Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was absolutely pissing it down, the mid summer heat brought on shaking claps of thunder and dazzling streaks of lighting. The clouds had rolled on quickly and unexpectedly, the smell of electricity in the air the only warning. It was the kind of storm that makes men believe in gods. How could the natural world create such beauty in something so violent?

Buckets were being poured over thatched roofs of people who can't afford a leak. There would no doubt be a flood of the river later, over watering of crops and possible landslides. Needless to say the town local mage was going to have his work cut out for him. He would be lucky if the towns folk didn't try and blame him for the storm at all. But if he does a good enough job at fixing the issues brought upon, then he might sway them enough.

He had only moved to this village a few moon cycles ago, right after receiving his Mastery. School has been a breeze, but working with people? Helping those who need it? That was a challenge he was not prepared for outside of school. There is just so much hurt and loss, and so much of it is something his magic cannot help with…

He wouldn't change the course of his life for anything though, even for the Seventh Moon. After school he didn't have the opportunity to go home, he wasn't welcome there. After many moons of travel he landed in the Villageship of Givloree, their old mage having passed suddenly and leaving room for someone new. It was a tough sell, but at the very least they didn't chase him out.

It's been slow work not only gaining their trust, but settling down himself. He'd never been alone before, especially in a place where nobody even knew him. But he's nothing if not stubborn. Through persistence he made friends, or at least acquaintances that he won't leave alone.

His biggest accomplishment in that regard probably had to do with the stoic man on the hill. He was told time and time again to leave the house alone. During boring days at the shop he would typically walk around and find people who needed help with something or another. And on even more boring days, he would go door to door.

There were rumors, of course, that he had heard during late nights at the local tavern. Those who had horror stories of the things they say they saw at the manor on the hill. Some say that it's the original founder of the villageships manor, that they died tragically and haunted the manor ever since. That who ever would go inside would be cursed, or worse.

Though he doesn't think there is anything worse than being cursed…

Some other rumors said that there was actually something living there. A monster of some sort that refused to be seen in the sunlight. Only coming out during late night festivals or lurking in the neighboring woods. People tended to disappear every time there was a sighting of the creature. Or so the citizens say.

The mage, being bored and curious and confident in his ability to protect himself, decided even hermit creatures might need some magical help too. He gathered some supplies and made his way through the woods and up the hill right to the front door. He remembers the sky seeming darker, the trees growing quiet and the animals not speaking a peep. For a Natural Mastery mage it was disconcerting, but not enough to dissuade him completely. Every time his foot hit the ground the dirt practically begged him to turn around. He begged them back to keep him safe, suspecting it was just worried since he was alone in the woods.

Walking up the creaking porch, the mage was met with beautifully dated architecture. It was certainly more taken care of than one would expect from a seemingly abandoned building. It wasn’t clean, but certainly not decrepit. Dead leaves and debris littered the boarded porch, but mixed with smooth, round stones he could feel some magic intent in. Interesting… protection stones.

Knocking on the door revealed itself to be futile; nobody answered. But that didn't stop him. Instead, it only made him much much more curious and determined.

Day after day he would come, knock, then leave. Come, knock, and then leave. After a while he even started leaving little things, magical things like the small rocks. Tower points, or some tea leaves. When those things started going missing, he knew he was winning.

Finally, finally, after many moons, someone finally answered the door. Or well, answer wasn't quite the right word. Once when the mage had knocked, the door had opened with it. Squeaking opening slowly, revealing a pitch dark interior. And well… it didn't feel dangerous per se. Cold, yes. Dark in a lot of ways, also yes. If there was true evil here, then the wind would've told him.

And nothing can halt someone born stubborn.

Walking in, it was as cold as the magic around. Eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness, but once so, he was able to see ornately decorated and remarkably well kept walls. Wallpaper depicting floral patterns, covered by frames and frames of indescribable pictures. There were candlesticks mounted to the wall with brilliant metal sconces. They looked half melted, but he could feel there had not been fire here in a long time.

“Well mate, if you are going to come in, at least close the door.” A voice spoke from somewhere he couldn’t place. It made him jump at first, but it was something that he suspected.

“Oh, of course!” He hastily replied, reaching to the wind to aid him in shutting the door. It left him in darkness, but he felt some type of light walking his way. It wasn't a visible light, no. His eyes are almost useless here. But when looking with his Eyes, there was something beautiful here. Something bright, surrounded by cloying darkness.

Coming from around a corner the mage is met with someone tall, his eyes barely able to make out their features beyond broad strokes. They are seemingly dressed in a suit, something old with coattails that end around their calves. Their hair must be black as the night, pulling in any light that found its way into manor.

They also seem nervous, running their hands over their thighs while trying to be discreet about it. The mage would be lying if he said he wasn't a little nervous himself, he can feel the magic around this being. They certainly aren't human, though he never expected to find one of those here.

“I’m Mumbo.” They said, voice a middle timbre, though a bit rough. They clear their throat and speak again when the mage stays silent. “Did you leave me these things?” They question.

“I did!” Grian started, finally finding his own voice. “I'm the new mage in town, I came to ask if you need help with anything.” He said, rocking on his heels letting his cape swish around his knees.

“By leaving little trinkets?” They asked, possibly with a small smile. The air feels slightly dangerous with it, it makes the mage smile in return.

“Well, you didn't come to the door.” The mage explained, waving his hand.

“Ah yes, my apologies. I didn’t want to.” They took one step closer to the mage, who doesn't move a muscle. “Didn't think there was anything worthwhile out there–” The mage doesn't hold in his offended sound. “And, the sunlight would hurt quite a bit I’d think.”

And just like that, everything fits perfectly into place. Accompanied by the figure bending over the mage just a bit. Enough for a smallest amount of light to gleam off of two fangs shown off through smiling lips.

“I don’t believe I caught your name.” The vampire said, not moving away from the mage.

“Oh, how rude of me! I’m in your house and I didn't even introduce myself!” He said, widening a smile of his own. At this, he takes a confident step away from the vampire, throwing his arm out under the cape. With a deep, and dramatic bow, he breathes warmly through pursed lips.

Suddenly, one by one down the hall each and every candle is lit up with a gentle and bright firelight. The mage looks up through his lashes, the vampire– Mumbo, now haloed in orange and yellow light. He doesn't look shocked or surprised, if anything he looks curious.

His eyes were a wine red, bushy eyebrows peaked with curiosity. His lips tweaked in a small smirk, almost covered by the glorious mustache on his upper lip.

“My name is Grian.” The mage slyly smiled.

***.

Now the rain is pouring over the man, soaking through his cloak and pants. His heart thuds in his chest in time with his feet pounding the ground. It probably wasn't the smartest choice to run through the storm, the lighting streaking across the sky lighting his way every few moments. He would've flown, if not for sodden feathers (or the likelihood of being smitten down.) He might've been able to draw up a teleportation spell, but that would've left him drained.

Mumbo had asked for him to come quickly, and this is all he could think of. Good old fashioned running.

If he was in a better mind, he might've been able to persuade the rain to fall away from him. It would've taken a lot of concentration, but it would've probably been worth it. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and his breathing was rough. Grian wasn't used to running anywhere, he was much more taken to lazing about.

But when his most important person beckons, he will come.

It wasn't as bad when he finally reached the cover of the forest. Feeling lucky that his home was closer to the edge of town then it frankly should be. The incline was a little annoying, especially for the out of shape mage.

His foot slipped on some mud, almost sending him straight to the ground. With a yelp and a throw of his hand the ground shifted around his feet, stabilizing him while running. Grian wasn't actually sure why he was sprinting to the manor. Grian had just been woken up out of a dead sleep by his messaging amulet, something that the two of them rarely used…

All he knew was that Mumbo said that he needed help, and then Grian was on his way.

