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It was the fourth morning since Grian had first moved in with Scar. He suspected that the man was trying to avoid the blaringly obvious problem of what to do with the fact that Grian was a part of the guild. Luckily, it seemed he had forgiven the avian for trying to get inside the locked room after having made a simple meal of eggs and fruit, with anything harder most likely ending up burnt. He half suspected that Scar thought that if he just dropped off the edge of the world and never showed his face at the guild again, it would all blow over. In fact, he was pretty sure that was what Scar had done.
However, he was one of the most respected members of the lower levels of the guild, already having received a few propositions for promotions. He had turned each and every one down; however, because it would have meant he most likely wouldn’t have been able to see his friends again. Or at least not nearly as often, with the five of them “living” (he spent far more time in inns or under the night sky) in the same home, which they had nick named “The Southlands.” And most certainly not in the same way, with him now having superiority over them.
But that wasn’t what bothered him the most about dropping off the edge of the world. It was leaving his friends behind. Grian didn’t care if the guild thought him dead, but the thought of his friends believing him to be dead. . . he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the thought of them going through that pain, especially when he was still alive. He had been the last to join their group, and they had helped him so much. He couldn’t just leave them like that. Especially, like that. He had to let them know that he was still alive. He just didn’t know if he was allowed to.
So, when he came out of his room to join breakfast with Scar, he came out with the plan to ask about leaving the guild. However, initiating the plan was a very different thing than just having a plan. It was more pancakes, which Grian had discovered to be a favorite of the man. Each batch was made a slightly different way than the one prior. But instead of happily eating them, watching out the window or chattering with Scar, he hung tension tight in his frame like a cloak. Of course, he made little to no sign of it. He ate his food, just as he normally would, and kept his wings behind his back just like he should. The movements were slow and precise, just like they should be.
His eyes only flicking around the room occasionally, to keep an eye on anything around him. Paying extra attention to Scar, who always wore the grin of a mask on his face. Making it hard to read his emotions. His voice as he spoke light as it always was, regardless of what he talked about. Anyone like that Grian always found harder to read; however, the light grin on the man’s face reached his eyes slightly, so he guessed that Scar was content. Part of him didn’t want to ruin it, but he would rather ask when the man was in a more positive mood then anything more negative.
Grian finally cleared his throat, interrupting the wizard halfway through a sentence going something along the lines of how cute cats were and how he wished they lived longer. He closed his still open mouth and tilted his head to the side, a curious yet playful grin on his face.
“Is there something you wanted to say, birdie?” Scar asked, his voice light and playful. His emerald eyes glimmered with curiosity. Grian’s eyes flicked around the room, and he automatically bowed his head slightly, keeping his wings behind him. They twitched slightly as he resisted pressing them against his sides from the nerves.
“Yes, um. . . I was just wondering if there was a plan at all, about me leaving the guild that is,” he asked, careful to keep his voice level despite the nerves hiding just under his skin, threatening to spill over. Luckily, he’s had lots of practice with that.
Scar tilted his head to the side, a grin still on his face. Although something about his demeanor shifted. Like he was retracting himself back into his carefully crafted walls. Grian had said something he hadn’t liked; however, before he could backpedal or try to explain himself, Scar spoke.
“Well, as long as you stay here and don’t contact them or go to any of their bases it’ll be fine, right little birdie?” Scar asked innocently. To Grian, it sounded much more like a threat, a warning. Whether it was for his own good or not, he could not tell though. He kept his head bowed, in fact he lowered it even further, showing his submission to Scar. Showing that he was not a threat. He kept his eyes away from his face, instead focusing more on Scar’s scarred hands, watching for any sign that he might suddenly raise them to punish him against his disrespect towards the man.
“Yes, of course,” Grian answered, still keeping his voice perfectly level, almost to the point of apathy.
“So, what’s the matter?”
Grian sucked in a (near silent yet deafening to his ears) sharp breath. Part of him had just wanted to have the conversation end just then, because then he wouldn’t have to ask against something Scar had just established. But he couldn’t just leave his friends like that.
“My friends,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Your friends?” Scar asked, his voice mimicking the same lowness, only with a gentler note to it.
