Chapter Text
Grian looked down at his watch and back up to the stars above him, sighing. The area they had chosen to settle in for the new season was lovely, but nice scenery wasn’t enough to still his mind. Not after the horror show that was Third Life. Not after he watched the people he considers friends be overcome with bloodlust.
Not after the cactus ring.
He sat up from his bed and decided that a little exercise might help drain his lingering energy. He left the little campsite that would soon become his starter home and wandered over to the Boatem pole, gazing at the oddly stacked pillar and the landscape surrounding it. He could see the beginnings of everyone else’s bases making a vague circle-shape around the monument, and he smiled. Already such a tight-knit group, even though the season had barely begun. It eased the churning of memories in his mind, if only to momentarily replace them with sweeter ones.
“Can’t sleep?”
Grian jumped at the voice, whirling around to find Pearl a few steps behind him. How did he not hear her approach? Was he that tired?
“When’d you get here?” He asked instead.
“I asked you first,” she replied. It seemed her teasing was not deterred even by the late hour.
“What- nevermind. Yeah, I can’t sleep,” Grian sighed. It was an odd and unpleasant thing: his body was exhausted, but his brain was wide awake. He was fighting himself.
“Thought so. Nightmares again?” Pearl was the only one Grian had told about the nightmares he’d started to get after Third Life ended, and she’s made it a habit to check in on him every once in a while about them since then. She’s sweet like that, and that’s partly why Grian chose to tell her in the first place. That, and she hadn’t been involved in the death game.
And maybe because she was his sister and would absolutely kill him if she found out he hid an issue like this from her. That too.
“Not exactly. Just… brain won’t shut up, y’know?” It wasn’t the whole of it, but it was the gist. He was too tired to try and explain the scenes that flashed behind his eyelids every time they closed.
“Yeah, I get that. Been busy thinking about the holidays, myself.”
Grian raised a brow. “The holidays? Like… Christmas? That’s not for months, Pearl. Why are you… why would you start worrying about things like that so early?”
“I like to get my Christmas shopping done early, alright? That way I can spend the winter actually relaxing while everyone else runs around like headless chickens trying to get last-minute gifts,” she explained, and Grian let out a chuckle. That sounds like her, alright.
“I guess that makes sense…” he mumbled, his gaze wandering back to the boat tower as the conversation dwindled.
“Actually, while you’re up, I’ve got something for you. C’mere!” Pearl said, motioning to follow as she started to make her way back to her campsite. Grian sluggishly obliged.
“It was meant to be more of a stocking-stuffer, but I may as well give it to you now so you can have it out for the whole season when it comes around and not just, y’know, like a week.” She rummaged through her chests, flinging random objects out of the way now and again until she let out a triumphant noise and lifted out a wooden doll of some sort.
She swiveled around to Grian, who had been trying not to collapse onto the ground while she fought with her storage system, and gingerly presented him the wooden doll.
On further inspection, it looked to be a nutcracker doll. It had ornately painted army clothing, red and a bluish silver being the main colours, with carved adornments like a sword in its right hand and a tall hat on its head. Its levered mouth sat almost flush with the rest of its body while closed, like most nutcrackers, and its base to stand on was painted to look like rock. Funnily enough, the face itself was akin to a vex’s.
“I got it at the vex market last year,” Pearl explained as she watched Grian inspect the details.
“You do your Christmas shopping a full year beforehand…” Grian shook his head.
“Not all of it! This was the only one I got during last winter, I swear. Now take it!” She shoved the doll into Grian’s hands, and he yelped and fumbled to get a proper hold on it before it dropped. He ended up gripping it solely by the head, which prompted the rest of the body to pop free and fall to the ground, neatly landing upright on its stand. They both went silent for a moment.
“O-oh… oh gosh, Pearl, I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t think-” Grian started as Pearl bent to pick up the detached body from its landing spot. She cut him off.
“Hold on, I think I saw the vendor actually demonstrate this. Here, lemme see,” she said, and Grian handed her the head. There were two pegs sticking out from the neck area, and she fiddled with the two pieces, trying to slot the holes in the bottom of the head back onto the pegs. She wasn’t exactly sure how it was going to stay there and not just fall off if someone held it upside down or tried holding it like Grian just did, but she wasn’t sure that was even the intention of the design in the first place.
After a few moments, the head slid back into place, and Pearl presented her newly restored gift back to its receiver.
“Ta-da! Fixed. I think it might be designed to come off, maybe if you like… get a nut stuck in there or something? I dunno,” she shrugged, and handed it back to Grian more carefully this time. He showed extra care in taking it from her this time around as well, lifting it by the legs and torso, turning it around in his hands as he took in the littler details of the wood.