He practically flew up the stairs leading to the front door, not stopping to knock. It had been quite a while since Grian wasn't allowed to just walk in. He takes full advantage of the wide open invitation. As he runs he takes a moment to leave the rain behind him, including what had soaked into his clothes and being.

The door slams behind him, Grian zipping his way up the stairs. It's dark in here, it always is. Grian has gotten used to walking in the dark, but it wasn't long ago when he used to have to do night vision spells to get around.

He nearly got to the first landing, feet moving too fast and tripping over the last step. He got cocky with the nature that had been helping him move quickly in the forest, but that had little influence when inside a building. He was about to reach out again to his magic to at least break his fall, when it was already broken for him.

There were hands under his arms, lifting him up easily and with haste. There was only one person (in this house) strong enough to do anything like that, and it's just the vampire that Grian was rushing to see. Grian is set up straight, huffing and puffing as he looks up at the vampire. The mage has to catch his breath, grabbing Mumbos arms and searching his face for any idea of why there was such a sense of urgency.

Grians heart drops to his stomach when the man is perfectly stoic, not something he is used to seeing from the man.

“I need your help,” He says, at least his voice betraying his anxiety. A small shake as he speaks, hushed and almost a whisper.

“I– I know, Mumbo. I’m he– here.” Grian voices back with a similar shake, but finally regaining his breath. “You never said what for–”

Grian didn't get a moment more before he felt the grip around his upper ribs tighten. He knew this was coming the moment he felt it, but it doesn't make it any more pleasant then when it does.

That is to say that on the first landing of the staircase there is a beautifully ornate, ancient looking mirror. Its full length, at least two meters tall, and Grian had almost ran into it several times over the last few months. Mumbo thought it hilarious the first few times, then after explaining his reasoning for keeping it there, Grian reluctantly adapted.

His reason being exactly this.

Mumbo dragged Grian along with him through the mirror, instantly sending a chill deep down into his bones. There was nothing to see here, his brian not processing something he's not supposed to see. Mumbo says it looks like a hallway or something, other mirrors lining the walls that he can step through as he pleases. If Grian had to assign a visual to the feeling of Mumbo's mirror travel power thing, he would say he sees a silver lining. A cold, dark, line of silver through his vision.

Mumbo said that made no sense at all.

Mumbo must've taken the closest mirror in the hallway, Grian feeling himself get blasted with warm air just as quick as it was taken. Usually, he wouldn't call the manor “warm” but after traveling with Mumbo, it's as good as fire. He feels lucky to have made himself mostly dry, knowing the “hallway” would've turned it all to ice.

“I hate when you–” Grian goes to complain, forgetting the urgency and pushing gently away from Mumbo. He rubs his hands up and down his arms as Mumbo interrupts him.

“Help me move h– this, please.” Mumbo stutters, stepping around Grian.

It's then when Grian finally realizes where he is, where he was taken too. The mirror that they had come from was to his right, a frosted looking thing. Old, made from materials that aren't used much anymore; left in the past for more, easier to gather materials.

Grian couldn't look away from the reflection that he could see. He himself, dressed in his nice cloak, something that was grabbed off the hook as he flew out the door. His shortish, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a partially undone braid on his nape. He still feels cold, a few shivers still racking his body every few seconds.

He's at least glad his magic kept him mostly dry, dry cold is easier than wet cold. As he starred he longed for his wings, knowing they could help warm him up. The tattoo on his back itches for it, but instead he found himself leaning closer to the vampire next to him.

Grian knows what he looks like intimately well, sharp features in everything he has. Tall and lanky, and all sharp edges. His fangs, which should be the sharpest part about him, hidden under his well groomed mustache. Mumbos outfit was the same everyday, with slight variations. A perfectly timeless suit that Mumbo insisted was something he's worn for as long as he can remember. Grian is skeptical, but doesn't question it, especially when it makes seeing him disheveled so much more interesting.

Right now it is a different kind of interesting though.

This room is much brighter, lanterns and candles having been lit well before Grian arrived. And, as much as Grian tries to see and focus on Mumbo's form in the mirror, it's a pointless endeavor. Vampire magic is something that Grian has a quite extensive knowledge about, even if it was mostly just through school. And being with Mumbo, he has learned even more than he ever thought possible. That being said, nobody knew why vampires were so blurry when reflected in a mirror.

It was like their whole being was smudged, like that section of the mirror was covered in grease. Grian unconsciously tries to look through different angles, but no matter, Mumbo was blurry.

It was then that Grian finally looked over at the man and was able to see him for what he was in the light. He was standing close to Grian, his face looking away. But Grian could see everything else. He was dressed down, a loose linen sleep shirt instead of his typically well pressed cotton button up. It was half tucked into his normal dress pants, of which only two of the buttons were done. Though Grian couldn't see his face, he could tell his hair was a bit of a mess. It looked slightly wet, as did patches of his clothes.

He found himself looking back to the mirror, the blurry blob of Mumbo no longer his major interest as much as the room as a whole.

Grian wasn't allowed in here often. Only a few times, and one of them was when he had accidentally wandered in here and experienced the full wrath of a vampire. The other times he had found himself in here was when he popped in for an unexpected visit.

The manor would be much too quiet. Not to say that it was ever particularly lively, but Mumbo had hobbies. Hobbies that typically had some noise to it, or at least Grian could feel the air for movement, following it until he found the vampire wherever he was.

There were some days the air was still, and the wood was full of sorrow. He would ask where to go and find his feet pulled to this room, where Mumbo would be sitting on the stiff round couch surrounding an unlit fireplace. Grian would call out his name from the door frame and be met with despondent silence. He would tiptoe closer, making sure the vampire was actually alive and despite his glassy unmoving eyes, Grians magic would determine that yes, yes he is. There was no response regardless, even when Grian resigned himself to curl up next to the man and wait out whatever was going on.

The vampire had been alive well longer than Grian, surely there would always be things he would never know about him.

After a few hours of boredom (there are only some many little magic tricks that can be done in his hands) Grian decided to look around a bit more, including trying to deduce what had gotten Mumbo in such a funk. That being said, Grian found the room a bit bland. There was the green painted door with an old looking mirror next to it, and then the sofa they were currently sitting on opposite that.

The fireplace looked old, and most likely unused. There were two windows on either side, both with undrawn, deep red curtains. They had to be on one of the upper floors, possibly even the highest room in the entire manor. Unfortunately the roof seemed to need a little work as it was just bare wooden beams. Hopefully the outside would look better; it must be since this room was still usable. Grian feels stupid when he finally looks up and over to see where Mumbos eyes were staring.

A painting. Something too big for a room of this size, it takes up a good majority of the wall. It had to be at least two and a half meters tall and a meter and a half wide. Just the frame alone was a work of beauty; golden flowers intricately designed and carved into the wood. There were poppies, lilacs and sunflowers chiseled around the whole entire thing. Around the bottom there were even some vines and leaves reaching down as if it was continuing to grow with time, showing age of an ageless object.

The painting itself, though, somehow put the frame to shame. It depicted that of a knight in shining armour, demanding reverence with no words. He had his helmet off and held under his arm, the other hand lifted up to shield his eyes from the sun basking him. He had an unearthly, heavily glow given from the light, his skin beautifully golden and scarred.

His smile bright and true looking at the observer, making it hard to look away. Grian remembers feeling the pull of his eyes, dark foresty green which in the streams of light turning almost emerald. The portrait had dark brown hair pulled back into intricate plaits and braids, not a single fly away out of place. His ears were slightly pointed, and teeth a little too sharp.

