This story takes place prior to the chapter: In Which a Meeting is Held. Content notes for: discussion of child abuse, past suicidal thoughts, and past death of a parent.

Milve woke with a gasp, sitting up with his hearts pounding. It took a few minutes before his mind cleared enough to realize he was in his room, Rascal shuffling over from its basin to tap at the side of the bed.

He sighed, reaching out to pat its tendrils as he rose and pulled on a robe. It was his habit when he woke from nightmares to go to the temple and meditate. If he tried to sleep too soon after, he usually found himself having more nightmares and unable to remain asleep. While he lost some sleep to meditation, he usually felt more rested after doing so.

Milve was long used to moving silently, though he was unlikely to wake Denos or Sculos when his room was separate from theirs in the bunkhouse built for them. Well, the cabin expanded into a bunkhouse.

The priest always enjoyed walking through the small village of cabins next to the castle and into the gardens at night. The quiet settled him; the stillness of everything made time feel as if it flowed slower. Somehow, it made him feel more alone to be outside by himself than inside – or at least, it felt more comfortable to be alone outside.

He was coming to find comfort in the Garden Shrine as well. Though he had been scolded, it was the place his Lady had spoken to him at – and he had needed the scolding. As usual, he settled before it to meditate but was interrupted.

“Milve?” Beneford called out.

The priest flinched, turning to look back at the human. Before he could wonder at the man’s appearance, Rascal trundled past Beneford to settle itself in Milve’s lap.

“You’re up late,” Beneford yawned, sitting on the nearby bench.

“Yes,” Milve sighed, frowning down at the crushfern, “I… often do not sleep well.”

“No?” Beneford asked, leaning back, “Rascal seemed concerned, for this being… a regular occurrence.”

Milve considered how to reply – he did have a habit of speaking to the crushfern, on occasion. Perhaps it thought it was time he spoke to someone who could reply. Perhaps it… wasn’t wrong.

With another sigh, he got to his hooves only long enough to join his partner on the bench. After a few moments, he said, “I… have disturbing dreams. Not as often as I used to, however…”

Beneford hummed, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not exactly,” Milve replied, “But…”

Beneford chuckled, “I understand.”

“I apologize for Rascal waking you,” the priest said, stalling for time.

“Provided it doesn’t become a regular occurrence,” Beneford replied, tugging at one of the crushfern’s tendrils, “I don’t mind.”

They sat in silence for a minute or so. Milve was surprisingly glad it was Beneford the crushfern had woken – while he appreciated Owren’s bluntness, he also appreciated Beneford’s patience, especially at this moment.

“My father,” Milve started, “Used to beat me. I was born in a small village, and no one was strong enough to stand up to him. My mother died protecting me from a wild animal as a child, and he blamed me for it. He would often tell me that she should have let me die – they could always make more children, after all.”

“How cruel,” Beneford remarked.

“Indeed,” Milve agreed, “My uncle tried to take me away once – my father beat him half to death. He had me take care of the house while he fished with others during the day. He locked me inside, often with little food or water. Even if there was food, he would beat me more harshly if I ate while he was gone.

“One night, I had enough and ran outside in the middle of a beating,” Milve said, gaze focused on Rascal. It had been so long, but his hearts still beat faster as he recalled – the taste of his own blood, the sting of his split lip. He still had a scar there.

He never spoke of it out loud before – but now that he’d started, he found he could not stop, “I ran for the nearby trees. It was cold. I knew I wasn’t fast enough to get away, so I thought it would be better to… not come back.”

Beneford put a hand on his knee in support.

Milve put one of his own hands over it, continuing, “Likely, the plants found me too thin to be an appealing meal – my father, however, they happily tore apart. I couldn’t look away from it – it should have been horrifying, but… it was not. It was… it was gratifying. Like he was now experiencing all the pain he had ever put me through. That he was the helpless one no one could have helped, even if they wanted to.

“It disgusted me,” Milve was glad it was Beneford’s prosthetic hand under his – he would worry about using too much force otherwise, “That I could feel like that. I know it’s silly – obviously, I felt that way because he had hurt me, and I have never wished harm on another in that way. But part of me continues to fear that I could become someone like him because I enjoyed his death.