Despite its easily decapitated head, it was clearly well made. A simple, yet gorgeous piece of art.
“Thank you. This… I didn’t really expect to get a Christmas gift in the summer, but it’s… actually helped my mood,” he said.
“No problem, mate. You looked like you needed a little lift, so I’m glad that did the trick,” she replied, then let out a yawn. “We should probably get to bed, though. What’s your watch say?”
“I don’t even want to know.”
Pearl barked out a laugh. “Fair enough. I’ll see you in the morning, then?”
Grian nodded. “G’night, sis.”
“Awww. G’night, bro!”
And like that, Grian was walking back to his bed, the Christmas ornament clutched near to his chest. He gazed at its painted face as he walked, and his mind wandered back to a different vex that had been on his mind recently.
Scar didn’t remember the game. None of the others did. Only the winner was burdened with the knowledge of what had transpired, it seemed. The “prize”, you could consider it, if you were cruel. And the Watchers absolutely were; Grian could attest to this. He tried not to let the fact bother him too much, but not even Scar remembering a shred of their shared victory and the relationship it was built upon stung like nothing else. He had been avoiding the other man, if he was honest with himself. He just couldn’t bear to look at him, seeing every one of his features and knowing intimately how they would look with sand in their crevices and blood on their surface, and have the man interact with him as if nothing’s changed. It was just too much.
So he kept his distance. Smiled and waved when he had to; ran when he could. Ached for his company in private. Rinse. Repeat.
He knew he couldn’t keep going like this for much longer. He just didn’t know how to bridge the gap that game had put between them, and the one he’d imposed in response.
He pushed his thoughts aside once again as he kicked off his shoes and slid himself back into bed, setting the nutcracker on the ground beside his bedframe. He swiveled it around a couple times, debating on which direction to have it face, before settling for it facing the scarcely lit up land beyond his little campsite, as if it were protecting him in his sleep.
His heart ached. He ignored it, and laid his head to rest.
—
Grian opened his eyes to find his surroundings replaced with darkness. The only suggestions of a solid space came from the frame of his bed having ground to stand on, and the faintest sound of scurrying. He sat up, shoving the sheets aside and listening intently as the scurrying got louder. It was small, like it came from lots of tiny feet rather than a few large ones shuffling about, and was accompanied by the occasional squeak. It was getting clearer, but it still managed to sound far away.
That is, until a blot of fur breezed past Grian’s shoe.
He squealed, not unlike the animal that had just greeted him, and pulled his foot back just as another ran past.
And then another.
And another.
He could feel the blood drain from his face as more culminated from the darkness and joined their brethren, scuttling and sniffing around the seemingly endless and empty space.
If there was one thing Grian hated, it was rats.
In a slight daze, he chuckled. “Oh, I get it now. This is a nightmare. Okay, alright. Cool.”
“The nightmare’s only just begun, me friend.”
Grian’s throat went dry. Slowly, hesitantly, he looked up.
There stood Ren, a crown atop his head and blood dripping from a clean, precise slice in his neck. His eyes blazed the same colour that adorned his neck and cape, and Grian could see the throes of madness quivering inside them.
This was not the Ren he knew from Hermitcraft. Yet this was one he knew better than anyone else, at least now that no one else remembered him.
This was The Red King.
Martyn- no, his Hand stood dutifully beside him, palms balanced on the bottom of the hilt of a blood-stained axe. The same madness swirled in his eyes, despite the golden-dipped irises and the tenuous safety they were meant to promise.
Grian felt for his sword, but found only bedsheets. His breath quickened.
“I’m afraid this is where you take your final stand, laddie,” the King said, but Grian’s heartbeat drummed most of it out. He didn’t move.
“He said stand! ” The Hand shouted, and raised the axe in a fury. Grian jumped out of the way just in time to dodge the swing, landing on his side as his bed was cleaved in half behind him. He would have stayed on the ground for longer, maybe taken the chance to catch a breath or two, but this nightmare hadn’t had its fill of him yet. The rats spared him not a moment before they rushed him, their teeth gnashing. Grian’s nerves did most of the work in springing him up from the floor, wildly brushing off the remaining rodents clinging to his clothes and watching their teeth and claws tear the fabric as they reluctantly pulled away. A shiver ran down his spine.
Unfortunately for him, he only noticed the axe raised above his head just as it started its descent.
A scream caught in his throat as he raised his arms uselessly above his head, and squeezed his eyes shut.
But the blow never came.
