push with Damien, too, to get him to grit his teeth and snap in return, and the monster tends to grin and chuckle like he's won every time he can make Damien irritable enough that Rilla feels like she needs to intercede.

But- the thing that Rilla is having trouble wrapping her head around is the parts that don't quite seem like simple antagonism. If that was all it was, she could get that. That would make sense, even if it was annoying. There's something else, though. Something that doesn't quite fit into the box of antagonism.

"Hm. I suppose it is for the best that you have returned, little songbird," Arum murmurs, and Rilla hears Damien scoff through the door as she changes out of a sap-stained post-experiment outfit. The walls of her hut don't do much for noise cancellation, she thinks wryly.

"Is that so, beast?" Damien's answer is calm, if vaguely strained. "Why should you wish for my return?"

"I do not prefer to leave matters unsettled," Arum growls, low. "I believe there is unfinished business still between us… and I would think the stubborn little songbird would be eager to finish attempting to prove his point."

There is a pause, and then-

"The- the duel, of course," Damien says, awkwardly. Rilla tenses, because some arranged duel is news to her, and not exactly good news, either. "Of course. Er- however, I do not believe you are yet in a state to fulfill your challenge, friend lizard."

"I- what?" Another pause. "Oh. Y-yes. Of course. The- the duel, takatakataka."

Even through the door, Rilla can hear the familiar uncomfortable rattle Arum gives. She can practically see his tail thrashing, his frill flaring, she knows that noise so well.

"… Lord Arum?"

Arum hisses low, not remotely an answer.

"What…" Damien pauses, for a long sort of moment. "What, precisely, did you mean, if not the duel?"

"Not a thing, honeysuckle," the monster mutters. "Of course I meant the duel. Don't be foolish."

Rilla shuffles on a new skirt, trying not to feel like an intruder in her own damn hut. It- it isn't her fault they're having this conversation so loud. If they didn't want her to hear-

"Oh. Oh," Damien says after another long moment, and then he coughs, lightly. "Ah. I suppose… I suppose that… that I never finished my poem, that evening, did I?"

"I do not remember," Arum mutters. "It does not matter. I had forgotten the whole thing by the next morning."

Another ticking, growling rattle. Another low snarl. Rilla hesitates at her bedroom door, which- she's not spying. She's not, she just- doesn't want to interrupt them.

"Well… I suppose…" Damien trails off. "I suppose," Damien tries again, his quiet voice very carefully pitched to casual, "that the next time you wish to be bored to sleep, I will know which tale to begin with," Damien says, very quietly.

Arum chokes a laugh. "I- I believe- I-" Another pause. Saints, but Rilla could record entire research logs in the time these boys take to finish a sentence. "It was you who lulled yourself to slumber with your words, songbird," Arum says, his own voice gone low, and hesitant, and stilted. "Not I. If you should like to bore me, you would do better to return to your little threats, not your… your poetry. If you wish to finish your tale, it is not as if I could stop you."

Damien does not respond to that, and after a moment Rilla pushes the door open again. There's a half second during which she sees the pair of them staring at each other, Arum with his head ducked and his tail coiling, Damien with his cheeks gone dark, and then the both of them look her way instead.

Rilla-

Doesn't comment. Why would she? Awkward silences are better than fighting, anyway, even if the way Arum looks away from her makes her stomach twist oddly. Even if Damien doesn't stop pinching his face into a guilty frown on and off for the next few minutes.

Rilla can wrestle away a bit of awkward, though. Especially coming from Damien. She's gentle, and tactical, and with a few pointed questions she manages to start him off on that story about the Sphinxes again. She doesn't mind the repetition, today. It's a good story, and-

Well. Arum certainly hasn't heard it before.

~

"Amaryllis," the monster calls lightly, looking up from the book in his hands, and then he goes still.

Damien follows his gaze automatically, and he feels a familiar little pulse of fondness when he sees his Rilla, draped partway over the table, her head sunk to rest on her arms, her shoulders lifting and lowering lightly as she sleeps, her stack of books utterly forgotten and her recorder still clutched in hand.

Arum blinks, watching her for a moment with his head tilted just slightly to the side, and then he catches Damien watching him in return and he narrows his eyes, turning away. "Foolish creature. I am certain she has a bed in this little hut somewhere. Certainly she should find it before she decides to collapse," he mutters, his voice carefully low, and-

Damien feels a strange little pulse again, a soft sort of echo, at the way Lord Arum's eyes return to Rilla as he speaks, just briefly, as if the monster is checking to ensure his quiet words have not woken her.

Damien bites his lips, swallows uncomfortably. "I… I do not think you should speak so, Lord Arum," he says, tone light. "You have your own habit of inopportune sleep, if our previous evenings together are any indication."

The monster blinks, then snorts. "I see that I shall never live my sedation down with you, shall I, honeysuckle?"

"I am quite used to it, in truth," Damien murmurs. "She… this is not an unusual occurrence. Sleep finds her where it may, as she so often spends her nights busily avoiding it." He smiles, helpless, and reaches a hand to press the button to stop her recorder, and then he brushes some loose curls away from her brow. "Any rest she allows to catch hold is quite well deserved."

Damien realizes, after a moment, that the monster is staring at him. As soon as he realizes this, Arum looks away again, burying his snout back in his own book.

Damien realizes, after a moment, that he has taken his own turn, to stare.

