Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lying to the faes is practically nonexistent. They're all knowing beings able to see mortal’s lies while being unable to lie themselves. Grian knew that. So how the hell did he get away with being called “the jewel of avia”. He wasn't the jewel of anything. That was Jimmy or Pearl's department. Hell, most of all their eldest sister, Lizzies’. So how did he get here, being draped in fine silks, paraded around like some kind of wispy, silky, overly pampered parrot??
Standing outside the doors of what he could only assume as the throne room, he feels this cold, hard stone settle and make a home in the depths of his stomach.

‘Surely the cursed heir of Anima shall take one look at me and dismiss me. Sending himself raging up and down the halls, sentencing me to death for their “majesties” trickery.’

The chief confidant has called my name and title a good while ago. Perhaps they think I've run off to some foreign country, where I can spend the rest of my days in solitude instead of war politics.
“Prince grian, the gentle, the sacred jewel of avia”
What a statement. Gentle, yes that describes me perfectly. Although you cannot easily hand over an avian as a war prize with a nickname such as “pesky”. I think it's just what they thought was the most appealing. A pretty little lap bird with a doormat personality and no inkling of rebelling or wanting something different in this world. And again with the “jewel of avia”. Like my sandy brown hair that's brittle beyond comparison, with pitch black eyes that remind men of the void of death. Yes, the jewel indeed. Compared to my siblings I am the most tarnished piece of rusty iron amongst their glittering opals and diamonds. All I can give them is the hope that they marry for love and not as a tool to keep the cursed heir and the faes as a whole off their radar as a potential threat.
Ah well, time to face the music. My funeral music. My last march.