A sharp clang rang out a tad too close to Grian’s ear to be comfortable, and his eyes shot open. Standing before him was a tall figure, his back turned to Grian to face his attacker. He was draped in a fine, bright red army coat with bluish-silver trim, and pants to match. His right arm was held high, holding the sword that had just saved Grian’s life. As he stared, his mind stuttered for a moment as he noticed something. The man’s hand looked soft and real, while his head and the hat that sat atop it looked hard and painted. Wooden, even. As Grian looked closer at the back of the man’s head, he swore he could see the grain of the wood peeking through the colour of his hair.
He was a nutcracker.
The Nutcracker.
The Nutcracker thrusted the axe away, knocking the Hand back a few paces as well. He stood at the ready, and the two clashed together in a way almost akin to a dance.
While they fought, Grian shook himself out of his shock. He tried to find anything that would be useful in the fight, but the only other thing in the room was his ruined bed. He glanced over to find the King had joined in the fray, and the Nutcracker was struggling to keep up with the now two-vs-one. Grian’s mind raced to figure out what he could use bar his bare fists, and his eyes drifted back to the split bed, but honed in on the wooden frame that would usually be too heavy for him to carry on his own. But if it were, say, just half of it he had to lift…
Quickly, keeping an eye on the battle and where his opponents were, he cleared off the bottom half of the bedframe and hoisted it above his head by its legs. As quietly as he could, he stalked over to where the King stood with his back turned to him, preparing to strike the Nutcracker in the head.
Just as the King swung his sword, Grian crashed the bedframe over his crown.
A cry rang out from both the Hand and the Nutcracker as the King’s sword hit its mark right before he crumpled to the floor.
The Nutcracker staggered as the Hand dropped his axe and ran to his King, glaring daggers at Grian as he knelt beside his unconscious form. Grian, in turn, ran to the Nutcracker, who had fallen to his knees.
“This isn’t over… we’ll be back for you, boy. I’ll be back for you,” The Hand snarled at Grian, prompting him to look his direction. “And next time, there won’t be anybody to save you…” he added with a cruel sneer and a jerk of his head towards the Nutcracker. Grian turned to look, and found he had fully taken to the floor. Panic gripped Grian’s heart, and he barely paid attention to the Hand’s departure with his King towed by the rats. He knelt beside him, feeling for a pulse in his wrist, checking him over for any open wounds. He found none but the dent in his wooden head from where the sword had struck, but that only made him worry more. If the blow was that bad as to be the sole cause of this, would he recover? He felt grateful for the Nutcracker’s help, and he would rather the kind gesture not cost him his life.
Another detail he found worrying for different reasons, Grian couldn’t help the feeling that he had seen the scars littering the other man’s hands before as he took one in his own. Not cold, yet.
“I’m… I’m sorry. I really… I wish I’d thought of the bedframe trick sooner, then- maybe, I could’ve…” He sighed. “Thank you. Really, truly, thank you. I’m not exactly sure why I feel the need to thank you since this is a dream, but… still.” Silence.
“Please… please, get up.”
In all honesty, he hadn’t expected his prayer to be answered so quickly.
The Nutcracker shifted, his hand gently squeezing Grian’s as if in response to his spiel. He used his other to sit himself up, and Grian felt himself gasp as his wooden head fell away and an achingly familiar, scarred face greeted him.
“Grian! There you are. I’ve been looking for you for a while, you know.” Ruby eyes and soft brown hair and history etched into skin and a quirked smile–
“Scar,” Grian choked out before pouncing on him. Scar giggled in response, hugging Grian back.
“Geez, did you miss me that much?” He joked.
“Yes,” Grian answered earnestly, and he felt tears prick at his eyes. No, he would not cry in this silly, nonsensical dream. He’d get his pillow soaked if he let the dam break while he was in bed.
“I missed you too,” Scar breathed into Grian’s hair, and Grian practically melted.
Grian didn’t keep track of how long they stayed there, simply focusing on the rise and fall of Scar’s chest, the chin tucked into his hair.
“We should probably get going, G,” Scar mumbled into the top of his head. “We’ve got a party to attend, after all!”
“...Sorry?” Grian said, willing himself out of the daze he’d lost himself in.
“Y’know, like those things where a bunch of people gather and chat and sometimes there’s drinks and food ‘n’ stuff- a party?” Grian could hear the smirk on Scar’s lips.
“Scar, I know what a party is,” Grian deadpanned, lifting his head to look his companion in the eyes. “Who’s party is it, and why exactly are we going?”