"What do you intend," Damien blurts, "When you are home again?"

Arum blinks, looking up at the knight with no small degree of alarm, and then he narrows his eyes. "When?"

That- is not the part of the question that Damien had thought the creature would take umbrage with. "Ah-"

"I do not believe for a moment that you have decided to allow the doctor to return me where I belong," he mutters. "You must think me completely naive, or entirely brainless."

It is unbelievable, Damien thinks, and yet. Damien has decided precisely that, somehow. It is unsurprising that the monster disbelieves. He purses his lips for a moment, considers how to proceed.

"I may change my mind on the matter," he says mildly, "depending on how this conversation progresses."

Arum narrows his eyes further, a ticking rattle growing in his chest. "And you do not think that in telling me such, you might color my responses, little knight? You are not a particularly skilled interrogator, are you?"

"This… this is not an interrogation," Damien admits, after a moment. "Rilla believes you only wish to return home. However… she has not elaborated upon what happens after that comes to pass. What will you do, when you are returned to where you belong?"

Arum scoffs. "Ridiculous. If I ever see my home again, I will put to rights whatever has gone unruly in my absence, and then I will never again be bothered by your kind or my own, if I have my way. I will be alone, as I should be, so I may nurse my own wounds." He pauses. "And my ego, while I am at it."

Damien furrows his brow, watching the way Arum's shoulders hunch, the way his expression goes angry to hide the flash of sorrow Damien thinks he sees, for only a brief moment. "And what of humankind?"

"What of it?" Arum snarls, and then he glances to Rilla and swallows, though she does not stir at his voice. "What of it?" He repeats more quietly. "I do not care what the lot of you foul creatures do, so long as you do not intrude upon my territory. Perhaps I will close the borders entirely. Perhaps that will be safest, in fact." He wrinkles his snout, glaring down at his clenched fists. "Yes. Safest for both of us," he mutters, more to himself than to Damien. "If I ever make it home… yes, whatever it takes, for our safety. I must protect myself, must protect my K-"

He chokes, words cutting off ragged at the end into his low growl, his eyes darting to Damien and then away as his frill flares like a flag in a high wind.

Damien feels himself staring, again. He cannot help it.

That keening note in Arum's voice, that hot protective current beneath the words-

It rings in Damien's mind like the echo of bells, as familiar as home. Damien knows the feeling this creature is trying, so clumsily, to hide.

Rilla shifts against the table and Arum startles, his claws clenching the near-forgotten book in his hand before he lifts it again, narrowing his eyes over the pages at Sir Damien.

"I hope my answers have been enlightening enough for you, honeysuckle," he mutters quickly, and then he hides himself again in the pages.

Rilla yawns, and stretches, and falls partly against Damien's shoulder as she mutters herself awake, and she is warm and utterly safe by his side. Mere feet from a monster, and Damien cannot even force himself to worry for her safety. No, he is not worried, not for his beloved, not at Arum's hands, but-

Arum's answers were more than enlightening, Damien thinks. That is… that is entirely the problem. They were enlightening, because Sir Damien cannot help but feel that every one of them was true.

Lord Arum aches for home, and Sir Damien's twisting, stuttering, traitorous heart aches in foolish sympathy.

[->]

[damienthepious]

HEY NOT ONLY IS IT LKT BUT IT IS ALSO ZINE DAY BABEY!!!! Please go check out the @seasonsofthecitadel​ zine! Orders opened today and all profits go to The Trevor Project! 

As far as my typical weekly offerings go, I’m on a roll with this fic now, so...

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 7)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [ao3] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery,  Hurt/Comfort,  (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: Damien is dutiful as ever, and Rilla- Rilla has the situation under control. She does.

Chapter Notes: Not much to warn for this time, I don't think? They're all still bad at self care, and Arum is still... being passively suicidal, but if you've read the rest so far, I feel like that's expected. Love you! Happy LKT!

~

Damien wakes after Arum has already eaten, when Rilla is retrieving his dishes, and he careens back into consciousness with a shuddering gasp. His hand clutches his bow like a lifeline, and he springs to his feet in half a heartbeat, kicking the blanket aside without even seeming to notice it, his eyes wild until they land on Rilla.

Rilla, who only raises her eyebrow at him.

"At least you got some sleep, even if it was on the floor," she says mildly as Damien pants, standing and flicking his eyes around the room, looking away quickly when he meets the monster's eyes. "You okay?"

Damien swallows, then tries to press his hand over his heart, but he realizes that his bow is in the way and blinks in momentary confusion. "R-Rilla, I-" he cuts himself off as he remembers the monster watching them, violet eyes drifting between them curiously. "We can- we should discuss- we should move to the kitchen, I think, if we- if we wish to discuss-"

Rilla tries not to make it obvious that she wants to laugh, at that. Damien… it's not unfair for Damien to feel at least a little bit concerned, for him to want to talk to her privately. It really isn't. Even if it feels silly to Rilla, especially with the blatantly amused look Arum shoots the both of them. She bites her lip and nods, instead, then shoots Arum a look in return, both knowing and warning.

"I'll be back to check on you in a bit, okay Arum?" she says, and Arum wrinkles his snout very slightly as he nods. "Just… shout if you need anything."