—----- before things went to shit—-------

—----Grian—----
Avia is a simple place. Quiet, peaceful, like one giant bird nest in the sky. Flying is of course, the calling card of the avians, and what better place to do so.
Which Grian could be doing right now, if it weren't for Pearl.
He’s had a lovely day so far. Woke up, woke up Jimmy with pots and pans, worked on his hexes, stretched…the works. So why, when perched atop his favorite oak tree just outside the palace, did pearl tell him the queen and king needed him immediately? The king and queen never needed him for anything outside of the annual public appearances in court. They leave him to his tower with his odd friend and spells. It's not like grain would be able to just fly away.
Not for very long at least.
“You called for me, your majesties?”
Now, fun fact. These royals are not Grian’s parents. They're not any of his siblings' parents either. These are the next of kin, the ones that took pity on him and his three siblings, seeking opportunity in the face of their own infertility and age.
“Ah, Grian, sweetheart, how are your studies progressing.”
His aunt, Queen Ira of avia, is a majestic woman with long deep brown hair, and the gentlest, blue eyes reflecting the crystal blue sea that resides below of Avia’s resting grounds. She has a porcelain, doll-like aura about her, which Grian knows is always artificial. He knows all she cares about is image and how she can make men do what she pleases, despite being married to the king, Grian’s uncle. It was considered a great shame and scandal when it was discovered that she could not produce an heir, most likely saved from death by her unattainable beauty, and luckily before the scandal was released to the public, Grian and his siblings came along, offering a much opportunistic, more altruistic alternative to all of their problems.
“They are progressing fine, queen mother.”
Grian answered, a twinge most annoying in his back, where two phantom limbs can be felt. A digging sensation underneath his skin that makes him want to claw at his back until blood and disgusting viscera are poured onto their majesty’s silken robes, the stuffed zealous peacocks they are. Maybe then he will be deemed disgusting and worthless enough to be left alone.
“Ah yes, how's that little lowlife, commoner, engineer of yours?”
His uncle says, clearly intoxicated so early in the day. Hasn't he been taught that it's tacky to day-drink and it's rude to talk about other people in that way?
He of course means Mumbo. A genius in all instances of the word, except for money, influence, greed, and power. These tiny little digs about the happiest parts of grian's life make his blood boil and his back burn. He wishes that he could have kept two boxes in his life, one where he is truly happy, and one he must suffer with for short periods of time. But alas, life can never be that simple, a truth only truly faced when his tower didn't have bars and he chose to fall instead of soar.
“He is just fine, your majesty. But forgive me, if all you needed from me was this, we could have discussed this over dinner.”
a dinner where his siblings were, where Lizzie, and Pearl could distract from the situation, and Jimmy could better his mood. A dinner where he didn't feel scrutinized among the constant distractions his siblings present. It allows him to slip into the shadows and simply watch.
“Clever child, you always want to cut straight to the chase. A war threat was put upon us. The letter was received this morning. The cursed prince of Anima is hungry for blood and carnage. He demands a bride from a kingdom. A Jewel. A model of grace and gentleness. A scion for an heir.” the king says, his face sobering in a mere instant. Grian’s pulse fell silent, not a breath could be heard in the room suddenly. The dias seems miles away and he can feel his own heartbeat in his feet.
“W-what does this have to do with me?” grian stammered, fearing what he already knows to be true.
“You are going, you have no choice. There is no other viable option”
“B-but, I am not a jewel…why not send a Pearl? Or Lizzie” Grian said, desperate to escape his responsibilities like he's done so many times before.
“Lizzie has been courted by the prince of the south for 6 months now. He's been approved for marriage and Lizzie will be a queen. Pearl is beautiful, but cannot scion an heir. You know this. You can. You will go to the cursed heir and become his blushing bride. The letter has already been sent this morning. You will become the jewel of Avia or all of our people will fall to hordes of vex, werewolves, vampires, and other nightmares that spew forth of Anima.”
“No, please your majesty you can't, I cannot sire an heir, I refuse, I refuse…” Grian pleaded, losing his balance, tears welling in his eyes, turning to looking to his aunt, her eyes glassed over and distant, like she's already mourned his death and is merely just watching his ghost.
“INSOLENT BOY” the king snapped, striking Grian on the cheek “DID I NOT GIVE YOU AND YOUR PATHETIC SIBLINGS A ROOF UNDER YOUR HEAD? YOU WHOLE PURPOSE IS TO FURTHER OUR KINGDOM, FURTHER OUR PEOPLE. IT IS DECIDED. YOU WILL MARRY THE CURSED FAE. YOU WILL SAVE US ALL. IT IS ABOUT TIME YOUR PATHETIC SELF BE USEFUL FOR SOMETHING TO THIS KINGDOM.”
his majesty roars, breath pungent with the wine hes been drinking for god knows how long.
As Grian shakily takes a stand, he considers his options. One, he runs as he's hunted for sport for his insolence and abandonment of his responsibilities, two, he accepts and seals the deal of his imminent death when he arrives in Anima and is killed for not being beautiful enough for the cursed prince.
“Understood, your majesty.”
Grian says shakily, pivoting and scurrying away before he may be subject to more yelling, or worse, a beating he witnessed Pearl endure one time.
Escaping through the heavy doors of the throne room was the breath of fresh relief that he oh so desperately needed.
‘They have given me a death sentence. My ultimate purpose. Dear god, what am I to do…’
Grian tried grasping, “i could wear a veil, something to cover my hideous, dull eyes, or just be so utterly swamped in ceremonial garbs that they cannot make heads or tails of this supposed ‘jewel’ that is to be the pet bird the cursed prince will possess to feel power over something.”
‘how in the world am i going to be passed off as a jewel, its not like i have any real wings to display.’ he thought bitterly, his back burning, screaming in pain and longing, the cold stone in his stomach somehow sinking into him deeper, growing spikes that cut into him and make him feel as if it shall never be removed. That he shall never have a true respite to the horrific fate he is to be resigned to.
He arrives at the tower, climbing the stairs, finding no energy to make the trek any easier via his magic. He barely has the energy to keep himself from letting the wild magic that infests him break loose and eradicate anything in a ten-foot radius, which their majesties wouldn't take kindly to a hole being blown into the side of their precious image.
While trekking up the stairs, feeling heavier and heavier as he progresses. Grian has only one thought, his limbs lethargic and back a dull thrum of pain.
‘How much longer do i have with my family…?’
Even when given an assignment, he will always have information carefully kept from him.
He hates royalty.

