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The desert is cold at night.
Goosebumps prick Grian’s arms as he sits on the balcony railing, watching over the gently rolling dunes below. Haphazardly scattered torches light up the desert around him. The forest at their border stands quiet and dark.
He wishes the torches didn’t ruin his night vision so badly. The fortress on top of their sandstone mountain affords him an excellent view, but his eyes still can’t pierce the black maw of the forest beyond the sand.
Anyone could be waiting out there, plotting an ambush, and he wouldn’t be able to see them. At least there aren’t too many places to hide in the desert. The mountain, though, has rocks and crevices for cover, and tunnels could easily be dug underneath. A well-aimed TNT cannon would eliminate the need to traverse the distance – even now, someone could be out there, lining up the shot, waiting for the right moment to strike…
Grian inhales deeply, his wings tightening around him. Got to quit imagining things, he thinks irritably. He can’t waste energy on that, not when there are so many real issues to deal with.
Their defenses aren’t exactly sound. It’s too easy to get through the border (unless you’re trying to transport an uncooperative llama across, in which case it’s unfairly difficult), and the openness of the land surrounding them would make laying siege to their fortress rather simple. Grian has set up some protective measures – lots of arrow slits in the fortress walls, traps in a few strategic places on the mountain and in the desert below, and of course the cacti and lava surrounding their perimeter. The army of Dogwarts, though, would probably have the resources necessary to overcome those obstacles. Grian just hopes he’ll have enough time to get Scar to safety if it comes to that.
His lack of confidence in their security is why he’s out on the top balcony in the dead of night. If someone wanted to try a stealth attack, having the cover of darkness would be ideal. Grian’s not sure how likely it is that someone would actually attempt such an assault – logically it would be better to attack when Grian and Scar were separated, or at least outside of their own lands – but there’s always a chance. Someone could think they’re being clever. One kill would be worth a daring infiltration. Grian wouldn’t put it past anyone on the server.
So he’s determined to stay awake, keeping watch until the dawn breaks. He can’t afford to let Scar go unprotected during the darkest hours of the night. Too many people are out for Scar’s blood, and Grian…well, Grian simply refuses to let them have their prize.
A breeze gently rustles Grian’s feathers, and he shivers. The flames of the torches flicker as the wind brushes them. Overhead, the stars shimmer. It might be peaceful, he thinks. Calm. If only he could forget about the danger lurking around every corner, the looming dread of the days ahead, the fatigue weighing his body down.
Grian grits his teeth. He’s gone longer without sleep before. He can deal with whatever tomorrow brings. It’s worth it – for Scar, it’s worth it.
He tries not to think too hard about his feelings towards Scar. It was easier when he saw their partnership as just an alliance born out of debt, destined to break apart. Now, though, he can’t imagine a future without Scar by his side. It’s troubling, the fact that his mind won’t let that go. Staying together is impossible; it’s a death game, last man standing wins. They’ll end up separated in the end, no matter what. And yet, his every waking moment is consumed by Scar – scheming with him, laughing with him, trying to keep him alive. Without Scar, Grian will have nothing. How can he possibly prepare for that?
In the distance, a mob shrieks, startling Grian out of his reverie. So much for not thinking about Scar. He makes an annoyed sound, checking the daggers in his belt and making sure his bow and arrows are readily available. Satisfied, he sets his eyes on the forest, determined not to get distracted again.
The wind pulls more insistently at his wings, sending chills down his arms. The thin poncho he wears isn’t nearly enough protection against the cool air, but he doesn’t have anything warmer. Grian didn’t realize the desert of all places would be this bloody cold.
For a while, all is quiet; nothing moving besides far-off mobs and the wind.
Then suddenly, there’s a crash behind Grian, and he whirls around, jumping from his place on the railing and unsheathing the daggers strapped to his side in one fluid movement. He’s in a fighting stance instantly, ready to confront the bastard who thought it would be a good idea to try and break in – and is instead greeted with the sight of Scar, who’s currently tripping through the balcony door.
“What – “ Grian rushes to catch him, dropping his daggers and grabbing Scar under his arms. “Scar, be careful!”
“Oh, gosh! Thanks, Grian – geez, your hands are so cold – “
“What on earth are you doing?” Grian says, helping steady Scar on his feet. “You gave me a heart attack!”
