Chapter Text
Every night, after sunset, Cub looked like he belonged to the night sky instead of the earth.
He burned brighter than any star, wisps of light dancing around him as if they'd dropped from above to say hello. His hair stood upright on his head, flickering like a flame and the purest white Scar had ever seen. Beside him, Scar was dull. He did not glow.
If anything, he was the opposite. Absence of light circled him like a halo, painting him in thick shadows that stretched from nose to shoulder, head to toe.
Cub's light highlighted his best features, but his scars lay still in the darkness, blended with the murky sky. It was as if his imperfections didn't exist, not with Cub by his side.
"Cub, can you explain one thing to me? Why aren't you angry?" He mumbled, turning his head slowly to face his King.
His light was blinding, like he was staring into the sun itself, so he forced himself to look away again.
It was a bitter feeling, speaking out of the corner of his mouth, forbidden to look Cub in the eyes– a feeling he'd grown used to after years of serving as his knight. Forever sworn to keep secrets he did not know, sworn to protect a face he'd only ever see out of the corner of his eye.
"Why would I be angry?" Cub's voice echoed, stretching out across all time before it returned to them. Scar was beginning to think this wasn't his reality. "I have nothing to be angry about."
"Yes you do." He snapped, not intending to. "You have plenty to be mad at me for. Have I ever even told you that I have feelings for you? I've left you in the dark for so long."
"How were you supposed to tell me?" Cub responded.
His voice sounded flat, but unnaturally so. It wasn't so much monotone as it was completely unhuman. Cub's shape was beginning to change, and Scar was beginning to realise it was not Cub at all. "I've always been so out of reach."
"But I don't want you to be." Scar reached his fingers out into the searing heat that was Cub, trying to find substance in the flames. He could not see it, but Cub smiled. "I want to hold you. I want to wake up each morning and see your face."
"I know, Scar."
"It's not fair! I don't want- I don't want to be so distant," Scar was grasping at nothing and everything at the same time. "Cub, please. I just want to be by your side."
"Then come get me."
Scar wakes with a start. Like a pendulum stuck in a clock too small, loud, ringing knocks pounded through the room. They filled the room like rushing water would, taking up each pocket of air until all Scar could hear was the slam of the door against its hinges.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound droned on for minutes that turned into hours that turned to decades, the silence between each bout even louder. He waited until the seventh knock to open his eyes, peering out into the darkness of his room.
Whatever was knocking was outside, at least.
With a dark line of sweat connecting his shirt to his back, Scar dragged himself out of bed, the thin sheets clinging to his ankles as he trudged toward the door. It dragged like a veil behind him as he stepped around his bed (which felt more like a cot on a good night), catching on the bedpost and sliding from him entirely by the time he reached the door.
"Scar, I can hear you're awake in there." A familiar voice, angry yet muffled by the door. "Come out, now."
"Hello?" Scar's words felt heavy on his tongue, clumsy and unfamiliar. It felt like he was still dreaming, especially with how the door in front of him twisted in swirls after each blink.
Was he dreaming?
His throat felt like sandpaper as he reached out to pull each latch, sliding locks undone until the door creaked open towards him. And once it started moving, it didn't stop. Hands were suddenly on his shoulders, nails sharp enough to tear his tunic in half digging into his skin to tear him out of his room.
"You're under arrest for treason—" Grian. Of course, of all people, it'd be Grian who took it upon himself to arrest him. Scar opened his mouth to complain only to have a dirtied rag pulled taught between his teeth. "—and for endangering the king."
"Endangering the king? How?" Scar shouted, but it sounded more like a deranged, frantic set of 'mm' sounds. Unsurprisingly, Grian did not respond.
There was someone else helping Grian to detain him, Scar noticed. A man with dark eyes, tight curls, and guilt stricken across his face. When they locked eyes, the man temporarily stopped tying his hands behind his back. Grian shoved him, and he immediately continued.
"Grian, I'm not sure about—" He started, and his voice was honey sweet. Too innocent for this. Scar was beginning to think he'd been bribed. He thrashed as Grian pulled the cloth tighter, making sure it properly served its purpose as a gag, more aggression in his movements than there'd been before.