“Yes. I—I have a communication gem that I share with them, if—if I could just--” he started, frantically reaching into one of his pockets hidden in his pants to pull out the clear gem in question. As long as you knew the name of the person or location it was tied to, you could open a call with them, or send a recorded message for them to hear later. However, you could only use it if both parties agreed upon it. And until that privilege was revoked, you could send messages whenever. As long as the crystal hadn’t been damaged or destroyed.
“Grian.” The wizard’s word stopped him in anything he was doing. “Look at me.” Grian slowly looked up, ignoring the way the feathers on the sides of his face twitched up slightly. The feathers in his wings barely resisting the urge to poof out. “If you send a message, and the guild finds out it will endanger both of us.” (Grian took a mental note that he was included in that.) “I can’t let you do that,” Scar finished, standing up to pick up the table, the meal which they had been eating decided to be finished later.
Grian stood with such haste that his knees hit the table with a thud, sending pain up his legs as he slammed his hands down on the table. His wings flared out behind him, and he looked up at Scar with desperation in his eyes.
“No!” he squawked. Scar’s eyes widened in shock at his sudden aggression, even mildly shocking himself. His own eyes widened with fear, and he curled in on himself, stepping back, almost tripping on the chair he had just sat in. “I--I mean, I can’t just leave my friends like that,” he chirped, his voice much quieter now. “They helped me so much; I can’t just leave them like that. I can send a recorded message, just one last one to tell them that I’m alive and okay. And then I’ll cut any more ties from the guild. I promise,” he finished meekly. The moments passed in silence with his eyes glued to the floor, thick and suffocating to him and he almost wanted Scar to scream or yell at him, just so there was something other than just silence.
Grian shuffled in place, his wings pulled behind him, taunt like a wire, his claws lightly scrapping against the wooden floor. He finally looked up to meet Scar’s eyes. His emerald eyes were narrowed, although the emotion Grian tried to read was decidedly not anger, so at least that was something. The emotions on his face looked mixed, like they conflicted with each other in some way that he could not recognize.
“Okay,” Scar told him. “Okay.” Grian face lit up, and he tried his hardest to not let his wings flutter with happiness behind him. Instead, he schooled himself and bowed deeply. “But just the one?” Scar said, the voice pitched more like it was a question.
“Just the one.”
“Okay. Just the one.”
“Thank you.” And so, Grian retreated to his room, to send the message to his friends.
~ ¤ ~
The elf leaned back in his plush seat behind his desk and let out a weary sigh, dragging his hands down his face. It was only lunch time, and yet it felt like it had was already evening. ‘It is going to be a long day,’ he thought to himself as he looked into the mirror he had at the side of his desk. Revealing unassuming dark red hair, blue eyes, and deceptively normal human ears. He glanced down at what he wore—a fancy blue tailcoat which was open revealing a plain white shirt and a blue frilly tie. He sighed again, already wanting to go home so he could remove his glamour before he remembered that he had plans for lunch.
He was going to eat with his boyfriend, Jimmy. A shy yet friendly canary avian who had an unfortunate knack for getting himself into trouble. He chuckled to himself as he remembered how they had first met—glamourless self with blue hair, deep blue cat eyes and pointed ears—out on a quest very much away from his desk. He had been close to a cave when he had found him, having fallen in and with no way out, his tools having either been misplaced, stolen or broken, the wall too smooth, and wings too small and too low on his back to be of any use.
He had planned on going to his place, which he and his four friends had nicknamed the Southlands, to have lunch with him. He bolted upright from his seat and grabbed the rapier he always kept with him, just in case someone decided to be a little too annoying and he needed to intimidate them into leaving him alone. Not that he couldn’t take care of himself. And with a final look around the room, for anything else he might be forgetting, he departed with haste, nearly jogging through the halls of the main building for the guild’s base, to get back home.
He rushed home and removed his glamour, revealing his normal self—along with clear crystals which floated around his head, signature to light elves before changing into something much more suitable. A light blue jacket and a different white shirt with green stripes going across it. He deicides to put on green bracelets to tie it all together. Once ready, he ran to his mirror, just to ensure everything was in place. He fixed his hair and let out a deep breath before smiling to himself.
“Okay Scott, you got this.” Now of course, he had been dating Jimmy for a few months. It was just that everyone thought he was just Scott. Scott the adventurer. Scott the light elf. None of them knew that he was a major for the guild, which meant that he was the one who handled all the quests that came in. He knew who had posted them, and who had accepted them which also meant that any who had gone out on quests where his responsibility.
