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“Ah, ah,” Ren says, almost a coo. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Grian doesn’t waver, sword swung up and positioned directly under Ren’s chin. Scar is unfortunately positioned entirely too close to Grian’s sword for comfort, but he has nowhere to go— Ren’s got an iron grip around his waist, and he’s hovering precariously close to a bucket of powdered snow.
“Let him go,” Grian says neutrally, “and I’ll move the sword.”
“Oh, but you and I both know I can’t do that,” Ren says, and Scar winces as Ren tightens his grip, claws digging in not quite hard enough to break skin, but still present all the same. “See, you have something that I want. And I sat down and had a good long think about— what would make you come talk to me? What would you walk into the belly of the beast for?”
Scar closes his eyes. It’s not him. He has to keep reminding himself of that— Third Life is long past. Grian’s not with him now out of choice— not that he was in Third Life, at first, but he did choose to stay with Scar when he went yellow, which was choice enough. Grian is here because he wants to stay alive as long as possible, because he wants to win the game, and Scar getting hurt directly impedes that goal. He’s here for himself, and no other reason.
The alliance— the affair with BigB just proves that.
“BigB is his own person,” Grian says. “He can make his own decisions— he’s not a prize to be traded back and forth. Neither is Scar.”
“I’m aware,” Ren says. “He’s made his decision, and I know that I can’t just get him to come back. Now, you, on the other hand...” Scar does not like the tone in Ren’s voice. “I can make you feel how I felt.”
“Let him go,” Grian repeats, and Scar has to tell himself he’s imagining the shake in his voice. “Ren, come on, he had nothing to do with this. You’ve made your point. Let him go.”
The situation is so tense Scar can’t even move. He and Grian are both hovering at three hearts, and Scar doesn’t have any food in his inventory— not that he could eat it anyway, not with his arms locked in Ren’s grip. If Ren shoves him in the snow, or turns his sword on Grian, that’s it— they’re done— and then Grian will leave because Scar couldn’t keep them alive and—
Grian looks at him, and Scar, who’s always been more in tune with Grian ever since the desert, feels his heart skip a beat in his chest. Under the mask of confidence and derision, Scar can read the fear in the tension of Grian’s jaw and the way his shoulders hunch. He’s probably afraid for himself, Scar thinks, but also there’s a tiny shred of hope in his chest, a little voice whispering but maybe he does care about you too.
A horn sounds nearby. None of the three of them lift their hands to respond.
“Just lower your sword,” Ren says, “and I’ll let him go. Then we can talk.”
Don’t do it, Scar thinks. Don’t you do it, Grian, he’ll kill you, just kill him— but technically, Grian can’t. They’re both still green. Grian got all those kills on Third Life still green, but the rules have changed this time around, and this can’t be constituted as self-defense. Still, Scar tries to tell Grian with his eyes not to lower his sword.
Scar’s ankles hit the snow again and he can’t help the whimper as the frost creeps back up his skin. “Okay!” Grian shouts, and that’s definitely a crack in his voice. “Just stop it, Ren, I’m backing up!”
No, Scar wants to yell, but Grian does exactly as he said he would, and drops his sword to back up.
“Now was that so hard?” Ren asks, and Scar can hear the grin in his voice even as he’s lifted out of the snow.
Outside the house, a horn sounds again, and this time, if Scar listens carefully, he thinks he can hear yelling. Ren pauses, his grip going slack— not enough for Scar to wiggle out, but enough that the claws are no longer digging into his arms. He checks his and Grian’s hearts bar— one left.
Scar looks up at Grian, who’s looking back at him. His sword is still in his grip, and if Scar looks very carefully, his hand is shaking. There is something about the tension held in his body that Scar recognizes from the end of Third Life— it’s his stance when he has a plan, but he doesn’t like it. When he sees Scar making eye contact with him, he grimaces a little, and then tries to draw himself up to regain his confident stance.
Scar’s not sure what idea Grian had, not sure what it will mean for them or for the future, but he nods his head once, and then mouths, I trust you. Grian just stares at him, looking almost surprised, and then his face settles into an expression of grim determination.
“The Warden!” The sound breaks through the stalemate that’s been holding the three of them in place and all three of them immediately tense up again. The shouting is drawing closer, and Scar knows if Grian is going to do— whatever it is he’s planning on doing— he’s got to do it now, while Ren’s distracted with what’s going on outside—
The phantom feeling of a sword sliding into his own gut is a bit of a surprise, but an effective one.