Damien stares at her through this exchange, that wounded, mournful expression back in force, but she only smiles lightly and takes his hand (the one not still stubbornly wrapped around his bow, of course), and starts leading him back towards the front room. Arum's eyes flick to their clasped hands, his expression going momentarily puzzled before he flattens it out to neutral again, and Rilla doesn't have time to wonder about that because when they exit the exam room, Damien's mouth is already twisting down into a scowl.

"He- that beast- it tricked me into- into-"

"Into sleeping?" Rilla releases Damien's hand so she can go dump the dishes from breakfast onto the counter, and then she turns and leans against it, watching Damien unhappily begin to pace. "You were exhausted, Damien. If you didn't want to fall asleep in a room with him, you should have just stayed in bed with me," she says, and she knows she hasn't quite kept the hurt out of her voice when Damien's eyes dart to her in surprise.

"Rilla," he murmurs, and his pacing falters so he can come close to her instead, lifting his hands to gently touch her shoulders, his thumbs brushing her skin, just gently. "I… I am sorry. It isn't that I did not want to rest with you, my love. I always do. If I had my way, I would never sleep anywhere but beside you. But- but I couldn't- with that creature still beneath your roof, I could not-"

"I know," Rilla sighs, leaning into his touch. "I know once you get a thought in your head, it's hard for you to… I know."

"He is…" Damien's expression twists, his eyebrows furrowing deeply and his lips turning in a frown so deep it approaches a pout.

"A lot," Rilla finishes with a half a smile. "He's a lot."

Damien purses his lips, and then after a moment he nods lightly. "I suppose that is one rather concise way to put it, yes. He…"

Rilla raises an eyebrow. "He… what?"

Damien doesn't seem to know how to continue for a long moment, and then he shakes his head and takes both of her hands in his instead. "Rilla, oh Rilla, I must speak my heart."

"Had you stopped at some point?" she says, but her teasing tone falls a little flat, and his expression goes hurt as well as pleading. "Sorry. What- what do you need to say, Damien?"

"You know that I love you," he says, almost tearfully, "and I trust you. I trust your brilliance and I trust your judgment, but I am terrified, my love. I trust you with the whole of my heart, but- but I could not possibly trust him."

Rilla clenches her teeth, exhaling sharply. "Well, good. You don't have to trust him. All you gotta do is trust me, and everything will be fine. I have the situation totally under control."

"But…" Damien trails off weakly. "But what do you plan to do with him, Rilla? Surely- surely with your skill he will be mended in no time at all, but what happens then, my flower? You cannot keep him here like some sort of- of broken-winged pigeon, like some sort of pet-"

"Damien, he's not an animal-"

"Exactly, Rilla. What will you do , when he is healed? Do you intend to mend him and then let him traipse out your front door, to send him on his merry way? Do you intend to escort him home, to keep other knights at bay? What will you do?"

"I-" Rilla laughs uncomfortably, pulling her hands away. "Look, he's in no state to be considering all that just yet, Damien. He still can't even get out of the cot, really. There's no reason to get ahead of ourselves-"

"Rilla."

"That's so far down the line, Damien, you can't expect-"

"You cannot continue to treat him without a plan, love. An injured monster-" he sighs. "This creature… he does not currently pose a threat. That, I will concede. But when he is well again, you cannot know what he will do. Even if he feels he owes you to the point where he shall not harm you, how can you know he will not harm others, Rilla? How can you be certain that your kindness will not visit misery and death upon others?"

"He hasn't tried to hurt you either, Damien."

"I am armed, Rilla. It would be foolishness itself to attempt to-"

"Wouldn't be that hard to kill a man while he's asleep," Rilla says.

"I-" Damien pauses, swallows, looks decidedly uncomfortable. "I… I will concede that point as well. Though, it may be for your sake alone that he did not harm me. Clearly the debt he owes you is enormous, perhaps even a monster would understand the weight of such a mercy. But you cannot know he will not harm others when he is- if you allow him to leave this place."

Rilla narrows her eyes, just slightly. "Alright. So far, you've basically said that I can't keep him here and I can't let him leave, either. Kinda get the feeling that you're trying to paint me into a corner here, Damien."

"Rilla… my dearest, my love, you know what I must do." He gives a shaky sigh when she scowls and looks away from him. "Rilla, he cannot be allowed to live. It is far too dangerous-"

"Oh, so you're back to calling Arum an it again, now that you wanna talk about killing him?"

"N-" Damien cuts off, winces, then wrings his hands for a moment before he continues in a muted voice, "n-no, I- I was referring to- to the situation, not to the b-beast himself." He pauses again, visibly uncomfortable. "His… Ar- that is his… his name, then?"

"Yeah," Rilla says, still frowning. "It is. Though sometimes he gets pouty if you don't put Lord in front of it."

"Lord?" Damien echoes in surprise. "You- he- a Lord?"

"I mean, I don't know exactly what it entails, but apparently he rules that big swamp up north."

Damien blanches. "The Swamp of Titan's- that swamp? A deadly, dangerous, dire place! Oh, all the more reason for caution, for fear! Oh Saint Damien above, oh grace us with your Tranquility and wisdom, protect us from the cruelty of a beast who could tame such a place-"

"Alright, that doesn't seem fair. The jungle around the Citadel is dangerous too, Damien, but that doesn't mean you'd call the Queen cruel."

