Chapter Text
The Scar before him shone in this darkened delve with oversaturated hues; the brown of his hair more luscious, the tan of skin coruscant. His eyes reflected such gentle warmth and safety that for a moment, Grian was relieved to find himself home.
But this Scar pulled him into a reassuring hug. Gave him the food from his pack and the only sleeping roll that he had. Talked about how he was worried for him and laughed boisterously at his dry attempts of humor.
This Scar was kind and giving and brimming with a wondrous vitality. A Scar that Grian would have loved to have and keep for all his time.
Which ultimately made the dragon realize that this Scar wasn't his Scar.
A heavy feeling weighed itself over his heart at the realization. He wondered if it was mourning over being bereaved of its ubiquitous tether as there was nothing that pulled him to this Scar, captivating as he may be.
His Scar never usually gave if there wasn't a good reason for him to, more concerned of his gain than anything else. He was filled with a fierce greed which oftentimes made him desensitized to his peers. His Scar liked getting his way even if it risked far too much than it was worth.
So the dragon studies the Scar before him as he rambles about how he got here unscathed, calling himself lucky to be in one whole piece after successfully losing his pursuers in the thickly treed forest outside.
The genuineness in his voice reminds Grian that his Scar was a liar. Lying, to him, was almost as easy as breathing, but his lies were never discreet. They were rough and telling in nature.
Another thing that Grian knows is that his Scar was overbearing in his confidence that he will come out alright in any situation. And the fact that he does so so often only fuels his already inflated ego even more.
So when this Scar looks at him with his tenderhearted smile and asks, "Grian?" to check if he was alright, the dragon could not help but smile back and say, "You're not real."
A silence falls between them. His words hit some kind of mark (by the looks of it) as he watches the elf's eyes widen for a brief second before his face scrunches up to match the frown on his lips. There were creases on his forehead now, deep and forlorn.
He opens his mouth but before he could even speak, Grian cuts him off, "I know you're not real." His voice was gruff and he could feel his nails dig into the skin (the scales) of his palms. "Show me where he is."
This Scar was nice. But it's not his.
And so Grian watched as the illusion before him faded, its hold on him too weak to carry on any longer. The colours and sounds of grandiose life around him winked out quickly like a snuffed out flame. It left him in a still blackness that smelled richly of blood where the only thing his sensors could espy was the tiny quiet beating of a heart. His eyes adjusted and settled on a figure between two towering rock formations as if in hiding, as if embarrassed. It was dark but not enough to hide Scar's piercing green gaze. His eyes soften at the sight of him.
Scar's eyes, on the other hand, were crinkled with worry. He was looking at Grian like he could not believe that his plan to keep the dragon locked away in a fantasy had failed. This Scar is real, Grian thinks.
"You know Scar," the dragon drawls, walking towards the elf, eyes never leaving those bright forest greens. "This has got to be one of your worst cons yet."