Scar respawns in the cave in the jungle and instantly winces as pain lances up his back. There’s still the ghost of frost in his bones, and something smacks into his forehead like Grian just hit his head on a wood block. Some things can’t be fixed immediately.
They’re yellow now. Scar checks the death messages in chat and sees a lot of surprise, a message from Joel saying he fully expected Scar to be the one to die first, and then an immediate return to Warden wrangling. For the moment, Scar realizes, they’re safe.
Very, very slowly, he tips his head back against the wall of his cave and breathes.
Retaliation will come, and it will probably come swiftly. Grian will probably deplete half their stock of sand to rig TNT traps around Red Velvet Keep— has probably started already, if Scar knows him. He should head over there now, before Grian makes too many of them, so he doesn’t have to worry about stepping wrong.
Scar picks up his bed— currently the only possession he has, and he laments the loss of those Feather Fall boots, which Ren has probably taken for himself now— and starts making the trek through the jungle to Red Velvet Keep, taking care to skirt along the world border just in case any of the others pass through.
Halfway there he hears crashing through the jungle and freezes, hands squeezing around tools he does not have. He’s just about to dig up a hole with his bare hands to hide in when he hears “Scar?!” called frantically and he relaxes.
“I’m here,” he says, coming around the tree. “Grian? Where are you?”
The sounds stop, and then all of a sudden there’s a whirl of red as Grian throws himself around the corner and crashes directly into Scar’s chest. He gasps, surprised, as Grian doesn’t right himself, doesn’t pull away and apologize, just wraps his arms around Scar’s neck and buries his face in his collarbone.
“You scared me,” Grian says, muffled. “I woke up and you weren’t there, I thought Ren might have made you set your spawn in the box and I did that for nothing—,”
“That would have been smart, huh,” Scar muses, and then, “no, my spawn was back in my cave where the Jellies used to be. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Grian shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He drops from Scar’s hold and Scar immediately misses his warmth, only watching quietly as Grian swipes a hand across his face and tries to compose himself.
“I’m sorry,” Scar offers, earning himself a sharp look. “I know that— probably wasn’t how you wanted to spend your time. Having to come rescue me like I was a damsel in distress. Going yellow.”
Grian stares at him for a moment and then flinches. “Wow,” he says. “I’ve really messed this up, haven’t I.” Scar startles when Grian takes his hands, squeezes their palms together and tangles their fingers.
“Scar,” Grian says. “I care about you. I care about what happens to you, I care if you get hurt, and I especially care if you get hurt because of something I did. I’m not sorry we’re on yellow since neither of us are still in that situation, and since no one will blame you for what happened to us.” Grian sighs. His hands, in Scar's, are very slightly trembling. “I am sorry you got tangled up in all this. Ren should have come after me, not used you as some sort of bargaining chip.”
“He was able to find me quicker, that’s all.” Scar squeezes Grian’s hands. “I care about you too,” he says. “I meant what I said in the Box— I trust you. You made a decision in there, and yeah, maybe it wasn’t optimal, but it did what it needed to do, and now it’s over.”
Grian leans his face against Scar’s shoulder again. “I’m still sorry that I had to make it at all.”
Scar can’t help but laugh, and drops one of Grian’s hands to sling an arm around his shoulders. “Apology accepted.” He feels lighter than he has in a while, especially seeing Grian’s face split into a slow, tentative smile. “We should, um, get back to the base while everyone’s still distracted with the Warden.”
“First thing you’re doing when we get there is resetting your spawn,” Grian says. “We’ll make… I dunno, a bunker or something. I had one in Third Life where I kept spare stuff for when I died.”
Scar nods. The sun is starting to go down, the temperature dropping with it; Scar shivers, remembering the powdered snow, and wonders if Grian would agree to more hugs later. Just to keep the cold away.
As they continue through the woods back to the Keep, Scar realizes there’s no set path, no spots that Grian is avoiding stepping on or leading him around. “I’m surprised you didn’t start immediately trapping the Keep,” Scar notes, as they reach the double doors and Grian all but shoves him through and up the ladder to the second floor.
“Yeah, well,” Grian starts, stops, and then sighs, cheeks going a little pink. “Can’t trap the base while the Jellies are still here, now can I?”
Pleased, Scar smiles, and deposits his bed right next to Grian’s to reset his spawn. “No. No, you cannot.”