“Looking for you, obviously. You’ve been gone for ages.”
“I meant – what was all that racket? Why were you falling?”
“Well, I didn’t realize how dark it is in the house at night,” Scar replies matter-of-factly. “Oh, quick question for you: why do we leave so much stuff on the floor?”
Grian raises an eyebrow. “Because we’re both as unorganized as it’s possible to be. And you could light a torch, you know. There are plenty on the walls.”
“Oh, right, I forgot we put those there…”
Grian can’t hold back a bemused laugh. “You are a disaster,” he declares.
“Disastrously charming, maybe,” Scar responds, waggling his eyebrows. “No?”
“You do tend to cause disasters when you speak, so I guess that counts,” Grian deadpans.
Scar clutches his chest dramatically. “Grian, you wound me. I’ve been wounded.”
Grian scoffs, bending down to pick up his fallen daggers. He notices Scar’s eyes follow them back into their sheaths.
“So, what are you doing out here, anyway?” Scar asks, his tone sounding deliberately casual. “I’ve been wondering where you went. I mean, when you didn’t go to bed, I thought you’d be doing something smart, you know, maybe working on one of your big-brain plans, not attempting to become a human popsicle.”
Grian rolls his eyes. “I’m keeping watch, Scar. It’s dangerous out here.”
“Watch?” Scar responds, looking slightly perplexed. “It’s the middle of the night, G, and it’s freezing out. I don’t think anyone’s going to try to take us down right now.”
“You never know,” Grian says defensively. “Martyn’s crazy, dude, he’d try anything.”
Scar chuckles. “You know, Martyn’s probably doing the exact same thing you are right now. Sitting up at the top of their stupid Dogwarts walls, convinced we’re about to come out of nowhere, ready to murder his precious Red King.”
Grian considers this for a moment. “You’re…probably right about that.”
“I am right. Which means you should come inside to bed. Nothing out here to worry about.”
Grimacing, Grian shakes his head. “There are others out there besides Ren and Martyn, Scar,” he points out. “We’re not exactly popular around town.”
“Oh, come on, I’ve been giving out friendship passes like they’re candy!” Scar says, waving his hand dismissively. “Nobody would break those sacred bonds.” Grian gives him an unimpressed look, and Scar hastily adds, “Alright, maybe they would, but I can’t imagine they’d go all ninja on us and try to assassinate us in the dead of night.”
“The dead of night would be the perfect time for assassinations, though,” Grian responds. “Look, Scar, we just can’t be too careful. You’re on red. Anything goes wrong, and you’re gone for good.”
“I know that,” Scar replies, his voice going quiet. “I just don’t want you running yourself into the ground for me, any more than you already do.”
Grian looks away. “I’m fine, Scar. I can sleep later.”
“Will you, though?” Scar asks.
Grian opens his mouth to say yes, of course I will, but the words won’t come out. He can’t meet Scar’s eyes.
Scar sighs. “Just…come inside, okay? You don’t even have to sleep. We can make hot chocolate or something, turn on the jukebox. At least don’t stay out here in the cold.”
Grian bites his cheek, staring out over the railing. He is freezing. And hanging out with Scar is a much more tempting prospect than sitting on a hard railing all night with nothing but the wind for company. But he has a responsibility to protect Scar, and if he fails, he’ll never forgive himself.
“Grian,” Scar says softly.
His hand settles on Grian’s shoulder, a steady, familiar warmth. Grian reluctantly looks back up at him.
“We’re okay,” Scar says, in that same soft voice. “We’re safe. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise.”
Grian wants to laugh. You don’t know that, he wants to say. But Scar’s eyes are serious, and Grian thinks maybe…maybe this is Scar’s way of taking care of him.
He exhales, long and slow. Scar trusts him to keep them both safe. The least he can do is return the favor.
“Alright,” he says finally, and it’s worth it to see Scar smile.
Later, in their tiny living room, a lilting melody plays from the jukebox’s crackling speakers, and empty mugs lay abandoned on the floor. Grian sits tucked into Scar’s side, warm under a pile of blankets, breathing gone steady with sleep.
Scar smiles, resting his head atop Grian’s. “Mission accomplished,” he murmurs.