The knights armour was glinting silver with gold plating around the edges, whether real or painted Grian will never know. But as for the clothes that he wore, despite his shining green eyes, the colors were deep and vibrant reds. Clearly his allegiance was with a kingdom or nation of those colorings. Grian couldn't think of anyone around that he knows of like that, but there is no telling how long ago this painting was created.

It seems to have been painted in a forest type place, the foliage reached around the man. The space seemed to be carved for the man, the background not quite making sense, yet all it did was make the painting more intriguing to look at. It matched the subject's eyes while making his allegiance even more obvious and known.

Grian feels like he could reach up and touch the man, he almost feels like he wants to compliment the artist who captured such beauty so well. He was radiant, and incredible.

So why does Grians magic have such a difficult time flowing around it? It's not like he was planning on actually touching it with his magic, honest. It's just something was pulling at him so strongly he just assumed it must've been magic. It had been almost unconscious really, just to feel out the vibe of the area only to just pull back as if he was burned.

It didn't make sense, just adding to the mystery of the painting.

What made it worse was when Mumbo had finally roused from his state, and just brushed off all of Grians questions. Luckily the vampire didn't seem upset this time, especially when Grian had expressed his fascination with the painting and its beauty. Mumbo had a far away look in his eye when he had praised it, which prompted Grian to just not ask about it again. Mumbo blamed it on “sometimes getting lost in his memories” since he just has so many.

Grian didn't ask more about it after that, only just sitting with Mumbo when he caught him doing it. And he didn't try to look more into the painting either. Clearly Mumbo had a history with it, and he respected him too much to invade his past like that.

Except that leads him to now, standing beside Mumbo in the highest room in the manor. The one with a poor ceiling which Grian now knows was partially ruined to fit the painting in to begin with. The ceiling is leaking, the heaviest starting in the middle of the arched roof. There were other spots all over that Mumbo had put buckets under as well.

So far, the painting was the only thing not damp, but certainly it was only a matter of time.

“I need to get it out of here, or– I don't know just, help me move it?” Mumbo reiterated, stepping away from Grian and dragging an end table to the side of the fireplace. He used it to step up and start to nervously run his hands over the floral sculpted wood, like he didn't know where to even start.

It kicked Grian into action, not used to seeing the vampire so unsure. He knew that this painting, no matter its origin, was important to Mumbo and therefore important to him. Grian unclipped his cloak, letting it fall onto the wetted floor. The mirror realm chill had been chased off for the most part, but was now replaced with the chill of the room no longer sealed against the elements. A shiver ran down his spine as his back was exposed to the open air. But he didn't pay it any mind as he pushed his magic into his tattoo and felt his wings get released.

“We might not have to move it yet, hold on.” Grian voiced calmly, wanting to try and be the calming one. They will figure something out, even if Grian does have to pull out a teleportation spell.

Gently, Grian throws his wings out and thrusts them down to get some lift into the air. He hovers around the worst leak, seeing that the wood had definitely rotted in this location. It's honestly not great news for what his magic can do, but that doesn't mean he won't try.

True, his magic is rooted in the earth, and there are limits to that. But true magic is based on his wants and emotions. He can fix this, he has to, for Mumbo.

“I can maybe fix the roof for now to give us some time to move it, I’ll just need one moment.” Grian explains as he reaches up and touches the affected area. He can feel the warmth in his fingers and he concentrates his core magic. This is spell casting or potion making that uses the inherent magic of the world. This is using only the magic he has stored up in his mage body. It's a limited resource, but there's never been a better time to use it.

He's right, this wood is deader than dead. And convincing dead things to move is quite the hard task. But with water, most things are simple. And unluckily luckily, there is a surplus of that right now. He coaxes the water back into the wood, into the cells and between them. It's not bringing life back, but it's synthesizing it. With that, he puts a little magic into the piece itself and then molds the pieces together to close the rotten hole.

When he pulls back he takes the water and magic with him, making sure the wood holds before moving on. He could have moved the water away from this room until they moved the painting, but that would require much more magic and precision then he had the reserves to do. Er, well, he would've been able to do it, but this option, while a bit more out there, was probably for the best.

“I’ve never seen you do that…” Mumbo ended up voicing just as Grian finished up with the last leak.

“Yes you have?” Grian said with a confused lilt, pulling his hands back and wiping the sweat from his brow. “I do magic shit all the time, who do you think lights your candles?” He laughs, turning to face Mumbo.

The man was still perched next to his painting, one hand still grasping the side while the other was hanging limply by his side. He clenched it and unclenched it, thinking of his next words.

“Yes but– I didn't know you had that much core magic.” He lands on, taking his hand off the painting and rubbing them together with a sigh. “Sorry for calling you here at such a late hour for something so trivial then…”

Grian flies over to him, dropping onto the end table alongside Mumbo. It's a tight squeeze, but Grian doesn't mind.

“I’m happy to help, and this was important! Your pretty knight is very important, and I would help you with anything Mumbo. Really, it was just a slight scare. All I need is a nap and then I'm right as rain– er well. That's too soon maybe…” Grian spoke, shrugging his shoulders. True, he thought that Mumbo was calling him over for something more… lethal, then just an in danger of being ruined painting, but like he said, he would do just about anything for his only friend and little-bit-something-more than friend.

He hops down from the table and offers a hand for Mumbo to take. He does, jumping down beside the mage and not letting go of his hand. If anything he holds on harder. Grian returns the favor, holding on and expending a bit more magic to force the water off of Mumbo. It seeps out of his clothes and hair, flowing towards Grian. It's not a lot at all, but he flows it over and drops it into the nearest bucket.

“Thank you.” Mumbo hums, still sounding a bit awkward. But now he was staring down at Grain thinly veiled curiosity as well.

It was true, Mumbo had never truly seen the lengths of Grians power. He's never had to. He definitely talked about his job to the vampire though, told him about his day to day and the jobs he does for the people. Truly the job of a village mage is lack-luster. “Heal this baby” and “fix my oven” and “lift this curse,” not typically hard things to do. Honestly this was the most amount of work he has had to do in a while…

Grian knows he's powerful in his own right, probably more so than even his school was willing to classify him. But power isn't used day to day, so why flaunt something typically useless? That and it's best to never show everyone your cards right away. He will use it if he ever needs to, and never a moment before.

“How much do you know about curses?” Mumbo breaks him out of his thoughts. The vampire asked in a soft and almost pained voice.

“What do you need to know?” Grian follows along easily. The night has already been derailed and weird, and it can only get weirder. Maybe he should be more concerned about everything he has witnessed tonight…

Mumbo is typically so confident in the things he does in his own house. Sure, he was awkward at most given times. But the way he moves around this house is as if he was living here for hundreds of years, and truly, he has. Right now he was hesitant, not something Grian was used to him being when concerned with things like Grian himself.

Grian knew what he was asking though; what Mumbo needed to know had to be a need, not a want. He didn't want to know things about curses, if he did then he would read a book. He would try and find the information himself instead of boring Grian with the questions. Grian knew the vampire well. Even if he would tell Mumbo anything the man wanted to know and never find it boring.

If Mumbo was asking him something, with such wide and curious eyes, it was simply a need.

“You're very powerful, aren't you?” Mumbo asks, eyes looking over Grians shoulder to avoid looking in his eyes. It makes Grian laugh a little, preening under the words of the much more powerful vampire before him.