“Oh, little details! C’mon, let’s get going!” Scar moved to get up, but Grian held on. If he were to choose between some mystery party and staying in the arms of the man he’d been longing to see for far too long, he was going to pick the latter.
Scar noticed, and cupped a hand to Grian’s cheek. Ruby red eyes met coal black.
“It’ll be fun, G. I promise,” he whispered, close enough to raise goosebumps. “I’ve got a surprise waiting there for you. Please?”
Grian was never good at properly denying that face.
“Fine,” he sighed, and loosened his grip on the man. “How are we meant to get out of here, though? This room doesn’t seem to have an end to it…” In all honesty, it reminded Grian of an infinity room, just with black maps instead of white.
“Easy! I’ve hitched a ride for us right over here,” Scar said as he stood up, offering Grian a hand as he swung the other over to where a white and gold-trimmed sleigh now sat. Grian blinked.
“Was… was that-? Y’know what, nevermind,” he cut himself off, shaking his head. Dream, gotta remember that.
A soft snort drew his attention away from the wooden structure and to the beast manning its front, and for the second time he let out a disbelieving gasp.
“Pizza! ” He ran to the llama, throwing his arms around its neck as it sniffed his hair. The carpet it wore had been changed to match the sleigh, but really, what other llama could it be?
He heard Scar laugh behind him. “The one and only.”
Grian turned, and saw Scar step up into the sleigh. He followed suit, taking the hand outstretched to him and settled himself on the smooth, wooden bench inside. Scar held on a moment longer, peering at the rips in Grian’s clothes. A lightbulb seemingly went off in his head.
“Oh yeah! I just remembered, I’ve got something for ya,” Scar said, ducking down to rummage underneath the bench. “Uh- hold on, just gimme a sec- dangit, where did I put- aha! ”
He pulled out a bundle of thick fabric, unravelling it with a flourish to reveal a poncho.
Grian’s poncho.
The one he wore in the desert, albeit the cotton fabric switched to a thick, fluffy white material. The embroidered patterns stayed the same, lining the edges of the garment with the same colours as Scar’s outfit.
They were matching.
“Aww, you’re speechless!” Scar’s comment made Grian shut his hanging jaw. He gingerly took the poncho from Scar’s hands, inspecting the similarities before leaning forward and pulling it on over his head. It fit just like it used to.
“It’s… it’s perfect,” Grian mumbled. “Thank you.”
“It’s perfect for where we’re going, that’s for sure!” Scar announced, and promptly gave Pizza’s reins a gentle shake, spurring the llama into motion. Grian blinked, and the world around him suddenly changed. The inky black that surrounded them had shifted to a wintery forest, complete with a temperature drop. Snow lined the dirt road and dusted the evergreens, dancing around them as it fell from the sky. The brightness of the sun reflecting off the white snow burned as Grian’s eyes adjusted to the change.
Pizza trotted along, seemingly unbothered by the inch of snow it had to walk through now. A comfortable silence fell over the two passengers, with Grian admiring the scenery and Scar focusing on the road ahead. It felt… odd, in a way. Like their roles had been reversed.
Grian broke the silence before he had time to dwell on the thought too much.
“Scar, do you know where we’re going? Or does Pizza have a built-in compass in him now?” He asked, earning a snort from his companion.
“Of course I know where we’re going! Although that is a good idea; could maybe be Pizza’s Christmas gift next year…” Scar mused mostly to himself. “The castle of the Sugarplum Fairy is where we’re headed, but we’re making a little pitstop first, which should actually be just around the next bend.”
As if on cue, the sleigh’s trajectory started to curve to the left as Pizza followed a bend in the road, and the trees gave way to a large clearing decorated with strings of hanging icicles. In the middle sat a frozen pond, its surface surprisingly clear of snow. A brush stuck out of a snow pile not too far away, a fresh dusting of white flakes in between its bristles. Behind the pond sat a large marble throne, cushioned with slightly charred-looking wool pillows. It was empty, but Grian could easily find where its inhabitant was.
On the ice were two figures, hand in hand. The first was clad in an elaborate white robe that shimmered like the snow falling around them when they moved, and their similarly white hair held an icy crown. A scar ran through their left eye, leaving it a dull red while the other showed a more natural brown. The one piece of clothing that wasn’t a gleaming white was the black mask covering the lower half of their face.
The second wore a simpler, more practical outfit for the weather. Their dark blue knit jumper looked cozy, and so did their matching hat. The bottoms of their pants were tucked into the skates they were shakily trying to move in as the other gave them pointers on their stance and balance.