Damien swallows, his wild expression calming slightly as he fixes his eyes on her again. "I- I suppose that is- but, but! Rilla, that swamp has been even more dangerous than in the past, as of late. There are rumors, there are some truly frightening tales coming from the north recently-"

Damien pauses, then, and Rilla's face has gone blank as well. They stare at each other for a moment, both thinking quite similar things, and then Rilla's eyes flick to Arum's door, which is-

Still cracked open, just barely. Rilla swallows, uncomfortable, and when she speaks again her voice is more muted.

"That seems well beside the point, Damien, and I think you know that."

"Very well," Damien says, equally uncomfortable. "But you have not offered any solutions either, my love. You may say that the time when the beast will be well again is distant, but such time will slip past long before you are ready for it if you do not have a plan."

"My plan, Damien, is definitely not gonna be you killing him, even if I don't have another answer for you right now." She crosses her arms over her chest, trying not to let her voice become a shout. "I've been a little busy, if you haven't noticed, just keeping him alive in the first place. I haven't exactly had any time to plan out something that won't be an issue for- for a while, yet."

"A while," Damien echoes. "Do you not have an idea of how long, then? Is his situation still so precarious that you cannot speculate yet upon that?"

"He- I mean, his progress is still slow. It might speed slightly after I treat- well, there's a chance he'll start improving faster soon, but I don't exactly have a lot of experience with patients like him. It's not like I have a great idea of how long lizard-dragon-bugs take to get back on their feet, you know?"

"Indeed," Damien says. "Is that not all the more reason to be prepared, in anticipation that he may heal faster than you expect?"

"I haven't talked to him about it," Rilla admits. "I just- I'm not sure he trusts me completely yet, and there's a decent chance that a question like that will make him suspicious."

Damien blinks. "He does not trust you?" He scoffs, then shakes his head. "Of all the absurd-"

"I'm engaged to a man who's practically begging me to let him slay the beast," Rilla drawls. "If I were a monster, I wouldn't be the most trusting of someone like me either."

"But you saved the creature," Damien says dismissively. "Surely that-"

"Yeah, and I'm still trying to save him, Damien."

Damien inhales as if preparing to counter that, but then his eyes flick to the window, to the morning light outside, and he sighs. "I- I cannot stay much longer. I am- I intended to mention, last night, but my mind-"

"What, Damien?"

"I will be leaving, for- for a few days, at the very least. The new Investigator General will be bringing a rather small team to- to resolve a situation a little ways north." He pauses. "Not- not quite so far north as our previous discussion," he adds. "But- I am needed. As much as the idea of leaving you alone with such a creature terrifies me-"

"I don't know how many times I gotta say that he's not gonna hurt me before you get it, Damien."

"I don't know how you can be so sure, my love," Damien says softly, achingly. "I trust enough that I- that I will leave, I will leave you with the creature under your roof and your care, and I will not… I will not harm him, this day. But when I return… when I return, we will need to… to resolve this discussion. A decision must be made, and I think we both know that there is only one possible outcome. There is only one way to return our lives to normalcy, to ensure safety for the people it is both of our duties, in our own way, to protect."

"Uh." Rilla scowls. "We definitely don't both know that," she says, tone going sour with mocking. "Saints, I should make you a recording of me saying all the shit you seem determined not to understand. Maybe on the twelfth repeat you'll get the picture. He's my patient, Damien, which means it's my job to keep him safe. And if you want to hurt him so badly, that means I'll have to keep him safe from you, too."

"Rilla, please don't- don't-" he pauses, furrows his brow, and then sighs deeply. "No."

"No?"

"I cannot stay but a few minutes more. I believe this conversation is larger than our current time will allow. I do not enjoy the thought of leaving words unsaid-"

Rilla snorts a laugh. She really can't help it. She winces when he gives her an injured look.

"Er- yes. Regardless. We will resume this… discussion upon my return. Please, love, just- please do not grow complacent with this creature. Please take care. I love you too dearly to think that you could be in any sort of danger, but especially not danger that could be easily avoided with just the barest breath of caution. Please, love."

Rilla stuffs down her frustration, and instead comes close to him again. She touches his shoulder, and then just damns the whole situation and slips her arms around him in a hug instead. "I love you too, Damien," she sighs. "And you damn well better be careful out there too, whatever it is you're gonna be doing. Promise me you won't let yourself be distracted by this when you should be worrying about what's out there," she says, and then she pulls back enough to meet his eyes. She wonders for a moment if she looks quite as worried as he does. "I don't want to be the reason you get hurt, Damien."

"I promise," he says gently. "I assure you that I will be entirely focused, entirely engrossed in my mission until it is complete."

Rilla doesn't really believe that. Damien isn't exactly the best at keeping his mind from running away with him, but- it's nice to hear him say it, anyway. She sighs.

"C'mon, then. I'll help you get your armor back on, and then I'll walk you to the bridge, at least. I could do with a bit of fresh air."

~

Arum curls his claws in the sheets when he hears the door click shut, when he hears two distinct sets of footsteps maunder off into the day. Ten minutes or so, Amaryllis had casually (or less than casually, if the light strain in her voice had been any indication) called out to him through the door before she ran off with the knight. Ten minutes. That is how long she will be gone.

Not enough time to do everything he needs, but-

He waits only until he can no longer hear them, and then he pushes the blankets off. With a care bordering on the absurd (he cannot risk falling, he refuses to be set back again), he swings his legs out, letting his claws click on the hardwood below. Behind him, he curls his tail down and retrieves the first of his stolen prizes from beneath the bed. A crutch: primitive, so far as such tools go, but just tall enough to be useful to him, and he positions it beneath his lower right arm and grits his teeth and he stands-

He stands and does not fall, this time.