“Depends on in which way.” Grian hums back, raising his hand again (the one not holding Mumbos) and lifting the dampness off the floors, walls and couch. Like the moisture from Mumbos being, it flows to his hand, wrapping around him like a glove. He plays with it for a moment, the water sapping his heat away turning it lukewarm, before gently pointing his finger lazily to the bucket and depositing it.

“You know where I came from, getting sent to Watcher Mastery Academy so young was hard. I wasn't welcome at home, showing magic at that age. I did well in school there though, everything kinda came easy to me.” Grian turned back to the vampire, tilting his head as he explained. It's not the first time Mumbo heard this information, but he supposes there are a few things that maybe he could explain in more detail.

One thing he did know about Mumbo was that even though he had been alive for hundreds of years, he certainly didn't live like that. It's something he found out within the first few weeks that he knew him. He was sheltered, and while certainly not naive, he didn't know a lot of people. Not because he outlived them, but because he never talked to anyone.

He stayed in this manor for way longer, much longer than Grian probably even knew about. He had his books of course, an expansive library that Grian was horribly impressed by. It was a place that anyone could spend hours in, and Mumbo assured him that every book in there was a good read; he's read them. But Grian found out quickly that none of the books were very modern, as of about one hundred years or so.

Mumbo had confirmed himself that he wasn't a people person, and that he preferred being alone. Grian felt lucky in that moment to have been let in then… It felt as good as Grian had wanted it too though. Something around Mumbo always felt wrapped in restraint, something resigned. Sometimes Grian would want to call it sadness. But when they were together, Mumbo looked brighter, happier, and Grian let everything about the aura go.

“Curses, bindings and thralls is a tough class, one of the last we have to take. Also one of the only classes that is a pass or fail, no inbetween. Either you get it, or you don't and can’t get your Mastery. You’ll be shocked to find that I passed it first try, not that I’m bragging.” Grian shrugged, his chest feeling a bit tight with insecurity, but he doesn't let it taint his words. His accomplishments are worth being mentioned, even if the voice in his head told him he sounds annoying.

That, and also it was very clear that Mumbo had no idea such a school existed in the first place. So what sounded like bragging to him, was just information to Mumbo. Once again, Grian has never asked mumbo his specific age, but he knows that at least his particular school had been running for at least two and a half centuries.

Grians school was relatively modern, keeping up with magical trends and being progressive about political topics. It's no secret that Grian is a hybrid, and true he chooses to mostly hide it, but it is not a requirement to live like it used to be. Never when he was on campus, but the world was a different place. It was no surprise to Grian when Mumbo was a bit wary of strangers; vampires were one of the last accepted beings. There's no telling the discrimination that he must have suffered through the years, Grian knows it well enough.

Grian is doing his best to undo something that the world has proven time and time again to Mumbo. He's just glad that Mumbo is pretty receptive.

That being said, thralls are a touchy subject. He remembers a few vampires having to leave class during that particular lecture. Mumbo doesn't seem to flinch though, or if he does, Grian doesn't see it.

“I’m as powerful as the wind and air around me, tell me what you need and I can help you however I can.” Grian smiles up at the man, leaning into his space as they breathe the same air.

Mumbo hesitates again, and Grian oh so patiently waits. He watches his eyes fade to somewhere else, not dissimilar to when Grian catches him looking at the painting. He breathes in deeply then sighs through his nose slowly. Grian wishes he can read minds, or well… he probably could but that's not the point. Mumbo is thinking, mulling though something that Grian isn't privy to.

“Did–” Mumbo starts suddenly, and stops just as suddenly. Grian keeps his face open and receptive, letting Mumbo take his own pace. He has a feeling that this was something that he needed to pay attention to. “Did I ever tell you about how I became a vampire?” Mumbo says in an almost whisper.

Grian feels his heart stutter in his chest, feeling Mumbos breath over his face. That certainly was not where he was expecting this to go. Not that he had any ideas of where it would, but this was certainly not it.

Grian likes to pride himself on his wit and the head on his shoulders. He survived living from forest to forest, traveling with no companion except himself. There were many binds he was able to get himself free from, with both magic and not.

He is not a stupid mage.

Grian knows better than to ask a vampire that question. Much like how you'd never ask anyone their deepest trauma. True, there are plenty of vampires that were turned consensually, there were also plenty of vampires who were born that way. But for those who weren't… And it's really not a chance that any sane person would be willing to take.

Mumbo was an old vampire, that's for sure. Magical creatures are something Grian had once obsessed over. A required class turned into a fixation as he quickly developed a want to know everything that had to do with all magical beings.

Vampires were one of the most well documented species, even the oldest tomes and scrolls that survived the Twin Wars referenced them quite a bit. Unfortunately, the most widespread and well known fact is that vampires are dangerous. Dangerous and powerful.

Even the young ones were a formidable foe, riddled with instincts that they can't control yet. Their sires were willing to protect them if it meant their death sentence. All around it was typically smartest to stay away from that age group.

But if the young ones were dangerous, the older ones just ended up being terrifying. If only because they chose to do some of the things that are reported to. The older they get typically the more powerful they get. They refine their abilities like incredible speed and stamina, this makes hunting for blood and sport that much more easy for them.

The blood drinking was a point of contention for a lot of folks, for a long time it was the main reason vampires were thought of as animals instead of people. The need to consume the life force of others deemed foul, and disgusting. It took many years for that ideology to change. After all, they didn't get a say in their creation. And those who chose to do evil with the gifts they've been given is a tale as old as time itself.

Most vampires grow into some kind of magic, and there is no shortage of what kind of magic it could. No matter what anyone could think of, someone probably has it. Grian once knew a vampire who was really good at cooking normal food. She couldn't eat it, but she was really good at it.

The older a vampire gets, the stronger they get. The more magic they end up collecting, whether related to their original stuff or not.

Mumbo is one of the stronger vampires Grian has ever met. His magical means of travel confounds Grian in a way that no magic ever has before. It's expansive, and something that he can't even wrap his own magic around. Mumbo could travel anywhere he connected his little mirrors to, he could go anywhere. And that should be scary, but to Grian it's interesting and intriguing.

A vampire that could go anywhere at any time, for any reason. Grian didn't know where Mumbo got his blood supply. Er, well, he knows where it came from recently, but that wasn't all the time. Drinking a mage's blood was not a great idea all of the time due to the high concentration of magic. But the fading bruise around Grians neck right now shows that the vampire isn't due for more anytime soon.

Back to the matters at hand, Grian silently shakes his head. He won't lie and say he had never thought about Mumbos past. He was a bit of a legend around the township. The outside of the manor resembles more of a castle than that of a simple creature with old money. Nobody knew what truly lived in the manor, or where it really came from.

Grian had heard stories both from drunken men at the bar, as well as Mumbo himself, that people have tried to explore the property before. Dumb teens who smashed a window and broke in, Mumbo deciding whether it was in his best interest to scare the shit out of them, or risk more property damage. It ranged case by case which position he took. Most called it magically haunted and left. But some of the stories the men told talked of a voracious beast that killed more than it thought.

Though he had never seen it, Grian has no doubt of the being that Mumbo could be if he wanted to. He had almost seen that first time they met, but Grian isn't blind to the being he could be as well.

“Maybe we should sit down,” Grian says with a calming smile.

“Lets.” Mumbo swallows, letting Grian take his arm and lead him over to the dried couch. He pushes the vampire down first, plopping down under his arm after him. It gets a small smile, both looking at each other in the eyes.

That is until Mumbos eyes trail away and up to the painting. Grian follows, now both sitting in silence staring at what is something much more. Maybe Grian should've pried more into the painting, more into what it means to Mumbo. He didn't want to scare the man off, or gain his ire, but now sitting here he feels a bit dumb for not thinking that something deeper was going on here.