"You promised me you'd help, BigB." Grian's voice was hoarse in Scar's ear as he hauled him out into the hallway, dragging him across the floor instead of carrying him. The aforementioned BigB was standing still, staring down at him with his hands fidgeting in front of him. "So help me."
Scar watched that knight- no, he wasn't a knight, he would've seen him before if he was- shift his weight from foot to foot before he leaned down to help carry him. For his trouble, Scar kicked him in the gut and watched him buckle to the ground.
Definitely not a knight.
Immediately, Grian let out a frustrated screech and took Scar by his hair, tugging him up to his feet. The freezing touch of a blade graced his neck and Scar suddenly stilled, swallowing against Grian's forearm on his neck. He was held at an awkward angle, needing to bend his knees so he wouldn't fall. It made the existing ache in his legs ache even further, but he doubted Grian cared enough to allow him his cane.
"You shouldn't have done that." Grian hissed through gritted teeth. Call him crazy, but Scar almost thought he sounded protective. He wished he could see the advisor's face, see whether it was love or devotion towards his companion, but the ragged, frantic rise of Grian's chest against his back was all he needed to know.
"You shouldn't have done that." Grian repeated. His blade was drawing blood now. Scar forced himself to be still.
"Grian, I'm alright." BigB said with a sheepish smile, cupping his side with his arm. He was winded, breathing heavily as he eyed Scar. For some reason, he didn't seem frightened of him.
"No, you're not." Grian hissed, grabbing Scar by both sides of his head. His palms squeezed, trying to join together, and Scar couldn't help but whine.
This was a pathetic way to die. Taken from his room only to have his neck snapped in the hallway. Would they drag him down to the river after this? Tie rocks to his ankles and let him sink to the riverbed?
Or would they display him for everyone to see? For Cub to find?
Cub…
The thought of him relit Scar's will to fight. He couldn't lay down and die when he had a king to protect. Imagine his face upon finding his knight, dead by the hands of an advisor he was meant to trust.
He couldn't do that to Cub. He needed to live, he needed to—
And then Grian used the momentum of his thrashes to slam his head against the wall.
"Did that–" BigB started, watching as Scar slumped in Grian's arms. The advisor wordlessly gathered him up over his shoulder as he waited for BigB to finish his sentence, his face blank. He was getting paler. "Did that make you feel better?"
Grian's dark eyes flicked up, he swallowed, then he shook his head. "No." He mumbled, turning around to continue down the hallway. Scar rocked side to side on his shoulder, droplets of blood falling from the wound on his temple.
BigB followed him, but not without biting his own lips raw. He always did that when he got nervous. Grian reached out and tapped his cheek the second he noticed, waiting patiently for him to stop it. He did, eventually, but Grian didn't drop his hand.
"No, it really didn't." He whispered, tracing his thumb across the stubble underneath BigB's bottom lip. "It didn't."
"We don't have to… You know," BigB didn't finish his sentence. Instead, he tilted his head until his cheek fit perfectly in the curve of Grian's palm. Grian pulled away. He was even paler now. Scar's blood was staining his shirt.
"You're wrong." His voice trembled. When BigB tried to get closer, he stepped away. They were near the door now- the sun would be soon to rise- he needed to hurry. "We have to go. Before we're caught."
BigB narrowed his eyes, but he said nothing. Instead, he opened the door for Grian, staying behind as he went through. "Alright. Let's go, then."
Cub woke up with an uneasy pit in his stomach. someone was knocking at the door- something that hadn't occurred since the night of his coronation. He was never bothered, at least not directly. Whatever this was, it was urgent.
So, of course, he didn't move. He lay there still as they knocked insistently, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. From his back sprouted thin, paper-thin wings that carried him to the window.
They glowed brighter than the sun. His dark room was now lit from corner to corner, and he was sure whoever it was outside could see the light pouring underneath the door.
Even so, his feet didn't touch the floor once, his movement entirely silent until he opened the creaky, wooden shutters. It was hardly dawn. Why was he needed at this hour? As he stretched out his wings, the voice outside spoke again.