Grian could recognize both of them immediately. Nobody but Etho wore a mask like that on Hermitcraft or anywhere else, and BigB and him had nearly identical jumpers save the size and colour. He’d actually borrowed BigB’s jumper once for a joke back in season 7, and it was shockingly only a little baggy on him.
The two skaters didn’t notice the sleigh’s approach until Pizza came to a stop next to the ice rink, disturbing the snowbank that lined the pond. Etho looked away from BigB’s unsteady self to flash the two visitors what Grian could only assume was a smile underneath that mask.
“Hey, firebug! Welcome back,” Etho called from his spot on the rink. “What brings you here again?”
“Oh, y’know. Just got back from heroically saving this one–” Scar ruffled Grian’s hair, “from the jaws of death, and now we’re on our way to the party tonight. I wanted to pop over and see if you two needed a lift to that as well, since you’re on our way.”
Etho thought for a moment, retracting a hand from BigB’s grasp to lay on his chin. BigB stumbled a bit as he adjusted to the halved amount of support.
“I don’t think so, but thanks for the offer. We’ll catch up in a bit after our little skating session’s finished,” he said after a moment. “Sounds like it’s gonna be a fun time. I heard Cleo’s got a surprise cooked up just for it, so watch out for that,” he added with a chuckle.
Grian winced. Cleo had never been too trusting of him and Scar, and if whatever surprise she had reflected that, then they may be riding straight into trouble. But did she even know the pair were coming?
“Oh, lovely! I’m sure it’ll be a good time if that’s the case.” Scar’s words were honeyed, but Grian could hear the hesitance underneath. He was worried about it too, then.
“Hold on, before you guys go,” BigB spoke up, “I actually made a batch of cookies for the party, but I haven’t had a taste test yet. Did you two want a sample for the road?”
“B, I wouldn’t be so quick to say they haven’t been tested…” Etho said, a sheepish look in his eyes.
“The cookie dough doesn’t count , Etho. They hadn’t been cooked yet, and that’s a major factor in their outcome! Also can you help me get off the ice!” BigB responded, drawing a laugh from his skating partner. The two made their way to the edge of the pond, and BigB stepped off and jogged around to the back of the throne, crouching down to pick something up from the ground. He turned and walked back to the group with a plate of sugar cookies decorated with coloured frosting, protected by a layer of saran wrap.
“I don’t make sugar cookies too often, so I figured a couple extra testers couldn’t hurt to have,” he said with a shrug. Grian stepped out onto the snowy ground to walk around the pond to him, but Etho had a different idea.
“Y’know B, this could be a good time to test your balance. You’d be going in a straight line, so it shouldn’t be too bad,” he said, and BigB gave him an incredulous look.
“A- a good time?” BigB questioned, a nervous chuckle bubbling up between words. “When my cookies are on the line… yeah, okay, perfect time, totally.”
“I’ll spot ya all the way, how’s that sound?” He responded, and BigB relented.
“Fine, but if I faceplant and drop the plate you’re making the replacement batch.”
“Deal!” Etho said, and Grian snorted. Etho can do a lot of things, but baking was not one of them. This should be fun.
BigB came up to the edge of the ice, and Grian stepped up across from him with his arms out in case he hit the snowbank a little too fast. Etho helped him back onto the rink, and he took a moment to steady himself while he had the support. Then, Etho let go and he pushed off, sliding in an almost perfectly straight line across the ice. He shook a little as he switched feet to keep his momentum, and Etho kept a step behind him as he went, but he made it to the other side with relative ease.
When it came time to stop, though, his expression changed from one of surprised confidence to dawning panic.
Grian caught him as he stumbled while trying to slow himself down before he hit the snow too fast, and a nervous laugh escaped the two of them once they were both safely on solid ground.
“Thanks for the save,” BigB said, the plate of cookies still clutched in his hands.
“Thanks for the samples,” Grian responded, lifting up the saran wrap to steal a cookie from the pile and pop the star of a Christmas tree into his mouth. BigB laughed, a full and joyous laugh that Grian had always enjoyed ever since they met. Almost as much as Scar’s. A smile spread across his face as he chewed.
“Incredible as ever, B,” he said between bites.
“Aw, gosh. I’m glad you like them,” BigB replied with a shy smile. “Here, one for Scar as well.” He took a bell cookie from the plate and handed it to Grian before wrapping the pile back up.
Grian thanked him again before he turned and hefted himself back into the sleigh, handing the cookie to Scar once he sat down. They waved goodbye to Etho and BigB as Pizza pulled away, hitting the road again to a party that was now far more interesting than when they first set off.
Whether that be a good or bad thing…
Well, they were about to find out.