Scott sighed again, and finally headed out, with a slight bounce to his step at the thought of seeing his boyfriend, with his smile bright like the sun. Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep it as his mind was plagued by thoughts of his work and the reason why he was going to Jimmy’s place in the first place. Outside of just getting to have lunch with his boyfriend. One of his friends—Grian—had gone out on a quest a few weeks back, and he hadn’t returned yet. Normally, it wasn’t much of a concern given that adventurers went out on missions for weeks at a time, but Jimmy was still worried. Especially since Grian was the only other avian of the group, and apparently, they had known each other for a long time, Grian long having been considered a part of his flock.
From what Scott had been told, he had disappeared when they were still children, having reappeared many years later different in some way. What it had been, Jimmy had never revealed; however, it now meant that when Grian disappeared for long periods of time, it made Jimmy worry. And it was Scott’s responsibility to ensure Grian was okay, even more since he was Jimmy’s best friend. Of course, there was always the possibility that Grian would never return since Scott was pretty sure he knew who he had gone too and well. . .
Let's just say that last Scott had seen him, it hadn’t been on the best of terms. And it had been nearly a century since he had last seen the man, so who knew how he could have changed in all those years? He groaned to himself and picked up his pace again. He was going to see his boyfriend to have lunch with him. He should be feeling better about it! And he was happy to see Jimmy—he was always happy to see Jimmy. His heart warming at the sight of his bright smile and his golden wings. He just couldn’t keep out the thoughts that plagued his mind.
However, he didn’t have much longer to keep himself in his thoughts because he was already almost at the Southlands. It was an abandoned watchtower at the southern edge of the city, in what could only be considered the slums, with a wooden wall going around a small courtyard in front of said tower. A small opening acting as the main door, the hum of a spell which Scott knew as a sort of doorbell, alerting whoever placed it to someone entering the Southlands. He pricked his ears to the sound of voices.
“Have you listened to it yet?” a higher pitched voice asked. Jimmy's.
“No, he said that he wanted all of us here before I played it,” a deeper voice responded. Jimmy’s demon friend, Impulse. Scott had always liked him, despite what he was. He was easily one of the kindest members of the group—and also the largest member. The only one who was taller than him being Mumbo who was a tall, lanky vampire only a few decades older than Scott. Scott always knew of the possibility that Impulse would betray them, given that demons looked out for themselves over others, so he kept an eye on him for Jimmy’s sake. But other than that, he had no qualms with the man.
“Well? Are you gonna play it?” The impatient voice of Martyn sounded. Also, one of Jimmy’s childhood friends and a hybrid of unknown origin (at least to him) with pointed ears, pale blue eyes which flashed golden and small, white, feathery bird wings. There had been a few times Scott had seen the man get angry, in which case the wings became large, orange and draconic and a small orange fire would come to life behind his head.
“Okay, okay. Is anyone listening?” Impulse asked back, his voice low. Scott quickly praised the gods for being born an elf, which made it much easier for him to conceal himself. Plus, the charm he always wore to conceal himself, so unless he was purposefully trying to be seen or heard, he wouldn’t.
“I don’t hear anything,” Martyn informed after a beat of silence.
“I don’t smell anything either,” an eternally anxious voice replied. Mumbo.
“Okay, I’m playing it now,” Impulse stated. The group quickly silenced themselves, and the sound of a communicator crystal recording started playing.
Hey, it's me. Don’t play this unless everyone is there. No one can hear this, so delete it as soon as its played.
‘It’s Grian,’ Scott thought, straining his ears to listen as intently as he could.
I’m not hurt or anything, so you don’t have to worry about me. I went out on that mission to get the Gem of Life and I got caught.
The room was filled with shocked gasps, along with a low growl from Impulse.
But it's okay! I made a deal with him where in exchange for him not imprisoning me and me not taking the Gem, I get to live at his place. But only if I leave the guild.
Grian’s voice paused, and Scott pressed his ear against the outer wall of the Southlands to try and hear him better. He could practically feel the tension in the air within the home as they listened to his recording.