"My lord? Are you awake?" Cub didn't recognise it. Usually, he could tell each of his subordinates by their footsteps before they'd even reached his room, but this was different. "I've been sent by your advisor, Sir Grian, to ask you to oversee an execution."
Cub froze. An execution? He hasn't organised an execution in years. This isn't his doing- nor would it ever be. With a newfound sense of urgency, that he'd more accurately describe as fear, Cub descended down the castle wall. He lodged his faded grey claws between each brick as he climbed down, using the overgrown vine to his advantage.
Above his head, he heard the commotion of his door being knocked down, accompanied by several voices confused by his absence. He ignored them in favour of dropping to the ground, the grass cold on the soles of his feet.
Ignoring the discomfort, he continued off into the courtyard under the veil of the morning shade, running through clouds of his own breath. The gravel stuck to his heels as he ran, dust flying after each hurried step until he was on the cobble.
He slammed his shoulder into the armoury's door to open it, ignoring frightened shouts as he beelined for a weapon. The first he laid his eyes on was a bow, so he took it along with a quiver, and turned on his heel to leave.
All the shouts blended together as he sprinted across the courtyard, his wings spreading. Their wingspan was twice his height. Shocking enough to folk who'd never seen wings on a person before, so he didn't take his people's gasps of shock personally.
In one strong flap, he lifted himself into the air. His back immediately started to ache, (it's been too long since he last used his wings), but that wasn't enough to stop him. He was unsure of his destination, yes, but that wouldn't stop him either. He'd do laps of the kingdom until he found what he was looking for.
An execution.
The very concept made him feel a little queasy. Of course, that could also be the force of gravity trying to return him to the ground, but he pretended that wasn't an option. The pit in his stomach never lied, something was wrong. This wasn't any execution, this was personal.
Cub sighed, then continued to sail over the kingdom with his bow in hand. It was difficult to manoeuvre midair, but he did his best to nock an arrow. He lost a couple in the process, but once he'd gotten one against the string it didn't budge. Good. Very good.
The town square is where he found the crowd. The most obvious choice for an execution, he expected no less of Grian. He should've known. He should've known not to trust him to keep his mouth shut. Grian was sworn to him, yes, but he wasn't sworn to silence.
The absolute bastard.
Cub landed on a roof, crouched in a way that hurt his knees but yet, that's the price of getting things done himself instead of waiting for his guard. Below him was the crowd, watching intently as a man with a bag over his head was dragged towards the stands. Grian settled the noose around his neck himself, and a man Cub didn't recognise lit the torches on each side.
"We are here today to execute a traitor—" Grian spoke, grand and booming like he was some sort of performer. "-Who has gone against the very rules that keep this kingdom pure."
And with a whip of his wrist, Grian tore the bag from Scar's head and showed him to the crowd. They all roared in frustration. Cub was quickly learning what was about to happen. Grian wouldn't— No, he would. He absolutely would. Forget past tense, he is.
He's about to take Scar from him and make a mockery of him in the process.
Cub readied his bow.
Grian continued to speak about things Cub didn't care about as he found his mark. It wouldn't be easy, but if he could slice the rope with his arrow, Scar would be free for the taking.
He took a deep breath and laid on his side, allowing for the bow to lay sideways against the roof. He used his aiming hand as a stand for it, closing one eye. This was it. He either frees Scar or kills him, which could be the same thing depending on one's perspective.
Cub let his breath go, and with it flew his arrow.
Scar woke to screaming and the lick of flames against his side. The ground had rushed up to meet him the second he opened his eyes, the rough caress of wooden planks on his cheek waking him from his dazed state.
The world was blurry until it wasn't, spinning and swirling until it finally focused on what was ahead; the town square, brighter than it's ever been.
He shot up with a start and kicked a fallen torch away from him, gripping at the coil of rope that hung from his neck and tugging it loose. It was burning at one end, the fire had already eaten through his shirt, so he flung it into the flames and watched it burn.
The fires, they were all-consuming. Burning the corners of the platform until the planks were collapsing in on themselves. Slowly crawling their way towards Scar, flickering and crackling in their form of greeting.
What a terrible, terrible 'good morning.'