(Kicking the crutch back beneath the bed when he had fallen two days ago had been an exercise in flailing panic. He has rarely been more mortified.)

Arum stands, balancing carefully with the help of the crutch and his tail, and he breathes unsteadily for a long moment before he does anything else.

He has his goals in mind. He knows precisely where this little creature keeps everything he will need, even if he is not entirely steady enough to enact his plan just yet.

He has a deadline, now. When the knight returns from his newest expedition, Arum does not think Amaryllis will be able to keep him from slaying Arum, and- and now that Arum's suspicions about the Keep are all but confirmed-

(Rumors. What rumors? When Arum overheard those words he wanted to tear the blankets apart, wanted to roar and rage and demand that the knight explain- what does he mean, that the swamp, Arum's swamp, is becoming more dangerous? That it is growing more frightening? What does he mean? What is the Keep doing? What is happening to Arum's home, in his absence?)

He has a deadline. Arum will not wait, not a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

Either he will die in his planned attempt, or he will return home. One way or the other, his Keep will have a familiar again.

He grits his teeth, focuses on his balance, and step by careful step he begins to cross the room.

~

Arum is still safely in his cot, giving Rilla a baleful glare as she returns, and she stubbornly pretends that she hadn't been worried about that. It wasn't like she expected him to disappear, or to hurt himself by accident, but- Rilla hasn't really left the hut since she found the lizard. It just feels weird, to leave him alone.

"Here," Rilla says brightly, pressing a vial into Arum's hand as he blinks up at her, startled. "Take that, please."

"Wh-why?" he barks suspiciously, holding it away from himself. "What is it?"

"The antidote. It should neutralize what's left of the poison from that basilisk," she says, and she grins sharply when Arum flinches in surprise. "Yeah. I told you I was gonna figure it out. Honestly, it's a good thing I did, because even without that talon still in there, the poison would have taken a while for your body to naturally work through. So yeah, I'm just gonna reiterate the whole, it's important to just tell me things, thing. Y'know. If you actually want to get better."

Arum wrinkles his snout, narrows his eyes at the vial, then uncorks it and takes it in one go. His expression goes even more dour at the taste (understandable, Rilla thinks), and then he presses the empty glass back into Rilla's hands. "I would say I apologize, but I would be lying," he hisses. "Perhaps I would be more likely to trust if I were not receiving such wildly different messages from my two ambassadors to humanity."

Rilla snorts. "Yeah, that's not entirely unfair," she says. "Damien's not gonna be back for a few days or so, though, so you don't have to worry about him hovering for a while."

Arum raises an eyebrow. "Hm."

Rilla tucks the empty vial into a pocket and starts the routine of checking the monster over. It's becoming almost too familiar, by now, she thinks. She talks through it again to keep him comfortable, and he frowns deeply when she tsks at him over his frill, which she is beginning to worry might permanently bear some nicks and tears if he can't stop flaring it so frequently.

"It hardly matters," he mutters, looking away from her. "It's not as if it will kill me. It is only a frill."

"Yeah, but- well, I'm sure it still hurts, and whether or not you care about the aesthetic appearance, reopening the wounds over and over certainly isn't good for you. Just- try your best not to move it if you can, okay?"

Arum rolls his eyes. "Yes, doctor."

He tugs the blankets back up on his own (he's getting stronger, she notes with some satisfaction) and then he sighs, frowning and looking towards the window, despite the curtains in the way of his view.

There's something elegant about him, a sad sort of tension to his stillness, and Rilla has to bite back the urge to just ask-

What happens when you're healed?

She wishes Damien hadn't stuck the question in her head. It's just- a pain in the ass, really. She picks a different question instead.

("I think the creature is… I think he is restless," Damien says uncomfortably, when they are in sight of the bridge.

"Of course he's restless, Damien, he's barely better than bedridden."

Her voice bounces on the b's, and she smiles as she sees Damien tilt his head and file her words away for some later composition.

"Yes, needless to say," he says after a moment. "But what I mean is that he seems… understimulated? Or- bored, I suppose," he says with an awkward smile. "Perhaps it would be worthwhile to- to provide him with something to occupy his mind. To keep him out of trouble," the knight mumbles, his soft and calloused hand lightly squeezing her own.

Rilla wonders, brow furrowed, why she hadn't thought of that already.)

"Hey," she says, and he turns his face back toward her with a suspicious look. "Do monsters have their own written language?"

"No," he says, less suspicious now but certainly more concerned. "We have several. Many of them complex and individual and private and certainly not the business of some nosy human."

"Can you read our language?" she prods, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," he grumbles. "It is only one language, it is easy enough to understand."

"Huh," she says. "Good to know."

He looks suspicious again at that, but he also looks tired, and she's familiar enough with that expression on his face to know that he'll probably be asleep again in ten minutes or so. That's fine. She's not sure exactly what kind of books a monster like him might enjoy reading, but Rilla can use his time napping to sift through her little library and find something that might just catch his interest.

Hell, if she's already going for treason, she might see if he'll have some insight into some of the books her dads left behind, while she's at it.

[->]

[damienthepious]

>:3c hey i got two this week. happy LKT babes!!