Chapter Text

He does not remember dreaming. He barely remembers sleeping. All he remembers is the current badgering, squeaking somewhere in the liminal space above his head. He cracks his eyes open to be met with an abnormally sized fruit bat hanging above him.
“Good evening, Mumbo. To what do I owe the pleasure.” Grian says, sarcastically, giving a cursory glance to the setting sun .
The fruit bat ceases its squeaking, and glides down onto the hardwood floor of Grian’s bedroom. He shuffles about awkwardly, motioning to Grian with his wings covering his eyes.
“Yes, yes I know, Mumbo. You can do your gross shapeshifty thing, I'm alright.” he says, turning the opposite direction and covering his eyes. Moments later, it begins, the crackling and popping. Grian knows now that that would be Mumbo’s bones rearranging to fit back into his freakishly large, too-tall human form. With a final deafening crack, which would be his spine realigning, Grian turns to his longest confidant and friend.
“And how are we tonight, Mr. Jumbolio?”
“Doing just well, mate, but we both know that we are not discussing me right now.” Mumbo says, fixing his most dastardly mustache and realigning his sleeves from where they've fallen further down his forearms.
“Oh, but must we? I've been having a grand old time lying here hoping either sleep or death takes me” Grian said petulantly, puffing his cheeks out. Sighing, Mambo takes a seat next to the ball of blankets around Grian’s prone form.
“Mate, you're leaving in less than a week, please at least allow me a sliver of what's going through your mind.” he says, reaching for Grian’s arm in the aforementioned giant pile of blankets. “ You're in such a state of disarray, mate…I haven't seen you like this since…well…” pulling him up, he starts to scratch at Grian’s wing stubs, in lieu of preening.
Grian still makes a coo and trill, despite not having wings at the moment, still finding comfort in his oldest friend touching such a sacred space. Mambo, who was one of the few he allowed to touch his wings in adolescence.

“Mumbs, they’re sent me to die… there’s no feasible way that I can pull this off… I'd be better off running away or jumping from my tower again.” Grian crows, tears welling in his pitch black eyes.

“Gri you know how much I hate you bringing that up, mate…I nearly wasn't able to save you, I don't fancy thinking about the day I almost saw my best friend die.” his bat-like ears drooping, somehow his mustache mirroring the movement.

“M’sorry” Grian mumbles, head resting on his knees, hollow bones shaking with every quaking breath he takes. “ I just don't know how I'm meant to do this, how in the world am I to be seen as the precious jewel of avia..” he says, scratching at his earwings, suddenly aware of their dirty and disarrayed state.

“I think you're looking at this the wrong way mate. You're being sent off to a foreign land, yes, but you're still a prince, second in line after Lizzie. You're also the only sibling left over that's even able to have an heir and therefore a future for whoever you are to marry. You have incredible influence, and incredibly useful of a bargaining chip, whether you think you're pretty or not.” Mumbo states, blunt as always when trying to make his closest friend snap out of his own brain. “Plus,” Mumbo says, mouth upturning into an ever so rare smirk “I think you're quite pretty for a pesky bird-brain”

Grian, catching onto what he's doing immediately, springs up to stand upon his crumpled pile of blankets, his face stretches into a mischievous grin, his eyes squinting gleefully “oh my! Is the ever so intelligent Mumbo Jumbo coming onto me!? What a scandal, you absolute dog, Mr Jumbolio!”

“Yes, yes, my dastardly secret has been revealed! I have the hots for a royal, plucked, pompous, pesky, chicken! The scandal! The Watchers shall have my head unless we are to elope, my dearest poultry man!” Mumbo says dramatically, smacking his hand onto his forehead, flopping onto the mattress like a forlorn maiden.

Grian cackles. Mumbo is glad to see him laugh. ‘Its so hard to see him miserable,’ Mumbo thinks, ‘he deserves to always have that lovely grin upon his face. I wish I could free him, to take him away from this and see him soar and flourish.’ but Mumbo is cursed with knowledge above his peers. He knows just what would happen were he to even suggest it to Grian. He'd listen to Mumbo. Avia would fall, he'd be hunted down and killed. All Mumbo hopes is that he can free himself without having the threat of one killing him. And with that, he is hauled off the bed by his arms, his wings desperately trying to right himself while Grian decides to float them atop the ground, his magic magic his eyes glow a warm purple.