I don’t want to just leave you guys, since you’ve helped me so much and I didn’t want to worry you. I know that if I didn’t leave something Jimmy would probably start pulling his feathers out. And I know that Impulse would be working himself to death to try and find me. And Martyn would be waging a war against the guild to get them to do something about me missing. And Mumbo wouldn’t be getting any sleep. Not that you do much though buddy, I’m not gonna lie.
At this Scott heard an offended scoff and a few snickers.
Anyway, I’m supposed to cut any ties with the guild ‘cause the wizard doesn’t want them finding him, and I didn’t want to just leave you guys hanging without saying anything. But I’m okay. He’s treating me well so far—even if he’s made me into his personal maid—and I’m doing well. I’m alive.
Another pause. Scott could feel the tension in the air change into something more somber, and yet it still had an underlying thread of something else. Fear.
I’ll miss you guys. Get in trouble—but not too much trouble—and stay safe. Goo~dbye!
And with that, the recording ended. That was. . . interesting. So Grian had chosen to move in with the wizard? That was something his higher ups would want to know. They always had seemed to have a particular interest in the colorful avian, and he was sure they would want him back. Plus, they had also been pushing him to repost the quest, despite the guild often taking them down if someone perished on a quest. Scott had just been avoiding it so not to anger the Southerners, despite their anger technically not being directed towards him.
“Are we going to just let him go?” Jimmy chirped.
“No,” the other three hissed in unison.
“That wizard could have forced him to say something,” Impulse growled, already seeming to enter his ‘overprotective dad mode’ as the others so fondly called it.
“Or they could be tricking him,” Mumbo piped up.
“Or they could have placed a spell over him and made him say those things,” Martyn added. Scott had the distinct feeling that there was something they all knew about the avian that he didn’t.
“Right. So, we should send a message back,” Jimmy chirped, suddenly sounding much more sure of himself.
“How do we know it won’t be blocked?” Mumbo asked, his usual anxiety seeping back into his voice.
“It doesn’t matter!” Jimmy snapped with a low hiss. “Grian’s a part of our flock and we need to know that if he really is moving in with this wizard, that he’s actually being taken care of. That this wizard is good for him.” Scott was almost surprised with the ferocity the usually timid Jimmy spoke with. He knew that Jimmy would be more protective of the people he considered to be his flock; however, it was still more of a surprise to hear that in his voice. Scott decided that there would be no better time than now to finally reveal himself. Or well. . . “arrive.”
He moved from where he stood next to the wall back and over to the path leading to the entrance in a loop, to avoid any suspicion. He arrived at the opening in the wall and knocked on it respectfully, announcing his presence. Four heads snapped in his direction; Martyn’s mouth still open like he had been saying something. Or about to say something. He waved with a charming smile and the four glanced between each other.
Scott tilted his head to the side mischievously and grinned. “I didn’t expect you all to be here! What did you forget that I was coming here for lunch?” The four gaped at him like they were lost for words. Martyn was the first who recovered, who stood straight, his pointed ear twitching slightly as he looked him up and down suspiciously. Scott only smiled back innocently.
“Did you hear anything?” the man asked, his eyes flashing golden.
“Martyn! Don’t you trust Scott?” Jimmy squawked back, his too small wings flapping angrily.
“Well yes but--”
“Jimmy, its fine I don’t mind,” Scott quickly reassured. His light crystals swirled around his head and clinked against each other, glowing a faint green. Showing how he was trustworthy. He looked back to Martyn with a smile and responded, “I could hear you talking, but I didn’t hear any specifics. Why is there something I should know?” Scott played it off with a curious smile, playing the part of being completely oblivious to whatever had just transpired before.
“No,” Martyn and Mumbo both answered. Mumbo's a bit too quick and with that same eternally nervous tone of his. The man really needed to unwind. ‘Right, sure,’ Scott’s mind drawled sarcastically.
Jimmy cleared his throat, and his attention was drawn to the avian. “Well, now that that’s over with. . .” he suddenly rushed forward, jumping up so Scott had to catch him. He brought the avian close to his chest, who buried his head in his neck with a happy tweet before pulling back, the widest smile on his face. His golden hair and feathers glowing just like sunshine. “Let's have lunch!” he chirped. The others laughed at his reaction and his face quickly turned red; however, before he could turn to protest, Scott pulled him in for a kiss. He carded his fingers though his golden hair, closer to his ears, brushing his thumb along the small golden feathers decorating the tips of his ears.