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 3)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [ao3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery,  Hurt/Comfort,  (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: Sir Damien and Rilla discuss the issue at hand.

Chapter Notes: did u want: canon typical Damien spiraling? <3

~~

Arum is stable, the offending injury has been cleaned again and sealed and dressed and hopefully, hopefully, this time it will actually start to heal. Rilla’s mind buzzes, exhaustion and adrenaline and the satisfaction of a problem solved. That little shard of black talon (definitely talon, now that she’s seen it up close; add the satisfaction of a called shot, too) is safely and carefully stashed away in a clean sealed vial for later analysis, where it can’t do any more harm. And Arum-

The sedative probably won’t wear off for hours. Probably for the best, considering how exhausted he was before he went under. It’s probably just her imagination, just wishful thinking, but he looks… calmer. Like his sleep is more restful, now, than it had been. Imagination or no, she takes some satisfaction in that, too.

Rilla washes her hands, splashes her face, and when she meets her own eye in the little mirror above her washbasin she sees the bags under her eyes and the hair clouding around her face and the manic tilt to her expression and she- laughs.

Damien. Oh, Damien-

What the hell is she going to do about him?

She could be irritated with him just for coming into her exam room, whether or not the door was locked, but- well, it’s not like he wouldn’t have some rule breaking to throw back in her face. She sighs, dragging her palm over her mouth and noting the visible exhaustion that’s making her shoulders sag.

Well. No point putting it off, right?

She checks on Arum one more time, resettling the blankets more securely around his shoulders, ensuring that he’s warm enough, leaving a cup of water beside the bed in case he wakes before she does (whatever happens with Damien, however she gets him out of her hair, she’s going to get some sleep after this, she needs to).

Dead asleep, still, but- he mutters something, some whispery wordlessness as the back of her hand presses to his forehead to make sure his temperature is still consistent, and the breathy murmur and the way his resting expression goes even softer makes Rilla gently smile before she can help herself, and her brain is still buzzing as she thinks, rest well, you ridiculous monster, and heal.

She steps away from the cot, and she sighs, then. This next part is going to be unpleasant.

Damien is pacing in a straight line when she exits the exam room, turning on his heel to keep going in the same stuck path before he registers that she’s joining him, and then his eyes widen.

“Oh my heart, you are safe! Oh, my dearest Rilla, I was terrified that you had been- I felt only moments from bolting in to ensure that you had not been-”

“Damien. I wasn’t in danger,” she says, keeping her voice low and gesturing for Damien to follow her as she steps away from the door to the exam room, away from the possibility of waking Arum accidentally. Her hut isn’t that big, and it’s not like they could have this conversation outside, but they can at least stand in the kitchen, a little ways away where they won’t literally be shouting (she assumes they’ll end up shouting, frankly) so damn close to Arum.

“I know you are terribly brave, my love,” Damien says as he stumbles behind. “But surely even you must understand- I do not know what sort of- of experiment you are intending to run, but I must advise-”

“He’s not an experiment,” Rilla growls, bristling because she already, already regrets the brief window during which she… did kind of think of him that way. He deserves better than that.

“Regardless, regardless of the why, it cannot continue, surely you must understand that. The danger- the danger the creature presents, to yourself, to any other patients you may have, to the Citadel itself! Rilla surely you can see that it must be destroyed-”

“You’re not touching him, Damien. He’s my patient-”

“It is a monster-”

“Yeah, I gathered that Damien, thanks, but you still aren’t touching him. He’s my patient, and he’s one of a kind, and he’s not gonna hurt me. If he wanted to, he definitely already would have tried something. He’s still weak as hell but he’s stubborn and he would have tried, if he really wanted.”

“Of course the monster wants to hurt you, my precious flower. That is simply what monsters do.”

Rilla scowls hard, turning away from him to pull the curtains aside, realizing with no small degree of wonder that it’s dark outside again. Already. Already? Before she woke Arum to discuss pulling the talon out, she’s sure it couldn’t have been much past sunrise. Saints she needs to sleep. But before she can-

“Damien, I’m gonna put this as simply as I can. He is my patient. That means that it’s my job to take care of him, and to make sure he’s safe and that his injuries are treated. I’m finally at a point where I’m making progress, and-”

“Finally,” Damien echoes, his brow furrowing as his thoughts churn. “Finally? How long have you- how long has this been going on, precisely?”

“Few days,” Rilla says, noncommittal. She- she isn’t quite sure, anymore. She’s been keeping hourly notes, coded longhand, but she’d put it on pause for the surgery, and-

“So,” he says, sounding pained, “when I came to you last, and asked-”

“I lied,” she says flatly. “I lied, because I knew you would respond like this.”

“I am attempting to do my duty, my love. I must protect you and every citizen of the Citadel, must cleanse the monsters' blight upon this land-”

“Not this monster,” Rilla says. “Not him. He doesn’t need cleansing.” She grins, a little wildly. “I already disinfected him pretty thoroughly.”

“You cannot jest about this, Rilla. Surely, surely you know I cannot allow this, it is-”

“Treason?”

Damien blanches, his face going vaguely ashen, and his voice is near-mournful when he answers. “Rilla, my heart, my forever-flower you know that I would never accuse you of something so vile-”

“Even if it’s technically true?”