“Around fifteen hundred years ago, the first of the Twin Wars was being waged in the east. I was young,” Mumbo suddenly starts, dropping an absolute bomb on Grian immediately. He keeps his shock to himself, but internally, Grian would've never guessed Mumbo to have been around during the wars that ended wars.

“Maybe, twelve? I’m not too sure anymore.” His eyes never waver from the painting. “I was unfortunately born into the royal northern court, the youngest of ten. I was never supposed to see the throne, nor did I want it. A time of war gods, it was–” Mumbo rambles, voice wavering. “The first war ended when I was seventeen, I was now the youngest of four, and my mother was queen. There were a few good years, rebuilding and rehabilitating.

“If you didn't know, the second war started because of a coup.” Grian didn't know, but that's because most of the documentation of this time period was destroyed. It was the kind of war that left nothing, and ate everything it saw. “An inside coup that resulted in the northern and western kingdoms to collapse, eastern behind them and then southern ate itself from the inside out.

“‘The war to end all wars’ ended everything there was. I saw the throne for probably six full moon cycles, and then–” He stopped with a shudder, swallowing thickly. Grian leaned his head on his shoulder, pulling his arm into his lap and wrapping himself around it. He doesn't know if it helped, Mumbo didn't move or change much…

He takes the moment himself to take some deep breaths. Grian has lived through a lot; more than what most people would be expected too. He's not young anymore, he's not particularly old either. He was abandoned young, hand picked to be on a pedestal he had little business protecting. Classes were easy, tests were not.

Prestige has no room for wants.

Grian didn't know he had wants until relatively recently. Didn't act on them until even later. He wanted his Mastery, if only to get work and practice legally. But he didn't want the pressure, he didn't want the extra attention with the High Mages and he didn't want the punishments for failing either. He didn't understand when he was young why he had to go through the things he was. Grian thought they were being kind, when his parents were not.

Running away was hard. For many reasons. The top one is that they were certainly still looking for him. He didn't leave under the best of circumstances, if you count getting his Mastery papers and then flying out of the office. He flew and flew until his wings hurt and he stopped hearing the shouts behind him.

He found his way here, Givloree, and it was small. He had never heard of this township before and he was forced to know all the villages and towns in the southwestern kingdom. Either he was far enough away, or this place is so small it flew under their radar. No matter which way, this was a perfect place to lay low.

He had trouble finding friends, not that he needed any. He didn't really have many before, and he was fine so maybe they weren't all that was cracked up to be.

That is until he stumbled on the manor on the hill. And the vampire inside, made him realize that actually, knowing people, loving people, is actually not that bad. It's just the company he used to hold were not the right kind of people.

And as it turns out, he's found himself in the presence of ancient royalty.

A king.

Somehow, Grian feels like he should've known.

“Every heir born, no matter their place in line, was given a section of their own guard from birth. I had some lovely company with them, great people through and through. They protected me with their lives…” The far off look in Mumbo's eyes was back, still looking through the painted knight. “When the first war ended, the kingdom celebrated, some would say too early. But everyone was invited, at least who was left. One of my personal guards had a son, he had lost his mother. But he turned that pain into passion, and wanted to follow in his fathers footsteps. He too was only ten.

“We hit it off though, I was still a bit too young to understand er, really care about, a distinction like that. He just wanted to play swords, and my father, the king, forbade it. But he saw our fondness, and sent him for training with his fathers permission. He graduated early, usurped his own father, and became my personal guard by the time we were sixteen. The only reason he was spared from war was because I took him on as my personal guard. It made his father not so lucky.

“He saw my everything. From loss to firsts to the end, both times. He was my everything. Is, my everything.” Mumbo slowly turns to look at Grian, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. That is until he blinks them free, two falling gently down his cheeks. He swallows again as Grian drinks him in, his hand reaching up unconsciously to swipe one of them away with his thumb.

Grian feels his own emotions welling up, able to catch on now to who the portrait was of. Mumbos first love, his protector. Grian feels nothing but sorrow for him, knowing the story is not yet finished but knowing that it is going to have to turn. There is no jealousy, there is no envy. There is nothing covetous in this story.

“His name was Scar, and we did something very, very stupid.” Mumbo whispers, shutting his eyes as if they will protect him from his own memory. Grian dared not speak, lest Mumbo lose his motivation.

“Back then, magic was a thing to possess, not to share. If you had it, you keep it for yourself and for power. There were books, of course, to teach it to those who didn't have it. But even those were protected and sealed away. The most powerful among us were played as pawns in war. ‘Who had the stronger mage,’ ‘who will trade who for who,’ ‘this mage has a vampire who is willing to thrall,’ it was exhausting. Then, they all banded together against us.

“The second war was more magic taking out everyone else including themselves. It didn't matter what they did or who got killed, that was the point. They wanted a complete do over with the world, and had the power to do it. It became clear after a while that if you wanted to survive, you needed to run and hide. Or–”

“Oh Mumbo…” Grian slips out accidentally.

“We were too young to know that dying isn't the worst outcome of war, living is.” Mumbo shudders, leaning further back on the couch. He runs one of his hands down the side of his face, stopping with his hand over his mouth. Grian reached up and put his hand over Mumbos, slowly inching his way to lace their fingers together.

“What happened then, Mumbo?” Grian whispers, pulling their hands away from his face. The vampire sighed again, now looking anywhere but at the portrait .

“Scar wasn't completely human, he was a being of magic. Something fae like that even he didn't know much about. His mother had died giving birth to him, and his dad was too heartbroken to really tell stories over her. But– gods, as Scar got older his magic was something to behold. Beautiful, and bright like sunshine on your skin.

“He was like you.” He looks back up to the painting, a glint of something in his eyes. Grians heart feels like it's in his throat, is that what Mumbo thinks of him too? “A way with the magic inherent in the world. It's like he was favored by the sun and moon.

“There was nothing interesting about me, the youngest human prince that was never going to see the throne. Magic interested me, but I was scared of pretty much everything that moved. War tore through my family, my kingdom since the moment I was born. All I wanted was to live quietly, in peace.

“We thought we had made some friends, people who would protect us until the war was over. Once I was crowned I made sure to spread the word that my kingdom was against the war, and that we would strive for peace and resolution. We were seen as a safe haven, a place to go for those who had lost everything. Everyone was welcome, no matter where they came from. Ideologies changed under my rule, people were coming together. Trust between species was coming back and the war seemed to be reaching its peak, ready for an end.

“We trusted the wrong people. We were asleep one night when they attacked the castle. I’m not even sure which side it was, I had made enemies of both of them by the end. A place free from their dumb war that we wanted no part in. They took that as standing up for the wrong thing, and thus they would take us out on their own.

“We woke up as the castle shook, smoke filled the rooms and rubble started falling from the ceiling. Scar took my hand, his sword, and we ran. He didn't care for such honors as dying for what one believed in. He said ‘dying is not an honor, it's too easy to do.’” Mumbo had a small smile on his face remembering the mans words, despite the upsetting nature of what was going on.

“We got cornered,” his smile dropped. “A mage, a vampire, and a fae. We fought what we could but we were the powerless ones, and they knew that as soon as they recognized who I was. I remember their smiles the most, how excited they were when they caught us. Not once did I ever think that either side of the war were monsters but in that moment… I think I might have understood.

“The fae said they wanted a word, er, council with me. Not only with me, but my sister before me and then my brother before her. They had wished to talk over the war and how we weren't doing enough, and that our own militia had destroyed their forest or something. I don't remember everything, their blame was misplaced. War destroys everything, I've made peace that I did everything that I could with the things I was given.