Scott could feel Jimmy’s lips turned up in a smile before he slowly pulled away, a warm smile on his face, any past transgressions of his friends apparently forgotten.
Scott gingerly set the avian down and with a smile on his face asked, “So, what’s for lunch?”
~ ¤ ~
Grian stayed in his room for the rest of the day and into the next morning. He decided to reorganize his room to keep himself busy, cleaning it in the process before preening his wings and laying down on his bed, staring out the window. Letting his thoughts wander as time slowly passed. He kept his door closed, not sure if he could leave his room at this point. He had gone against something the man had said (even if he had allowed it in the end,) and he had no idea if the man would want to see him. And Scar didn’t come back for the rest of the day, so he stayed. He heard footsteps pass his door a few times, but that was the extent of things.
The next morning, when Grian woke, he redid his bed and set to once again preening his wings. Eventually, once he had finished, he got up and searched through the shelves finding a book about mythological creatures and sat down at the desk to read it. Slowly flipping through the pages to absorb the information. The book did prove to be a little interesting—albeit hard to read at times given the frequent use of longer words or words he had never heard. It reminded him of when Mumbo tried to explain his latest Redstone creation. He didn’t mind listening to the vampire as he rambled, even if most of the information went in one ear and out the other.
Grian was interrupted from his reading by Scar knocking on his door in a little rhythm—two slow, two fast, and one slow. He turned to the door and waited for the man to come in.
There was a beat of silence before a muffled, “Can I come in?” Right, most people were more polite than that.
“Come in,” he replied, still watching the door as Scar walked in. His hair looked a bit more scruffy than normal, and the green band going around his waist acting like a belt for his grey pants looked like it had been tied more haphazardly. Grian guessed that Scar had either just gotten up or was just a bit more tired than usual. The man looked down and he followed his gaze to find a plate of half-eaten pancakes in front of his door—the same ones he had started eating yesterday morning.
Scar looked back up to meet his gaze, his emerald eyes glimmering with curiosity and mild concern.
“Did you leave your room at all?” he asked. Grian tilted his head to the side. Did he not notice how his door had been closed ever since he had first entered the room? Or how he hadn’t been there for lunch—or for dinner for that matter. Or how apparently Scar had given the rest of his breakfast back to him and he hadn’t eaten it yet? Grian ignored the way his stomach rumbled at that thought.
“No Scar. I didn’t know if I was allowed to,” he responded instead, causing Scar to have a very confused look on his face. He bent down—cane held in one arm—and grabbed the plate of pancakes before walking in, not bothering to close the door behind him. He moved over to his bed and sat down with a quiet grunt. Grian watched him all the way. Scar set the plate next to him on the bed, before patting on a spot on the other side of the plate, silently asking for Grian to come over. He did.
His wings ruffled behind him as he sat down, and he picked up the plate before he began to eat the remainder of his food. Careful not to eat it too quickly, so it didn’t look like he was as hungry as he was. And to avoid making his stomach hurt.
“You do know you can leave your room whenever, right?” Scar asked softly. Grian paused and looked up at him, searching his eyes to see if it was a trick question. He seemed genuine, his posture completely open towards the avian, only reading concern.
“This is your home,” he answered.
“It’s your home now too,” he replied instantly. Grian only stared at him a moment longer before returning to his meal. He heard Scar sigh from beside him and his eyes flicked in his direction. The man met his gaze and his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin.
“Hey, I thought of something new you can help me with! You should hurry and finish so I can show you!”
~ ¤ ~
After Grian finished eating, Scar took him outside. Guiding him behind his home. He noticed how Scar walked with a slight limp, leaning more heavily on his cane than normal. He took a mental note of it; however, made no mention of the weakness. It was something no one liked pointed out. Instead, he paid attention to how a wall of trees went around the back, with thick thorny bushes going between forming a sort of natural barrier or fence. With a small gap, just big enough for a person to fit through. Scar quietly guided the two through the natural wall, and Grian found himself in a garden.