Scar coughed into his elbow, peering through those flames as he struggled for his footing. There was a pair out there, twin shadows in all that light. He could hear them talking to each other, but the roar of the fires was too loud for him to make anything out.
He couldn't help but feel no pity for them, and somehow, maybe subconsciously, he must've known this was their doing.
Suddenly, he was a lot more aware of how difficult it was to breathe.
Scar's throat felt like sandpaper. The smoke blinded him as much as it suffocated him, and in a desperate attempt to escape it, he rolled off the platform to the burnt grass below. Everything was hot and burning and overwhelming, too loud and too quiet and too bright, but he was determined to get out.
He'd survived, he'd continue to survive until the sky itself collapsed on him—
But the sky did not need to take him.
Cub did, instead.
He shot through the flames like a bullet– not that Scar had ever seen a bullet in person, such tech was utterly inaccessible in a kingdom like his own, but the blur he knew to be his King was exactly what he imagined when he thought of one. Strong arms encircled his waist and heaved up, pulling him through the smoke up to the clean air.
"M'lord?" Scar coughed out, gripping Cub's face with all his might as they ascended higher and higher into the skies.
"Please, Scar." Cub laughed, his face dirtied with ash. He was as dishevelled as Scar was; hardly dressed with his hair a mess and his bedrobes hanging from him. He looked as ridiculous as Scar did, and for some reason, Scar's heart soared. "Aren't we on a first name basis now?"
Scar snorted, and as he was about to reply, Cub decided to take a nosedive. He screamed like he'd seen a spider (even though a spider was nowhere near as terrifying as anything he'd just been through) and curled himself into Cub until he was sure he'd have to be surgically removed later.
Cub laughed and it was the sweetest sound in the world.
They plummeted through the trees, dodging and weaving between their trunks as if it was a thing Cub had done thousands of times over. No matter how sharp the turn, his King didn't let him move from his chest. He held him in a dear embrace until their feet touched the floor, and after that, he held him even tighter.
"You're a madman." Scar's voice was high-pitched, breathy and squeaking with disbelief, his knuckles white as he clung to Cub's shirt as tightly as his shaking hands allowed.
"I'm a madman who saved you." Cub responded without missing a beat, pulling back to cup his face in two large hands, tilting it around to check for injuries. He tutted at the mark on the side of his head and smoothed his thumb over it. Scar felt it tingle, and swore he heard quiet giggling, but Cub's lips hadn't moved.
"You have so much explaining to do." Scar settled on, after a brief bout of silence. He lifted his fingers to tenderly check his temple, but there wasn't any blood there. Scratch that, there wasn't even a hint of a wound. He eyed Cub suspiciously, but the king just grinned at him.
"I suppose I have, but-" Like an excitable puppy, Cub suddenly spun around, searching around for… something. Scar tilted to the side to try and see whatever it was that was so important, but Cub was already turning around with a stick in hand. "Take this. We're running away."
"What?" Scar's eyes went huge as he accepted the stick shoved into his hand, leaning his weight onto it as Cub folded his wings to his back. When Cub didn't admit to joking after a stretch of silence, his mouth fell open. "You're serious."
"I'm completely serious." Cub laughed, looking up to the sky. Scar tilted his head up too, squinting when a drop of water fell on his cheek. It was finally raining. The drought was over. "They have what they want. They can have their farms and their rain and their rules, but I just want you."
Scar turned to him then and saw the madness in his eyes. It wasn't without love, or devotion, but Cub still looked out of his mind. Scar smiled. "You know what, Cub?"
The trickling rain turned to downpour, playing a melody on the leaves above their heads. At some point, the leaves would buckle and they'd be drenched in the rain's song, but that hadn't happened yet. Scar waited until Cub was facing him, that wild look in his eyes simmering down to a just kind-of-crazy as he awaited his next words.
"I'll race you to the shore. Whoever gets there first gets to steer the boat."
"Ha!" Cub burst into giggles, practically falling over himself as the rain stuck his hair to his forehead. "Now you're speaking my language, knight."
"On three?" Scar smirked.
"On three." Cub readied himself, twisting his heel into the mud as if it'd somehow help. Scar laughed at him and got an elbow to the side for it.
"Three."
"Two."
"One."