“The group all blamed me, somehow, for it all. I thought they were just going to kill me, which would be fine I suppose given the fact that killing the king might make them feel better. But I remember watching their heads turn to Scar, and my heart racing faster than it ever has.

“They said they wanted me to know the pain that the rest of the world had felt during the war. They grabbed him, the mage and fae, ripping him away from me while the vampire held me still. We fought with all we had but there's nothing I could do.

“We were in the portrait hall when they found us, dragging Scar to the middle. There was something in the faes eyes, something golden and evil. He laughed as Scar screamed, swirling magic around him until he completely disappeared before my eyes. I watched as he fought it with his own natural magic, but it was no use. His very soul was whisked off to the nearest wall, sticking itself into the nearest object.

“I didn't even get the time to understand, or mourn my own loss before I felt unimaginable pain. At first I thought it was just the pain of losing the light in my whole world, but my neck burned, my body burned. It's like I could feel everything, all at once. If their goal was to make me feel the world's pain, they got what they wanted. It wasn't until I woke up I understood what happened.

“They laughed at me, at the instincts they forced upon me. They forced me to live in my own castle under thrall for years and years. I’d walk through the portrait hall unable to look up from the ground, not only because of the pain of seeing him, but also because they wouldn't let me.

“I spent years defeated and alone, it wasn't until the war was coming to an end that I ended up being set free. Not out of kindness, nothing they had ever done to me was kind. They used to make me drink animal blood for entertainment, see how long I could go without any food at all. It's not fair–!” Mumbo suddenly shouts, blowing up and showing more emotion then Grian was prepared for. It was shocking, and seemingly out of nowhere. Mumbo pulls his hand from Grians and slams it against the couch cushion.

“I didn't do anything. Scar didn't do anything!” He looks over to Grian with wild, tear filled eyes. “We didn't do anything…” And just like that all fight leaves him, Grian whipping between his own emotions. He blinks and feels his own twin tears fall over his cheeks, paying them no mind.

“No, it wasn't fair at all.” Is all Grian can whisper, taking it all of Mumbo's story. How could somebody given such a gift of magic do something so horrible? He's trying to remind himself that it was a long, long time ago. And most likely all of those involved are long, long ago. It was a different time, a different way of looking at the world around.

Nothing much was known, or left, after the wars… Grian thinks Mumbo might be the only one who knows the history of what truly happened. And yet, Grian only wishes that he didn't.

“When they had to flee, the final occupation was just taking out anyone that they found alive, they left me behind. My last order was to buy them time, but thralls only work in close proximity. The moment I was let go I went to Scar, I wanted to be killed there. There was broken glass and broken mirrors lining the floors, destroyed from the windows and ceiling. I was being followed, but I just– I needed to– I needed him…

“When I got there I just, seeing him again, and knowing that he was in there… I think I just broke. I was cornered again by the Watchers purgers, in the same place I was cornered before, and I just couldn't handle that.

“I don't know what I did, I can't remember. Just, one moment I was staring up at my light, and then I never stopped. But we were here, and I was covered in blood, and everything hurt… I must have mirror traveled, taking Scar with me. My adrenalin I just– I ripped him off the wall and took him with me. This is the manor of one of my cousins, they had me kill everyone in here as one of my first thrall missions. I connected the mirrors without knowing…

“I've never left. I hung up Scar and watched the world rebuild and come back to life around me. The town below us only popped up within the last hundred years or so. Did you know they were originally named Boatem? They had to switch it cause there is no port here, so they switched names with one of the ports.” Mumbo tried to smile, so Grian tried right back. He doesn't try for long, letting his smile drop with a long suffering sigh.

“I know it's a long shot, and you don't have to say yes after everything I told you, but if you know anything about curses, I would owe you my life.” He looks from Grian to Scar, the tear tracks on his face enough for Grian to already know his answer.

He would do it even if Mumbo wasn't crying. He would do it if he didn't know Mumbo at all.

But he does, and he knows more about his past than literally anyone else alive. At least for now, that is.

“Mumbo,” Grian calls softly, the vampire reluctantly looking away and back to the mage. Grian lifts his hands to help the man and his journey to move his head. He places his hand on his cheek and caresses under Mumbos eye with the pad of his thumb. “Words cannot describe the agony I feel for you and Scar for the past you two share. Life has been unfair to you, terrible and horrific. You didn't deserve any of that. Neither of you deserved that.”

Grian pulls his head forward until their foreheads connect, just holding him there to breathe the same air. Breathe each other in and breathe out something the same, something together. Together missing one.

“I’m not fae,” Grian starts quietly, voicing his thoughts on how he will attempt this rescue. “Their curses are different from regular magical ones. Could also be a simple binding, or something similar.”

“Can you at least look?” Mumbo whispers, opening his eyes to look into Grians.

“Oh my love, he will be standing in this room by day break, or so help me. There is nothing that will come between me, and doing anything for you. Here,” Grian says, finally pulling back. He pulls his hand back with a final carsess before standing up with a stretch. Mumbo stays sitting, which Grian is glad for. The vampire deserves a break, and to just sit back and enjoy the show, or possible lack thereof.

Grian turned his back to him, his wings dragging low and setting over part of Mumbo's lap. Before him is the painting that holds an entirely new light. A new meaning. The knight, now known as Scar, his face held something darker than what he saw before. His armour was scratched and well used, rings under his eyes and hair, while beautiful, could probably use a wash.

Now that he was entirely focused on this painting, and he was looking for it, he could feel the hum of strong magic just underneath. Breathing out Grian fills his senses with his own magic, buzzing and humming in his ears in a comforting and familiar way

Typically, bound or cursed objects have a certain glow to them. Like golden, sunshine sheen rippling across the object when looking really close at it. Strong magical signatures directly equate to the life force it is symbiotic with. A bound soul is the living thing keeping the magic going, and the other way around. Of course, the original caster adds a bit of themselves to jump start it, but a curse with an alive bound soul, is a self sustaining magic. It could go on for as long as the soul lives.

That still means though that all curses and bindings have an expiration date in the beginning, given that most curses don't have something living bound to it. It is a very slow halflife, on a normal curse, given that some objects themselves also have inherent magical signatures.

All the curses that he has been tasked with breaking have been strong, solid, non-self sustaining connections. Something easy to hook his claws into and find its weak spot. A place where the original caster missed something, a backdoor or kink in the line. He's never seen a curse that was fading.

Until now, that is.

Fading curses are rare, as are most binding curses. That is, the only way for a binding curse to start fading is when the soul gives up. The curse relies on its magic, and when the soul is in such bad shape it stops producing magic, or it holds it back, then they both get taken out.

It's the end goal of all binding curses. What the caster fully intends to inflict upon the soul. One day they will give up and fade away slowly, and sadly, with not a soul remembering them in the world…

He hopes his breath doesn't shake as much as he feels like it does. He can't help but blink and squint at the painting to try and see something that just isn't there. The sun golden magic isn't alive, isn't there, but is replaced with a faint silver pulse that Grian has only ever read about in the dustiest of tomes.

Grian has only read of fading curses, and the longest he remembers a soul living was a few hundred years. Somehow, this soul has lasted well over a thousand years. This curse was almost expired, there's no way that Mumbo could have known about, well, anything that has to do with curses. But also how faded Scar was becoming. With any luck he would never know, because Grian wasn't going to stop until the knight was in front of him fully.