Throughout most of it were an assortment of farm plants such as wheat, potatoes, carrots, beetroot, melons and even a small pumpkin patch in one corner. All kept warm and alive with magic, and a stream which flowed through and around the farm plants. Along one of the sides was a small flower field with a mix of tulips, orchids, and alliums. With sunflowers lining along the back. Scar led him through the garden and spoke in a soft voice as he explained how to take care of it. How to trim any dying branches or leaves, take care of any parasites which might have made their way into the garden to seek warmth in spite of the cold.
How to check up on the magic spring in the back, to ensure all the plants were getting watered enough and receiving enough sunlight to stay healthy. How to check up on the soil to ensure it was also in the right condition for the plants to remain healthy. Scar even patiently taught Grian how to harvest the different plants. While it was common knowledge how to harvest plants, or at least to know the basics or growing plants, he had never had the opportunity to learn how. And after he join the Southerners, he never had to worry about making food for himself outside of the basics since the others did the food shopping and Impulse and Martyn were always the ones who cooked since the others were ‘pants’ at it (as Mumbo would say.)
Grian came to like taking care of the garden. At first, he had been apprehensive about it, using his hands to try and keep something alive, instead of what they had always been used for before. But he learned to appreciate it. It was quiet, with only the sounds of the wind and the trees to greet him. Any birdsong being too far away for him to hear. Sometimes, it was hard for him to get a feel for what he was doing, since he couldn’t properly feel anything. The only reason why he could feel anything with his hands was a sort of magical tether connecting them to his mind which alerted him whenever they came into contact with something. Informing him of what it was, and if it was hurting him.
So instead, he had to focus solely on sight which made things more challenging; however, Grian enjoyed the extra challenge it provided him. Now, he would not like to admit how long it took him to notice the furthest corner of the garden. Perhaps it had been because Scar hadn’t shown it to him, and so his mind had already subconsciously relegated it to ‘off limits,’ to avoid the man getting upset with him again. The back corner was located up on a hill, the only part of the garden where the ground was actually covered in grass instead of dirt or path. There was a great oak tree, easily two meters wide, its trunk twisting up and its canopy of leaves great like an umbrella, the shade cast from it easily covering almost the entire hill.
Grian looked around, having already finished in the main part of the farm. It didn’t appear as though Scar was there. He straightened, and slowly walked up the hill, to see what was on top. What he discovered was a grove of poppies, with lilacs lining the back wall of the hill. The poppies grown in clusters of two or three, with noticeable walking space between each cluster. A sort of controlled naturalness to it. At the back of the grove was a sign, and Grian crouched down to read it.
‘Those who are lost are never forgotten.’
Grian did not know how long he spent, crouched down, looking over those flowers. Those simple seven words ran through his mind as he remembered a face. The face of an old friend who always smiled warmly and whose eyes shone kindly despite everything. A friend who hadn’t made it through it all. (He briefly wondered if each flower or flower cluster belonged to someone, and just how many people they represented. How many people Scar had lost.) He reached forward, to brush his fingers against what he knew to be the soft petals of the flowers.
“What are you doing?” he heard Scar’s voice ask. Grian flinched, his hand hesitating, before he slowly pulled it back towards himself. Right, Scar wouldn’t want him to touch them; they would be important to him. Besides, it wasn’t like he could feel them anyway. He pulled his wings close to his sides, and his ear feathers ruffled slightly. Silence pursued, although it wasn’t uncomfortable. Scar shifted behind him.
And then, he spoke in a voice so impossibly soft. “Did you want to plant some?” Grian couldn’t bear to look at the flowers any longer, and he shifted his gaze to the ground in front of him instead.
He barely nodded. “One. Once I learn more of how to take care of them.”
“Okay.” Silence returned, but once again, it was not uncomfortable. He looked back over to the flowers, with their delicate red petals, ever so fragile. Something so important, that he felt his hands should not touch—that it would taint them. They clenched together, gripping tight onto his grey pants.
“Hey, why don’t we head back inside? You’ve been working hard out here,” Scar suggested, his voice still soft. Grian turned back to face the man, to see that he had extended a hand down to him. To help him stand. It was such a simple gesture, to help someone stand. It could be given to anyone who was sat down. And yet, it had been extended towards him. Some part of his chest warmed at the thought, as he took Scar’s hand and allowed him to lead them back inside, to the true warmth of his home.