Mumbo wants. But he cannot. Could never bear to be the reason for his dearest friend's death.

“May we dance, Mr. Jumbo?” Grian says, a mischievous smirk still plastered onto his face, but a shine of sincerity from his old friend that’s all too prevalent. Mumbo grins, knowing that his dear friend’s favorite thing to do when they were young was to dance with the lanky child he attached himself to.
“Anything for you, pesky birdie.” Mumbo says, a soft smile with a sad tinge to it. He knows this is the last day he may be present to see Grian before he is sent off. He wishes he would be able to follow him, but his responsibility and family have him here.
“Grian, please, promise me something.”
“Yeah, Mumbs?”
“Live. not just survive. If they force you to survive, run.”
“Alright, Mumbo. I promise.”
“You’ve always deserved more than all this.”
“So did you”

Two friends float, in between the dawn of morrow and the day past. Two with clear love and sympathy for the other’s circumstance. Both wanting to close the gap with the other and disappear. If only in this life, they were not divided by circumstance and duty…

—----
The carriage rocks side to side. Grian has never felt so uncomfortable in his life. Simple clothes drape off his frame but it does nothing to alleviate his discomfort. His wing stumps dig into the back of the “scratchy-as-all-hels” carriage cushions. The horrible itch has manifested into a very nasty tension headache, but given that He can't very well have a magical meltdown here, he’s stuck in a limbo of his head being mentally stabbed into. On top of it all, his hair is irritating his neck, because of not being allowed to cut it for upwards of months even before he was made aware of the arrangement, by order of his aunt.
“Pretty girls present lovely hair when being first introduced to their betrothed.” she said caressing his hair this morning before he was about to leave. “Hopefully this prince will be the one to convince you to stop your silly little brain from lying to you anymore. Here's hoping we are to find a nice princess like that for Pearl.”
Grian burns. How dare his aunt say these things to him, much less about his sister. He hopes her majesty will choke on that high collar of hers.
“Are you alright, your grace?” his head maid, a lovely sheep-hybrid named Zedaph questions, meekly.
“Yes Zed, I'm fine, rest assured. And please for the love of gods, just call me Grian. We are far past formalities at this point, my friend” he says, exasperated at Zed’s insistence of his title, a bone-deep fear of insulting or breaking their majesty's rules ingrained deep into the poor sheep. He goes back to picking at his talons, annoyed by their shaven state. The queen insisted on him wearing gloves when first meeting the cursed heir,
‘You cannot look like a jewel with those ugly things, so we will shave them down and give you your gloves in order to cover those abhorrent hands.’
but Grian is determined to keep the discomfort off of his talons and blackened fingertips for as long as he is to be permitted. The carriage rattles suddenly, kicking himself out of his own head. The carriage takes to a slow stop, a knight riding up to the side window.
“We are a half-day away from Anima, your grace. But your carriage has broken an axle, I'm afraid. If we are to stop for the night, we could fix it by dawn.” the nameless knight reported, with a slight frown.
“Very well, thank you sir, you are dismissed.” grian said, with a placid smile, in hopes to ease the knight's fears of him being unkind, like the king.
After setting up his tent, he is given his dinner and is now happy to wind down and get a good sleep, already dreading tomorrow. At twilight, grian is awoken by a rustling and a slight hum in the air. Grian steps out of his tent to see a small spirit floating around the camp.
‘Oh my stars, it's an allay! I've only ever heard stories of such tiny sweet fairies.’ grian thought gleefully, wanting to retreat into his tent to acquire his notebook to sketch the whimsical creatures.
The allay notices grian dawdling outside his tent, it trills happily, floating around grian’s earwings, pressing its face and nuzzling its head into grian’s. Not wanting to break the illusion, grian only trills back, more birdlike, but knowing that the allay can sense the magic in him and is naturally drawn to him. The allay takes off, beckoning for grian to follow it. Grian takes off after it, running as fast as his talon-feet will carry him.
The allay brings him to a clearing filled with other glowing fairies, about twenty or so. “Oh my stars! Look at all of you” Grian says in awe. Stooping down to sit upon his knees he is utterly captivated by the glowing little beings, with their fragile wings and adorable attitude. He wishes he could stay here forever, amidst these magical beings he wished were his family. As he reaches out to scratch one upon the head, a loud rumble is heard throughout the small clearing, seeming to come from the north. Many of the fairies race off, Grian whipped up into a frenzy. Suddenly a large, shadowy figure is seen creeping from the shadows. It crawls towards the quarry, picking up an allay that was left behind.Its mouth opens showing rows and rows of needle-like teeth. Its wings, tattered, dragging behind him, like a cape. A mop of dark hair comes from its head, going slightly down his neck. The poor allay is squeaking, begging, pleading-