Grian walks forward, his wings falling from Mumbos lap and dragging slightly on the floor. He finds himself stepping up onto the table that they had previously been on before. Grian lifts his hand to gently put his fingers on the side of the frame. He needs to feed the curse, he knows, before he can relieve it.

It has a few different effects, first being that the fading silver turns a bright golden hue. Grian was expecting it, but it didn't mean it wasn't any less shocking. The second being the humming of the soul behind the curse. It was like a jolt of lightning striking his core, starting with something stunned, and ending with something, very very sad.

It was something close to horrifying knowing that it was a living soul making those emotions. Something alive that hasn't been able to talk for centuries now able to emote through Grian and Grian alone. Not forever, not forever.

Grian makes it a point to nudge himself at the feeling, trying his best to send any form of comfort he can. Anything to let Scar know that he was here to help, not trap him even longer. The knight doesn't respond in any way that particularly matters, so Grian pivots to just breaking the binding.

As suspected, fae magic is different from mage. This specific magic felt crude, and fast, like something not thought out all the way. Grian had known people with fae magic and it was rarely done in this sort of way. The Faeries being ancient creatures who took their time meticulously creating nets and overlapping webs of intricate spells. They were said to weave spells in and out of each other that made others dizzy when trying to unpick them. He remembers a festival that he attended where there was a game to try and unravel a few fae spells to win something or another. That booth was largely considered a scam, and Grian had no interest.

That being said, this Fae was clearly playing fast and loose. This wasn't a spell concocted from witty thinking and years of wisdom to draw on, it was a spell created from hasty emotions and barely any thought. It took barely a moment for Grian to find holes in the blanket of magic, like any other time he's done this. The only difference is that when he tries to needle his way in and dismantle it, something is resisting. Each layer covered the holes in the layer below it, and Grian kept running into place where they were covered a bit too well.

It was an insight to how fae magic truly worked, as Grian had never actually seen it himself. It was an understanding of its strength and why they are so liberal to use it. Grian supposes that if he too had unlimited access and ironclad strength, he would use it too. Maybe ironclad was the wrong choice of words, for multiple reasons. But the point still stands.

Grian shakes his head lightly to break his mind from those thoughts, he needs to focus fully on this. If he loses his train of thought for too long then the curse may start to wind itself back together. And the big risk with that is that it might knit itself over Grian, binding him to it as well. It'll have a hard time doing that, but it would certainly be annoying to have to fight off two points of magic at the same time.

At some point Grian had reached up to put both his hands on the frame, putting more of himself and his magic into it. He makes sure to plant his feet, encouraging the world to lend him what it has. Curse breaking is not his Mastery, he can use all the help he can get.

It's when he's starting to break out in a sweat that he feels something nudge him back. Something fae in feeling but much less hostile than the binding curse. It takes Grian a moment to realize what it must be.

Encouragement, but not from the world. From the victim. Scar, his soul, offering solace with whatever he has left. He must have finally felt and realized what was going on, however that must have felt. And while he clearly didn't have any magic to spare, he could at least remind Grian that he was there. He was there to be saved.

It was certainly enough for Grian. Searching and scanning for what had to be the last thread holding this curse together. It had to be there somewhere and Grian was just missing it. His hands and feet were feeling numb, pulling at the magic around that was waning the moment he started. Yet he needed to ask for more, he still wasn't done yet. He can't fucking find the last hole, and he will be damned if this is how it ends.

Scar is holding on tight, but even he feels like sadness is pulling at him again. He can't let this go, he will let it consume him before he does.

That when he feels something touch his face, a hand cupping his cheek. And while his eyes were busy looking at magical threads and golden light, he could never mistake the feeling of Mumbo's touch. And Grian doesn't know why he didn't think of it before; with such strong vampire magic, the rest of this should be a breeze.

It takes a bit of concentration, but he's able to sap off of Mumbo and strengthen himself. It's like a breath of fresh air, a weight being lifted off of his shoulders. There is certainly something foul tasting in it though, using magic that was not his own nor something he was able to coax and ask for. Mumbo can't give his magic over, Grian has to take it himself. And while it was freely given, that didn't matter in the way of mage magic.

He can't lie and say it doesn't feel good though; a piece of Mumbo openly given away to him. And that of a vampire with such unbidden strength. He has never felt anything like it before.

It's enough of a push though, his eyes clear and his hands gain their feeling back. He's able to search with a clearer head, finding the kink almost simply. Something small, easy to forget about when making such a binding. Grian grabs ahold of it with as much strength as he can muster, and pulls with just as much.

Something snaps, and the gold turns putrid green. Decaying around him leaving a bright green soul behind.

Grian feels like he's standing alone in a black room, everything falling apart around him. He watches, making sure he missed nothing tying the soul here. He watches and watches as more and more threads fall way, revealing more and more of the soul. Until finally, a fading form is left behind.

A tall, familiar figure, dressed down in a pair of green silk sleeping trousers and a loose linen shirt. His hair is lazily tied back with several long pieces falling out over his shoulders. He looks tired, large bags under his eyes and a small slump to his shoulders. But, his smile is practically blinding. The moment he meets Grians eyes, he mouths a single sounding “thank you,” before darkness engulfs them both.

***

Grian came to at the sound of a sob, shooting up and immediately grabbing his head. He finds that the sob didn't come from him, but it probably should given the shooting pain zapping through his skull. He used too much magic, borrowing from the world and other beings was, is, dangerous work. He tapped into reserves that he probably shouldn't have, and now he's going to pay the price for it for a little while. Hopefully the villageship can live without their mage for a few weeks…

The crying continues with the sound of some rustling clothes. He continues to breathe through the waves of pain radiating through his head. He would rather still be sleeping, why the hell was he conscious right now? Grian almost caves, and tries to use even more magic to heal himself a little bit, just to ease the headache. It wouldn't be the smartest move, but it might at least knock him out again.

There's still some shuffling going on beside him, the crying seems to have calmed down. Now whispers of something that Grian can't make out. Not that he would want to, there are other things to focus on right now. He knows he's on Mumbo's couch, knowing the scent of the cushions well enough. It's the other voice in the room he doesn't understand. Typically, the other person in Mumbo's house is him. Only their voices bouncing off the walls in response to each other. So who was the other voice?

It's then that Grian feels something, or someone, touch his hand. Gently pulling it away from his head and lacing their fingers together. The fingers are long, and slender, and warm in a way that Mumbo very rarely ever is. He's about to chance a glance at the stranger, risking opening his eyes and heightening his pain, but instead the hand in his grows warmer. Magic flows into him through the connection, clearing up all of his aches and pains quicker than any enchanted potion ever could.

His eyes flutter in relief, a hum warm in his throat as he basks in the feeling of strong magic replenishing his own. It is not every day that someone is willing to share magic like this, it's usually reserved for the most trusted of friends and lovers. It's something that can be turned around on the giver all too easily. Grian was taught to never share…

This magic is very obviously fae in nature too. It should set off every one of Grians carefully crafted alarm bells. But he finds himself relaxing more and more as hes warmed from the inside out. He's inside Mumbos manor, and he heard him here earlier, and with the vampire here, nothing bad could ever happen to Grian.

All good things must come to a final point though, the warm blanket retreating softly until he's left just feeling like himself. Not the worst thing to be, but he can't help but pity himself for the huff he lets out. He gets a huff in return, though this one is more like a laugh. It reminds him that there is someone else here, someone clearly kind in nature.

Grian takes in one more breath before blinking his eyes open. The world is blurry at first, Grian having to blink a few times until it was all clear again. He was right, he was on Mumbo's couch, specifically in his special portrait room. It wasn't like he forgot the events that led him up to this moment, but once it hit him again, he certainly did feel a bit of a shock.