Damien’s entire expression freezes, as if she has stabbed him. “You can’t mean that. You wouldn’t-”

“He was hurt, Damien,” Rilla says. “And I’m a doctor. I’m just doing my job, as far as I’m concerned. But I very much doubt that the Citadel will see it that way.”

“He is a monster, my love- he could- he could do anything to you, he could kill you or steal you away or-”

Rilla rolls her eyes. “Or lie in bed complaining about the fact that he’s too weak to even stand. Oh no. Whatever will I do to defend myself against the constant annoyance of monsterkind.”

“Rilla you have seen as well as I have the cruelties done by its ilk, the violence and pain! Any benevolence must be a trick, it must be, meant to lull you into a false sense of safety around such a dangerous beast! A devious machination, meant to make you lower your guard for the moment he will strike and then what, my dearest love? What will happen, when you, with your gentle miraculous healing hands, deliver the beast back to strength enough that he may enact his plan? Oh Saint Damien protect us, what will happen when he has been healed enough to harm again? What then, my Rilla?”

“He’s not gonna hurt me,” Rilla says, entirely dismissive. “He won’t. He-” she interrupts herself with a deep yawn, jaw going wide as tears pop into her eyes. “Oh, Saints. I thought I could have this argument right now but I absolutely can’t, Damien. Can you please just trust me, at least enough not to do anything tonight? Go back to the Citadel and we can talk about this in the morning. Right now, I’ve barely slept since I found him, and now that I think I’ve finally dealt with the worst of it and got him stable- I could really use a frickin’ nap.”

“No,” Damien says, slashing his hand through the air. “No, I refuse to leave you helpless and unprotected while that- that creature-”

“My patient.”

“Awaits a moment of weakness! Awaits a moment of vulnerability, wherein he may creep close and destroy you, or curse you, or- or any number of terrible intentions that could come to pass the very instant your mind is settled into well-deserved rest, my love. I cannot stand idly by while-”

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Damien, he’s sedated. He’s not going to slit my throat in my sleep. I promise.”

“It could all be a trick, Rilla. Even with your brilliant mind- the machinations of monsterkind are often more clever than one would expect, and what if this is all some scheme? You are a genius, my Rilla, the greatest doctor in all of the Citadel, and certainly the monsters at large are aware of your prowess, are aware of how many precious lives you have personally gentled back to the realm of the living after countless heinous beasts have expended their most vicious effort to send them to their grave! A doctor of your skill and status- surely monsterkind must be desperate to remove your ferocious protective presence from thwarting their attempts-”

“Damien. First, please try to keep your volume down. I know this is- stressful for you, but the hut is small and the yelling is- not helpful. Second- it’s really flattering that you think they’d pay that much attention to me but I really think you’re overreacting.” She takes a moment to breathe, then sighs quite deeply. “Look, if you’re so worried about it, you can stay here for the night.” She smiles gently, reaching a hand to cup his cheek. “I’m sure you already had a long day before coming over here. Come to bed with me? If it’ll make you feel better, if it’ll make you feel like I’m safer, you know that I love sleeping with your arms around me-”

“I cannot lie idle and sleeping while such a beast rests but one room over, Rilla! I cannot sleep at all while it remains a threat-”

Rilla sighs and drops her hand. “Fine, Damien, fine. If you don’t want to rest with me, then you don’t have to, but I am going to bed and you are not touching my patient. Understand me?” She glares, and the force of her ire could knock Damien to the floor. His mouth goes dry, his words freezing. “If you undo any of my hard work I will not forgive you for that. Do you understand me? I will not forgive you,” she says in a low voice, and Damien swallows. “I don’t care if you wanna sit and guard the door, that’s annoying but it won’t hurt anything, but don’t you dare interrupt his rest.” She pauses. “Or mine, for that matter. Now if you’ll excuse me, Sir Damien?”

She gives him a tight, angry sort of smile, then excuses herself towards her bedroom, her shoulders already sagging again with the weight of her exhaustion, and Damien’s heart aches for her, aches for her to be safe and rested and in his arms-

But he must do his duty, first. He must protect her.

Damien paces outside the door to the room the monster currently occupies, his mind roiling and racing and terrified, and he whispers low for guidance. Rilla’s hut is not particularly large, and he has learned his lesson many times that if he prays as he naturally wishes to, he will keep his beloved from sleep rather effectively, and he does not wish to anger her any further just now. So: whispers. Saint Damien will hear him just as well, anyway. It is only for the throbbing in his own heart that his volume yearns to rise.

A monster. A monster, and his beloved Rilla so determined to see it healthy again. One of a kind- and certainly that is even more of a danger than if this were some ordinary ogre, is it not? What tricks might this beast possess? He could have any magic, and skill, any trick up his sleeve-

“What if it is is not sleeping?” He whispers, eyes sharp on the door as he paces, compulsively drawing his bow, the curve of it feeling like safety in his hand. “What if it is already scheming, already creeping towards my Rilla’s room?” His volume is rising, he can barely control it, he tries, but the words are a deluge he caught up in, helpless, helpless. “What if it is already crawling close to her bedside while she breathes light and lovely into her pillow and then it smiles a demon’s smile in the dark and it laughs at her precious kindness and then at last it raises a savage claw-”

Damien chokes a breath, pressing a hand hard over his heart and another over his mouth. No. No, he is between the beast and his beloved. He would have seen- he would know. That- that is merely his fear taking him by the throat. He must stand tranquil against it.