It lifts the innocent fairy towards its maw, and swallows the poor thing whole.

Grian lets out a squeak, shock and fear painting his features after witnessing the heinous act that this monster committed. Realizing too late, he sees the creature lift his head up at the tiniest of sound, it’s eyes completely white. Grian quickly hides himself as best as he can behind a tree, hoping it will be enough for him to sprint away if need be. As he hears the creature grow closer, he hears his heartbeat in his ears, the growl the monster lets out rattling his hollow bones. Out of nowhere, the same large claw wraps around the tree and grabs grian’s arm, its talons sinking into his flesh. Grian screams in anguish, trying to pry the claw digging into his arm. The monster flings him into the same clearing Grian was happily sitting in just moments before, the monster climbing above him. Grian seems to be frozen in fear, unable to move even if he wanted to, knowing the creature could easily catch him and kill him.
‘Well it wasnt a bad run, at least I'm being killed in the woods by some strange creature, and not in a king's court, shamed by my family and nation.’ Grian thought, grimly, accepting his fate. He closes his eyes waiting for the creature to swallow him as well, like the poor allay already in the beast’s stomach. Suddenly he feels a wet pressure on his wounded arm. ‘Is i-it…licking my arm??’ grian thought, looking in horror of this creature licking the blood off of his arm.
“nectar, magic-giver…my...mine…” the monster mumbles, moving up to grian’s neck and licking a stripe up his neck, the tongue unusual and rough. Suddenly, he feels the monster stiffen from its place in grian’s neck. The monster stands quickly, whispering gravely, of death and promise.
“Mate.”
As though hearing itself, it turns quickly, spreading its tattered and torn wings, taking off into the night sky.
Grian lays baffled, blood oozing out of the punctures in his arm, utterly baffled by what just happened to him. After his adrenaline seems to wear off, Grian stands, rushing out the clearing, back to his tent. As he tends to his wounds, all he can think of is this;
‘When the monster left it’s eyes were green. The loveliest shade of green that Grian had ever witnessed.’

Chapter Text

Solastalgia.

A big word in a book that Grian paid attention to for ⅕ of the time he was required to read it. It’s a word describing the grief of a home one can never return to. Whether by choice or not.
Grian knows.

The only way he is ever to go home, is in a casket, only because it is inherent in avian cultures that there be a mourning process and final flight.

If he were to be buried randomly in some prestigious, wealthy grave it is commonly believed by avains that such a breach of the traditions it would cause the family to be cursed with vivid hallucinations of how the afflicted Avian suffered throughout life. He’d like to think that the king and queen wouldn't be so unkind as to allow him to be mourned properly, but now he’s not so sure. He never thought they’d ship him off at the first chance of a political alliance and staving off a war, but here he is.

Still standing outside these gods-forsaken doors.

But it is commonly believed that the 7 minutes before one's death is a time to reflect. In Grian’s mind, it's only been about 30 seconds.
‘Well, let's not dally any further, any more and they'll think I've run, ' he thought, trying to clear his throat despite his throat seeming petulant to stay dry beyond belief.
He motions to the two human guards to open the doors, looking past him with a blank stare. The doors creak obnoxiously, irritating Grian’s ears, adding another factor souring his already bitter mood.