He snaps his head to the side, almost going nose to nose with someone. Wide eyes looking into equally wide eyes. Except these eyes were a beautifully striking emerald green.

He had done it. It worked.

“Oh my Void…” Grian felt his lips utter, a smile over taking his features despite the awkward distance. “It's you…”

“I don't believe we have ever met before,” The man smiled, his voice a soft and even medium timbre. “How lovely it is to meet you.”

Grian was speechless, he just didn't know what to say. He did the seemingly impossible and is now faced with the real product. And such a handsome picture perfect product he is.

Grians eyes flick over the man's shoulder, a familiar face sitting back and just watching them. Mumbo, who looked a little worse for wear, was sitting on his knees just behind Scar, barely inches away. He had tear tracks down his face, red rimmed eyes and mussed up hair. If he looked messed up before, now made him look down right pitiful.

But as soon as their eyes lock, Mumbo chokes on a sob and smiles. He surges forwards regardless of Scar and snatches Grians arm, almost pulling him off the couch. With a short shout, Grian is squished against Scar and Mumbo throws his arms around them both and holds on maybe a tad too tight.

Grian doesn't care though; he couldn't care less if he tried. He just throws his free hand around them, and holds them just as tight. If not tighter.

“Thank G– Just, thank you.” Mumbo cries, Grian feeling a lump in his throat at the sound. Mumbo wasn't a crier, but supposed everyone has their limits.

“Any time, love. Any time.” He whispers back, pulling in somehow even more. It's then that Grian feels a different hand wrap around his waist.

“I suppose I should thank you as well,” Scar starts, resting his temple on Grians shoulder and pulling him close. “Not only for saving me, but for keeping my love company while I was gone. You've done more for us than anyone has in our entire lives. We owe you everything.” Grian feels a shiver run down his spine at the way Scar speaks so close to his ear.

“I wish I knew sooner–” Grian starts, but is stopped was a gasp as Scar presses a kiss to Grians shoulder.

“Nothing one could do, could be enough to repay your kindness. But please accept the gratitude of the highest Knight of the Northern Kingdom Killalrea.” And then he raises Grians hand and presses a kiss to the back. Gods does he talk with a regal gait. Like every word is thought out and well put, a way of talking forgotten about given time. With a shuddering voice, Grian tries to quell the knight's words, but he's stopped before he can even start.

“I haven't been a king in a long, long time,” Mumbo whispers, pulling his head out of Scars shoulder to look up at Grian. A king kneeling before the mage. “But on my kingdom and legacy, I owe you my life, Grian. Say the word and it's yours.”

Grians head is spinning as he looks at the sight before him. Two beautiful men at his feet, begging his thanks for something that was never a question in Grians mind. He almost, almost feels like he's been transported to their time. A time before that's only been passed down orally when kings and queens played with people's lives and unicorns were thought to be myth. A time when Mumbo was a king, Scar a knight, and Grian the royal mage and they all lived happily ever after.

“I– Mumbo of course. Scar–” Grian breathes, leaning forward to make himself feel more on level with them.

“How lovely my name sounds on your lips–” Scar hums, speaking against Grians hand. Before Grian can even scoff at such cheesy, yet sultry words, Mumbo finally pulls him the rest of the way off the couch and onto his knees to capture his lips.

Grian wants to get closer, closer, but is caught by Scar. His front totally pressed against his, Scar hand gripping his waist tightly as he lifts his head away from his hand and back onto his shoulder. This time though he leans in even closer and presses his lips against Grian neck, making Grian gasp which Mumbo takes full advantage of. His fangs press against Grians lips and tongue, something that never failed to make Grian shiver.

With the addition of Scar, Grian is left at the mercy of two lovers who stood the test of time. He uses his free hand to run though Mumbo's hair, trying his best to tame the wild mess from before. Surprisingly, Mumbo pulled back quicker than Grian expected and is used to. But before he can voice his confusion, Grian is pulled back until he's fully facing Scar.

He's got a sly smirk on his face, Grian swallowing almost guilty looking at him. The painting didn't even touch the light that was Scar. His skin had a golden, glowing hue despite the pinched lashes that were dispersed about. He had freckles, barely perceivable things dusted over his nose. His lashes were long, kissing his cheeks as he blinked. His hair, while a bit of a mess right now, was the perfect length for Grian to run his hands though, which he was itching to do. His pointed ears were tipped up with interest, and Grian couldn't fathom a guess at why.

“How can I ever repay you for such a gift of being here right now?” Scar smiles openly, and Grian can't wait to find out how often he does that. His eyes flick to Mumbo over Scar's shoulder, just completely making sure that everyone was on board.

Mumbo ends up throwing him a sweet, fang filled smile in return. It's then that Grian pauses for a moment to just mentally take in what is happening right now. His eyes flick back and forth between the two men. He wasn't exactly sure how long he had been passed out, and exactly what Mumbo and Scar had talked about during that time. It seemed like this had to be somewhat planned in his favor… In the back of his mind he has more questions, like Scars thoughts on him being a mage, and Mumbo being a vampire. A similar looking trio, if he remembers correctly…

But clearly this isn't the time, and while it's a thought, its a distant one as Grian lazily looks back to Scar.

“All gifts are freely, and happily, given,” Grian starts, just to see the shining spark in the faes eyes. “But I can think of a few things we can do to get to know each other. I've heard so much about you, after all.”

Scar throws his head back with a bright and brilliant laugh. It sounds like chime bells, and wind rustling the leaves, and Grian doesn't think he's ever heard anything so lovely.

It feels like all of his life has been leading up to this moment. Like something was missing within his being, something he didn't even feel until just this moment. But now that it's filled, now that he can touch, and hear, and smell and taste it, he will never be able to let it go. Let them go.

When Scar looks back at him, Grian is the one to finally pull him forward until they lips meet. It's filled with much less desperation than when Grian kissed Mumbo, but it's perfect. More than perfect, actually.

It's certainly not how he expected the night to go, but he certainly can't be mad about it. Everything about this moment was out of Grians depth, something that he has never studied for or taken a class on. This is something that is truly his own. Meeting Mumbo, being with him, and now this. How lovely, in every sense of the word.

Grian leans further forward, intent on deepening the kiss, which Scar seems to completely agree with, but he's stopped when something cold and wet lands directly on the crown of his head. He pulls back with a jerk and a gasp. He lets go of Mumbo and reaches up to check and see what just hit up. When his hand comes back nothing but wet, he looks up. The other two, confused at why Grian was suddenly not kissing them, looked up with him.

Grian had to dodge another drop as it seems his patch job was finally giving way. He looks back down at the others with a shy smile.

“I guess I missed a spot…” He huffs, which Mumbo barks a laugh at and Scar just looks on even more confused. Which in turn makes Grian and Mumbo laugh even more, the tense air dispersing as quickly as it came.

Once they started, neither could stop. The giggle fit taking them over as they hid their heads on either of Scar's shoulders. After a moment, Scar ended up joining them. Embracing the new atmosphere and hugging them both closer. As quickly as it started it ended up turning into tears again, Scar first, and then Mumbo. The two holding on oh so tight to each other and Grian.

Grian can't help but feel teary eyed as well given the circumstances. How could he have never known of this feeling?

His magic sings here, with them around him. What was depleted replenished with something not quite his, but his nonetheless. He yearns to be right here, and perhaps he always has.

He feels his wings come up and around them, covering someone who is practically a stranger yet he feels like he's known for longer than he's been alive. It brings tears to his eyes as he continues to laugh, holding on tighter than necessary.

He can not wait to get to know them together, all over again.