“Recently, I have come to believe that is part of the reason for my… unreasonable fervor in serving Lady Iescula,” Milve admitted, “If I dedicated myself entirely to serving her and nothing else, then… I do not know. Plants saved me, and if my gratification were instead gratitude… and if I could prove to myself it was gratitude…”

When he had been quiet for some time, Beneford spoke, “Do you regret becoming a priest?”

“No,” Milve said, “While I may have been trying to convince myself I only felt gratitude to the plants that saved me, and my Lady as their patroness, I was grateful – am grateful. But perhaps if I had been able to accept my true feelings, I would have been a better priest.”

Beneford hummed, nodding as he considered. After some time, he said, “I think it’s a good thing – to fear becoming something you despise.”

“Really?” Milve snorted.

“My mother died in childbirth, but I was fortunate enough to have a good father,” Beneford said, “But my father did not have my luck. Like yours, his father would beat him – though secretly. It would have threatened his position to do so openly. He, too, feared becoming a man like his father. I only learned of it when he was old and on his deathbed – a boar surprised them during a hunt.

“After he told me about my grandfather and his fear, he told me that he lived his life by thinking about what his father would do – and making sure to do the opposite,” Beneford smiled, “When you fear becoming something despicable, you evaluate your actions more closely. Sometimes, you may miss the mark – my father was hardly a perfect man. He was reticent with his emotions, and perhaps too strict at times. He was only ever so harsh as to make me cry once as a boy, but he didn’t mock me for doing so – he apologized, and vowed to do better.

“And he did,” Beneford said, “I believe he struggled for a large portion of his life not to become his father, and I do not think that it was an easy battle for him – in fact, he called it the hardest battle of his life. But he won, in the end – his father died alone in a great big house of servants who hated him. My father died in a hunting cabin with a loving son and friends nearby.

“Fearing becoming someone horrible does not guarantee one will be a good person. But it can give you the drive to fight becoming a bad one. And the battle is only over when you die – no matter how many setbacks, until you are dead, you can get back up to fight again. To be better than you were yesterday. Despite your harshness, you still had two acolytes willing to leave their home to join you here – do you think anyone would have come for your father? Would Rascal have come back, if you were such a person?”

Beneford leaned forward to smile up at him, “Do you think Owren and I would be interested in you if you were a terrible man?”

Milve felt-

Wonder.

Yes, that was it, wasn’t it? Wonder. He had never considered things in such a light before – how strange that a human would put such a thing in a demonic frame of reference. A battle, of course – when he thought of it like that, it all made sense. He had been denying his enemy from the start – hiding from the truth of his fear. And how could he properly face an enemy he refused to acknowledge? It was little wonder he had strayed from his intended path when he considered it like that.

He leaned down further to kiss Beneford – they had only done so a handful of times before, but it felt right to do so now.

“Thank you,” he said, as he leaned back, pressing his forehead into the human’s, “Though it does make me feel more foolish for waiting so long to speak of it with another.”

Beneford chuckled, “I’m glad I could be of some help, at least.”

They both flinched as a third person sighed.

“This is what’s been making it so hard to decide what to do about your demotion,” Lady Iescula said, once more inhabiting her statue inside the shrine.

“My… my Lady?” Milve asked, jerking straight in his seat. He was caught too off-guard to bow as he should.

“Look at you!” she said, gesturing as though he had not spoken, “Opening up to an actual person! Learning about plants! How could I have the Grand Priestess send you back to the Wastes when you’ve got so much more personal growth you can accomplish here!”

“You… have heard about my demotion?” Milve asked.

“Jurao told Kesi,” Iescula waved two of her six hands with a creaking of metal, “I just don’t know what to do about it. I thought since you come to the shrine at night so often I would ask, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Milve just stared, dumbfounded. The King had told Maenscul about his demotion? To what end? He did not think the King was even fond enough of him to be bothered by such a thing.

“I mean, you used to talk to me at your temple,” Iescula sighed, “But mending wounds of the spirit is not in my domain – my wiezas said it’s difficult for fos too, so it wasn’t worth directing you to fos, or I would have. Naosuli said it can even cause more harm to mortal souls to mess with them as gods, so I was really stuck there.”