The doors open to a grand hall, chairs lining the room, like boxes of those odd smelling sardines. The aisle leads to a grand dias. The blackened marble adds a dark aura to the room.
He walks slowly, focusing only in front of him to make sure he doesn’t trip, which would be incredibly detrimental to the image of grace and perfection he's trying to deceive them all with. Grian clenches the silky dress that was his best bet at being his nation’s “precious jewel”. A flowy white gown, the picture of innocence and purity, unfortunately draping off of Grian's wicked, sinful frame. 'Though he is not to walk the aisle yet, he must get through these god forsaken tests first, if he isn't to be struck dead upon sight.' Thank the stars above all that it was long sleeved, or he may be turned away from the ugly gashes along the side of his arm alone. Of course, from his run-in with that hulking monster just a couple of hours ago.

When he reaches near the dias, he crouches as low as he can, making a meek twittering, known in his traditions as a greeting and a sign of respect, not trusting his pounding heart to produce good enough drivel. He hears the murmurs of the council surrounding him, judging him, watching him.

This is the precious jewel of avia…?

‘Ouch. Just call me ugly, why don't you?’

Where are her wings???

Grian’s back burns a little more than before, suddenly feeling choked up.

Is that even a woman?

‘No, but good guess.’

Footsteps echo from the dias, descending stairs. Grian freezes. He doesn't know what to do. He cannot bear to see the glare of disapproval from whom he is meant to spend the rest of his life, be the end of it in a few hours or not. The judging, wicked voices dim off, intrigued to see how their future king shall react to the next slab of meat presented onto his table. Like their favorite drama or perhaps even comedy being unfolded in front of them, the stuffy peacocks.
Shoes appear in his view. A slender hand, comes close to his face and tilts his chin up, Grian has no choice but to look upon his betrothed.

Green. Green from a wildflower field. Brilliant, wild, untamed green.

Grian is speechless.

His betrothed is ethereal. A sharp face with a slightly crooked nose, covered in scars. He smiles a kind, bright smile, his beautiful eyes crinkling at the corner.

“Hello, Prince Grian, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Prince Scar, heir to the throne of Anima.” he says, a unique tilt to his voice, so different from the intimidating, dark drawl that Grian was expecting from the so-called “cursed prince”. This man was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

Grian lets out another whistle from his throat, not trusting his own voice at the moment. He’s afraid that if he were to speak, he would either say exactly what was going through his head at the moment and he couldn't have that.

Scar’s smile somehow widens further, and holds out his hand from where it dropped after lifting up Grian’s chin.
“Come, let me show you where you shall be staying.”

Grian lets his gloved hand drop into his betrothed’s outstretched one, pulling himself up as well.

Scar drags him outside the room, excitable and youthful, stopping only to call back towards the dias,
“Jellie! Come along, your majesty!” he calls out, smiling still.

An incredibly abnormally sized white and grey cat traipses out from behind scar’s throne. Grian chirps abruptly, and is instantly shocked by this very large…pet? That scar seems to possess. As the cat trots, two baby kittens follow behind her, shocking him just that much further.

‘Just what kind of ruler was Scar anyways? He’d never seen a cat this well behaved without some kind of trainer.”

Finally reaching the outside of the large doors of the hall, Grian unintentionally lets out a breath, relieved to be away from so many prying eyes.

“Terrifing bunch, huh? The stress is fair when you don't have to delegate with them all day” Scar cuts in, much too close for anyone to be comfortable with.

Grian screeches, and jumps back. Scar laughs, a full and happy sound.

“I'm sorry there, princey, didn't mean to scare ya! So, you wanna go on a tour now that you've been through the initial judgement-zone?” Scar says, mirthfully, a twinkle in those eyes that are just so captivating. Good lord, how can Grian do this without making an absolute fool out of himself in front of this beautiful man…
—-
This castle is much too massive. Grian wonders how in the world he is to ever understand the layout even a fracture of how casually Scar leads him from room to room. From the kitchens to the staffing halls, a stop in the armory and even the guesting wings. There were so many rooms, and somehow scar always knew what exactly was behind each and every door. His little companions follow along dutifully, their sweet fuzzy faces never straying too far from Scar. At one point Grian looked up to notice that one of the little kittens had ascended the prince’s robes and made a comfortable perch upon his shoulder. What an odd man, certainly not the “cursed monster heir” he was expecting.