“Saint Damien- oh Saint Damien please,” he murmurs low, wringing his hands and trying, oh trying to slow his breathing. “Please your tranquility my Saint, I must be tranquil if I am to keep her safe, as she deserves to be-”

Rilla forbade him from harming her “patient.” Forbade him from disturbing its rest, as absurd as that is (what foul dreams fill a monster’s mind in repose? What passes for peace in such a violent, chaotic creature?). But-

She did not forbid him from entering the room. Did she?

He considers that. He looks to Rilla’s bedroom door, closed tight against him.

No- not closed tight. If he abandons his charge to protect her and goes to lay by her side, he is certain that she will gather him up in her arms and her bed and soon he will be blessed to hold her soft and lightly snoring in his arms. She is angry with him, in some misguided way, but she did not lock the door. She would not lock him out.

She did not lock him out of the room where the monster coils, either, though.

He ponders, for a few moments longer, before the thought springs unbidden again- the monster, slipping off of Rilla’s examination cot, slithering across the floor, up the walls, over the ceiling-

What powers it may have, Damien does not know. Camouflage? The ability to creep, silent? He does know of the viciously sharp claws this creature possesses, the jagged teeth that showed in his slackly open mouth-

What if it is attempting to escape?

Out the window, yes, and then- anywhere. It could slither off to find cohorts, other beasts with which to return, to raze Rilla’s cozy, humble home to the ground. It could slink around the side of the hut, could find another window- Rilla’s window, could insinuate itself back inside and-

Another deep, shaking breath.

No. Even if the creature is silent, Damien will hear the pane of glass shatter, if the creature escapes.

He cannot simply-

Damien cannot-

Every moment it is unoccupied, his mind will spin. It will tumble down into the darkness of catastrophe, will show him newer and darker possibilities, and so long as he does not know, not for certain, what the monster is doing in there, Damien will be trapped by these feelings, these foul potentialities.

He must enter. He must have his eyes on this beast. It cannot possibly harm Rilla nor anyone else, if he has it safely under his scrutiny.

And Rilla did not forbid him from entering.

He has one hand on the knob of the door, one on his bow, and he creaks the wood open. His entire frame tenses for the strike, whether that strike be his own or the leaping of the monster, but no such strike occurs. It is dim, in the room. Dim, and still, and quiet.

It is mostly quiet, anyway. After a pause, the door ajar but not yet passed through, Damien recognizes the slow, soft noise of breath, coming from inside. He frowns, but he supposes that it is better, is it not, to know that the beast is still where he can keep an eye upon it. If he had opened this door and it was still as death, and there were no noises of life whatsoever- certainly that would have been a more frightening outcome.

Damien takes a step, and then another, and he leaves his hand on the knob as he suspiciously enters this shadowed place.

Still, no attack comes. The light pouring in through the doorframe illuminates enough that Damien can see the shape on the cot, a long figure curled slightly on its side, covers shifting slowly above its chest.

The monster breathes.

It is repellent. This creature, this vile thing soft-sleeping here in a room meant for human healing, for care, for the comfort of his lovely Rilla’s talents and compassion, it is abhorrent. And Damien knows that Rilla is compassionate, oh certainly she is, but this- this? Certainly, certainly, love, there must be some limits, mustn’t there?

The monster breathes and sleeps and does not move, and Damien is even more nervous, even more furious than he was before.

He paces, but the sound of his shoes clicking on the floor sets his teeth on edge. What- what if his noise wakes the creature? If it attacks him, certainly it would be justifiable, to retaliate. Of course it would. But-

Rilla warned him not to disturb the creature’s rest.

So, until she wakes again, at least, he will not.

There is a stool, close beside the bed. When he had entered earlier, Rilla had been perched just in front of it with her hands on the beast, as if she had been seated at some point, and slowly edged forward in tension and focus until she had hovered entirely away.

If Damien wishes to sit, he is going to need to come close enough to the beast to take the seat for himself.

He takes each step across the floor as if it could be rigged with traps, as if more monsters might leap from any given shadow. This… proves unjustified. Yet again Damien is unmolested by monstrous intent, and when he comes close by the bed he stares down at the creature.

Evil. Evil made manifest. Long limbs hidden beneath layers of cloth, sharp claws obscured, the angularity of that body made slack and strange by sleep, that reptilian face-

The monster’s mouth hangs just slightly open, the tips of sharp fangs barely, barely visible behind his thin lips, the ridged line of his brow softened, the low light gleaming on his colorful, mottled scales-

Damien’s jaw tightens. He picks up the stool and moves it away from the bed, moves it to the corner nearest the door, and he perches up upon it facing the bed with a hand on his bow and a scowl set on his face.

The monster does not wake for this, either.

He scowls for quite some time, until his cheeks are a little bit sore. Then he settles into a glare, his determination too strong to be unsettled by boredom. This is only a trick, regardless of the way this creature looks- fragile, curled there on Rilla’s examination cot. More of his scales are bandaged than not, from what Damien saw earlier, when Rilla was working upon him, and the frill at his neck is nearly in tatters, one of his elegantly curved horns cracked (Damien wonders if that is the sort of thing that heals- not that this creature will have time to find that out, of course), and even despite the undeserved serenity of sleep this monster looks exhausted.

A trick. All of it a trick, of course.

… but a very, very convincing one.

[->]