“I… did not realize you were actually listening, my Lady,” Milve said, still rather stunned.

“Well, not every time,” Iescula amended, “But enough times – though you never laid everything out like that, so I didn’t really know what I even could do to help. Especially since the bastard was already dead.”

Milve thought he might faint.

Beneford cleared his throat, “So you were having trouble deciding what to do about Milve’s demotion, Lady Iescula?”

“Exactly!” Iescula said, throwing up all her hands, “I can’t have a High Priest being demoted for bringing my Beloved into the ranks of the faithful, but I can’t just have him reinstated and sent away when he’s doing so well here, either!”

“That is certainly a dilemma,” Beneford agreed.

“Right?” Iescula agreed.

“So, Milve?” Beneford asked.

“What?” Milve replied.

“I believe Lady Iescula would like to know what you want to do,” Beneford smiled.

“Ah, right, yeah,” Iescula nodded, “That was my intention.”

What he would like to do? Well, that was simple, at least. Surprisingly so.

“I wish to remain here,” Milve said.

Iescula groaned in frustration, “I knew it! And it’s the right choice! But it means I still don’t know what to do about your demotion! Whatever, I’ll figure it out – good night!”

Her presence left the statue, leaving Beneford and Milve alone once more.

“Your goddess is very… forceful,” Beneford chuckled.

“Yes,” Milve sighed, “I am beginning to see that more clearly…”

Beneford hummed before saying, “We’ve been out here a while.”

“Yes,” Milve agreed, “We should probably head back.”

He was uncertain that he would sleep well without meditation – but perhaps his newfound insight would be enough.

“You could join Owren and I,” Beneford said, rising with a stretch, “I know he would not mind.”

“Join you?” Milve asked, getting to his hooves as well.

“In bed,” Beneford snorted, “To sleep. The one we have should be big enough.”

“Ah,” Milve shifted his weight uncertainly, then nodded before he could convince himself otherwise, “Yes. I shall. Thank you.”

Beneford laughed, “I’m glad you’re confident enough now to agree so quickly. I would have needed to convince you before.”

Milve blushed, tail twitching as he replied, “You and Owren have a far deeper bond – I have not wanted to intrude.”

“You think Owren wouldn’t tell you if he felt you were intruding?” Beneford grinned, leading the way back to his cabin.

Milve sighed, blushing deeper as he replied, “You do have a point…”

Rascal trundled along beside them, attempting to trip Milve only once on their way back – the mischievous plant. Since it had been worried enough to fetch Beneford for his benefit, the priest decided to let the crushfern have its fun without complaint.

Beneford opened the door quietly – after all, he did share with the rest of Braelin’s family.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Eweylona greeted them – enjoying a cup of warm milk. Her eyes shone as she grinned, feline tail twitching in amusement.

“Is it morning already?” Beneford asked.

“Only just,” Eweylona replied, “I am often up at midnight to offer prayers to Eleamera – do not mind me. I will be returning to bed shortly.”

Milve nodded to her as Beneford continued leading the way – her amused smile doing little to lessen the heat on his face. The priest had to crouch to fit into the half-height of his partners’ bedroom, but as he would soon be off his hooves entirely, did not mind it.

“Owren,” Beneford said, shaking their third with a kiss to his temple, “Milve is joining us.”

Owren grumbled, waking enough to peek an eye open before turning over, “Why would ya need to wake me fer tha’?”

Beneford chuckled – only removing his breeches and sandals before waving for Milve to get in the bed first.

The priest laid his staff on the floor, removing his plain coat before carefully sliding into the middle of the bed. It was a tight fit, but not uncomfortable.

Owren threw an arm and leg over Milve’s torso with a soft snort, “Move over more – give Ben the room.”

Milve hesitantly obliged – wrapping the two arms on that side around his partner.

Beneford chuckled again as he mimicked Owren’s position on the priest’s other side – though, really, he did not have room to do otherwise.

“Good night, Milve,” Beneford said, resettling as his demon partner wrapped his other two arms around him.

“Next time is yer bed,” Owren huffed, voice thick with drowsiness.

“Of course,” Milve smiled, feeling more nightmares were unlikely as Rascal curled up at the foot of the bed and he drifted off to sleep.