~ ¤ ~
Grian was different from almost anyone Scar had meet before—and Scar’s met a lot of people over the years. He kept his head down and didn’t ask questions, as though he was afraid to or thought he wasn’t allowed to. Even though he had given him no reason to think that. Grian had every right to live in his home as he had. And while he seemed quiet and reserved, he could still see his personality showing through the cracks of the walls he put up around himself, the quiet smiles, the mischievous comments, or the way he had snapped when Scar had told him he had to cut any ties with the guild. Or, most recently, when Scar had found him in the garden by the poppies, watching over them like he was reminiscing about someone he had lost in his own past.
How he had reached forward to touch one of the flowers (Scar had just been about to warn him against it,) before pulling his hand back. Like he had been afraid to touch them almost. Grian really was a mystery. He suspected that something had happened to him—whether it was before or during when he was at the guild, he didn’t know—however a person did not just lock themselves in a room because they thought they weren’t allowed to leave it. Even though Scar never said such a thing. Sure, he had been upset about him reaching out to someone at the guild, since it would be endangering them, and since Scar had never needed to do that. But he still respected his wishes.
Scar wanted to learn more about the avian, learn what made him tick. He wanted to learn why he acted the way he did. After he had taken the both back inside from the garden, and after having lunch, Grian had gone to his library and stayed in there ever since. Scar walked down the hallway which led to just about every room in his home before turning into the room which made up his library. It was two floors, all the walls completely full of books he had collected over the many years, with a spiral staircase going up to the second story, which he could see up into from the center. A few tables with an assortment of books and papers scattered on them dotted the room. Scar had used an expansion spell on the room, with its actual size only being about the size of a larger walk-in closet.
The woods of the room were varying shades of warm brown and deep red, with warm lanterns decorating the walls and hanging from the ceiling. He found the avian, hunched over at one of the tables, with a small assortment of books scattered around it. With his wings pulled to his sides, and his head supported with one hand and the other holding the book he was currently reading open. From a quick glance, Scar could tell that it was about herbology. Scar leaned against the back of the chair, looking over Grian’s shoulder.
“You’ve been in here for a while,” he commented in a low voice. Grian glanced behind him, his dark brown nearly black eyes widening slightly at how close he was. But other than that, he only let out a noncommittal hum.
“Did you find anything interesting?” Grian let out a sigh at that, rubbing his eyes in a tired motion. He had been in there for hours, with it now being late in the evening. He looked pretty committed to being able to take care of his own poppy. Scar glanced across the table, and curiously enough found some medical books there too. He briefly wondered why they would be there; however, he was interrupted by Grian’s voice.
“I found what I was looking for. I just--” he made a strange noise at the back of his throat before he continued, “--I want to be good enough, so I don’t hurt it,” Grian finished. Scar once again had the sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with his past, but he made no mention of it.
Instead, he asked, “Is there anything you want?”
Grian hummed in thought and responded, “Some tea would be nice.”
Scar grinned and straightened himself, ignoring the pain which shot down his back from the movement. “Some tea for Monsieur Grian, coming right up!” Grian snorted at that but made no comment on the honorific as he went back to reading. Scar left the room and headed to the kitchen to make the tea for the avian, deciding to make some for himself along the way. The water hissed as it came to a boil, and he hummed a tune as he waited for the water to be ready, getting out the other things he needed.
“Someone has a new friend,” a new voice called. One he often heard, when he was completely alone. Scar glanced at the near boiling kettle. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly loud enough yet for him to pretend he hadn’t heard the man.
Instead, he turned on his heel to face the figure of a black cloaked man with red, fingerless gloves, a beard and short brown hair, a streak of red going through it which fell on his face. And red, glowing eyes which at one point had been a soft brown. “Joel! I haven’t seen you in a while! How are you?” Scar asked in a chipper tone, careful to keep his voice quieter. Just in case Grian might hear him. How would he be able to explain away what appeared to be him talking to himself?
“You haven’t seen me because you’ve been galivanting around with that avian. And to answer your question, I’ve been doing fine thank you,” he replied curtly.
“Ah well that’s good, that’s good. Haven’t been too bored, have you?” Scar asked, a curious smile on his face. Joel only frowned.
“Oh, I’ve been having great fun. You know—just the usual. Talking to people, exploring the world. Just the usual,” Joel replied, suddenly very interested with his fingernails. His voice almost condescending.
