Knight is missing both his arms.

“Oh dear,” Vanth sighs, “What happened?”

He sets down his jar of flies (the Fly Trap grumbles in indignation and makes a reach for it) to better appraise his battered suit of armor.

“I’ve been de-armed, my lord,” Knight says.

A few tassets are also missing as is the…codpiece. Vanth smothers his smile in his sleeve, disguising it as a cough.

“I see, Sir Knight. The visitor giving you trouble?”

“He won’t let me check his wounds or help him eat the mush. He won’t even touch it, says he’s on a hunger strike. I said ‘good sir, these are the vegetables and grains from our very own garden, grown with a scientifically based balance of love and discipline’. Then he dumped the bowl of soup on me and called it cursed.”

Knight does smell sort of…mushy.

“I’ll oil your joints later,” Vanth promises.

“Thank you, my lord. I’m afraid I don’t know what to do about the visitor. Shall we leave him to starve?”

“I didn’t create all that new skin just to have it die off on me.”

“Then perhaps you’ll visit him? I’ll be there, for protection, in case he tries anything. My limbs are re-attachable after all, yours are not.”

Vanth idly scrapes off some dried carrot on Knight’s breastplate with his thumbnail.

“My good Knight, I fear I’ve made a frightful mistake. I don’t know what to do.”

He leans his forehead against the cool metal; as usual, there is no heartbeat underneath, no warmth in the touch.

“Forever is a long time to keep someone prisoner,” Vanth continues.

His breath fogs the metal; his reflection is a warped and misty mess.

“Maybe he’ll come around. Have a talk with him," Knight suggests, "maybe you’ll make a new friend.”

Or yet another enemy. But what is one more of those?

#

Vanth knocks and waits for more furniture to hit the door. Instead, Therios sing-songs, “Come in!” His tone, as usual, is biting. Vanth steels himself and opens the door.

“If it isn’t my jailer! Wondered when you were going to show your cowardly hide,” Therios’s grin is sharp.

He sits up in the furs of the chaise like a king would a throne; he sweats with the heat of the fire and perhaps the strain of his injury. Therios is a large man, tall and broad with big hands and meaty forearms. He doesn’t seem inclined to magic, luckily, but even without magic this man could be dangerous. Vanth keeps a safe distance by the wall, Knight at his side.

“You’ve de-armed my Knight,” Vanth says, “I’m here to retrieve his appendages.”

“Oh, these?” Therios lifts the arms. He’s sleeping with them, apparently.

“Some strong magic in these,” Therios inspects them, flicking one just to hear the metal ring, “an enchanted suit of armor. A lot of work went into these spells. I was surprised at first, when it moved, wondered if it was going to hurt me. But this suit hasn’t been taught to fight. The only thing he’s been taught is how to talk!”

He laughs, scornfully, and shakes the hand wildly. Vanth grimaces. He forgot how much he had hated listening to other people talk, all their criticisms and complaints.

“He tells me you’re not eating.”

“Hunger strike.”

“You’re really going to starve yourself?”

“It’ll take time,” the man pats his belly, “I’ve got a lot of padding. It always got me through lean winters, now it’s a bit of a hindrance.”

Vanth eyes the carpet and supposes this is only going to be resolved through talking.

“I am sorry to keep you here. I wish I didn’t have to. Is there anything I can do to make your time here easier?”

“Is there anyth—are you ser—are you even listening to yourself right now? Yes, a swift kick in the head would be marvelous, actually, or a nice long fall off that turret over there. Just let me go, you little arsewipe, and I won’t even try to kill you. I’ll forget all about you!”

“I wish you could,” Vanth says to the floor miserably, “Oh, how I wish I knew the spell to wipe memories. I’d wipe yours of me right now, completely, and send you on your way.”

“You a wanted man or something? I’m a former knave and cutthroat, I won’t sell you out.”

Vanth can feel tears of frustration behind his eyes. He wishes the man gone, vanished, but if he knew how to do that, he would have vanished himself long ago.

“You seem to be an honorable man. I’m sorry I have to do this but I know of no other way.”

“There is another way: let me go! And for pity’s sake, look at me when I’m talking to you! You can at least give me that dignity.”

Vanth cringes and looks up from the carpet. The man is a sight, bare-chested and beautiful, flushed with anger and exertion. He smells rather putrid, but that’s easily fixed.

“Better,” the man says, “now, Vanth, tell me plainly: why can’t you let me go?”

Vanth opens his mouth. Closes it. Shakes his head.

“If I won’t be leaving this place anyway, what’s the harm in telling me?”

His voice is soft now, gentle, positively cooing. His face shines in the light of the fire, in the deep golden hues that sweep through the windows. It’s always sunset here, never sunrise. Always, always, always.

“Come on, let’s discuss this like reasonable men.”

Therios pats the chaise, inviting him to sit. Vanth is not stupid enough to get within striking range.

“If mush isn’t to your liking, I can have the kitchen prepare something different. Fruit jellies, perhaps.”

Therios’s face twists into a dark and ugly scowl and there’s a loud squeak of metal as Knight’s arms bend in his tight grip. Then, just as suddenly, he lies back in the chaise, indolent and languid.

“Hmm, yes, have the kitchen bring me a sampler. Any chef’s specials? Or house specialties? What does a hermit and his enchanted suit of armor regularly eat all the way out here?”

Vanth eyes him suspiciously.

“Go on then,” Therios makes a shooing motion.

Vanth grits his teeth and allows himself to be shooed out of his own parlor.

“I’ll have the kitchens send something,” Vanth hesitates at the door, “and give Knight his arms back. He’s the one that changes out your chamber pot.”