Scar’s grin fell. “Joel, you know I can’t wake you up until I find a way to break that curse,” he said in a quiet voice. Joel had been his wizard in arms after he had left the guild, the two having great plans to travel the world, set up a shop somewhere. They would sell an assortment of magical trinkets and charms. Of course, they would only be functional for those who truly believed in them or if they were allies with the wizards of the mountain. But the customers didn’t have to know that!
That had all changed when they had found a pair of daggers. The blade a near black color, with the hilt made from a metal that was almost purple, engraved in red and purple gemstones. It was when Scar had learned of his near immunity to the pull of magical items. And his immunity from curses. It was also when he had learned that Joel was very much not immune to curses. Scar had taken a dagger because he could feel the magic imbued within it and seen that it was most certainly very expensive. Joel had taken it because he had already been pulled within its thrall. Become a subject to its curse—the curse of the Boogieman.
Every week, as long as you had the knife it would make you kill someone. And if you didn’t. . . well Scar didn’t know what would happen to them, but it was nothing good. The only ways to remove the curse was to either kill the owner, thus changing the new owner to whoever had killed him, or to destroy the knife. The two problems with those options were that the curse would still be passed to someone else (and that Joel would have to die,) or for the curse to lose its host. The best-case scenario for that would be for the curse to just attack itself to another item. The worst-case scenario would be for the curse to attach itself to multiple people.
Scar couldn’t let either of those things happen. And so, he had placed Joel under a powerful sleeping spell, almost like a coma, with a constant flow of magic going into him, keeping him alive. Joel had been in this state for many years, decades even. And Scar still hadn’t found a way to break the curse. He had made it so his spirit could roam wherever, so at least he could still experience the world around him. And with his uncanny ability to talk with spirits, it had enabled him to still talk with Joel. It had been the entire reason why Scar had first become a wizard. Well, that and his own infatuation with magic. That didn’t mean that the man could talk with anyone else though.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Joel’s voice.
“Well you seem to be working really hard with that endeavor.”
“Joel--”
“In fact, you even planted a flower for me in your little garden!” he exclaimed, his form pulsing red. Any words died in Scar’s mouth. He had planted some, a few years back when no matter what he had tried it wouldn’t work and he had almost given up. He had done it just in case Joel wouldn’t ever wake up, to honor him.
Scar sighed, suddenly feeling much wearier. The kettle whistled behind him, signaling that the water was ready. He turned and set to making the tea for himself and Grian. “Joel, you know it's not like that,” he said in a low voice.
Joel made a strangled noise in his throat, like there was something he wanted to say and yet couldn’t come up with anything. It just ended in a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Just. . . be careful with the avian. There’s more to him than you think.” Joel snorted. “A lot more.” And just like that, he was gone. Scar sighed, looking down at the made drinks. He closed his eyes and allowed his magic to spread, extending throughout the house. The only presences were Grian’s and his own. He could feel his magic stop at the barrier he had made around that room, but that was the only disturbance.
Scar opened his eyes and, taking the drinks, made his way back to the library. As he neared the door, he took a deep breath, and putting a grin back on his face, he walked in. He soon found Grian, only instead of sitting hunched over a book, his head was laid on top his arms, crossed over the table. He had fallen asleep. With a soft smile, Scar walked over to his side. His wings hung limply at his sides; the colorful feathers brushed against the ground.
His head was tilted to the side, revealing that his mouth was open ever so slightly as he snored softly. His ear feathers trembling occasionally, like he was trying to hear something in his sleep. He set the two cups of tea down on the table and left the room to return with a soft, green blanket. He draped it over his shoulders, tucking it around his neck. Careful not to mess up his feathers. Scar looked down at the sleeping avian, something warm blooming in his chest at the sight.
He looked so. . . peaceful. Scar didn’t think he had ever seen such a thing on the avian. With a smile, he reached down and carded his fingers through his hair, gently ruffling his ear tuffs in the process. Grian let out a quiet, slurred chirp and shifted before falling back into a deeper sleep. He chuckled at the sight; it almost reminded him of when a dog tried to bark in their sleep. Only it was decidedly much more endearing. With a hum, Scar collected his own drink, placing a warming spell on Grian’s tea to ensure it wouldn’t get cold, before departing to let the tired avian rest.