He wasnt expecting a man so…sweet.

“Aand this is the garden! Mostly kept up by palace gardeners, but I have my own little corner that I love to plant various bulbs I come across on my travels!” Scar reveals a lovely garden around the far-side of the palace, close to the walls. A large willow tree nearly hangs over the palace walls themselves, a myriad of colorful blooms, ferns, and bushes of any kind. They have no rhyme or reason to their order, but they are unique in their own right. Imperfect, but beautiful.

“I take it that this is your corner?” Grian says, shyly, still unsure of his voice, but trying to build a connection in hopes this gorgeous man doesn't immediately send him away or kill him.

“The beautiful birdie speaks! Why yes, indeed, this is my sweet corner of heaven, my place of solitude” he says in an overdramatic serious accent, one that doesn't suit him in the least. Grian lets out a twittering laugh, ignoring the comment about his beauty. He can't be one to assume this charming prince isn't just toying with him.

Scar smiles again.
Grian tries to reciprocate, but with his stomach still swooping in such a manner, he doesn't think he can trust his smile without promptly emptying his stomach upon the beautiful flora in front of him.

“So, who are the kittens that are following her majesty?” Grian questions, a little more false confidence in his voice.

“Ah that would be a Katy-Bee and a Mister Finnegan! Queen Jellie found them wandering these very gardens and saw that they had nowhere else to go, so she decided they were hers now. And when she showed them to me, I said the more, the merrier! Who am I to go against her majesty’s orders?” Scar says, a happy look in his eyes, giving Jellie ear scritches, the kittens batting at their chosen mother’s swishing tail.
“Well then, my feathery companion, we best be getting on! You must be simply exhausted, we should get you to bed promptly.” he stands, looking Grian in the eye, seemingly just taking him in.

Grian cant seem to look away from this darling prince, his charm and kindness all so effortless. It all just seems too good to be true.
—
As it turns out, it was.

Not about Scar, no no never about Scar.

It was God's damned wedding preparations.

Also known as, stand quietly while the elders delegate your duties during marriage, during consummation, and after all duties are to be fulfilled. They treat him as a savage or someone who is uneducated in one’s duties, all because he is from another land. But he has managed to find solace with one noble, it seems.

Ren T. Dog. the youngest official, appointed by scar when it was announced he is to be king. It was revealed to Grian by him that it was meant to be him and one of his husbands being appointed, Doc M, but he “was a horrific introvert who wished to stay in his labs by the dungeons, among other things…” so said Ren.
He told him about his second husband as well, Martyn Littlewood, a knight in the guard, a spitfire and a decent shot. Grian wonders how exactly they make things work, with societal presence and being in wildly different departments, but he's glad they seem to be content.

That is actually how they became acquaintances, they both seem to be in the spotlights of the elders, but not as a good thing. They are both looked down upon for their “illnesses”. He found out Ren’s disdain for the elders while Grian was being “taught” about a marriage night.

“Old bats haven't had sex in 40 years, what gives them the gall to be saying all of this. They act like you're expected to be clueless about your ‘duties’."Ren mutters in elytrian, not sure if Grian was actually meant to hear that or not. Grian snickered, looking to the side where Ren was sitting close to him. After the impromptu health seminar, which was very much NOT appreciated, Grian catches up to Ren outside the hall, and they form a connection.

“So… how do you know Elytrian?” Grian says, in the aforementioned language of his people.

“Ah, your grace. So nice to finally have a chance to chat,"Ren says, a genuine glint in his eyes.

“Please sir, just Grian, I never did well with honorifics.” grian says, silently begging for another connection.

“As you wish, Grian.” Ren said, showing off his canines in a smile, “To answer your question, I was born and raised in Avia, my parents living there at the transportation depot, taking care of the heavy machinery that those with hollow bones struggle a bit too much with.”

“And how..did you end up here? If you don’t mind my prying…”

“Ah well, that is a very long story, indeed. One that we certainly don't have time for, but to put in the simplest way, i owe a great debt to scar for saving me and my loves. A debt I can never repay, that he really should hold over my head, but he hasn't yet. "Ren says, bringing up a hand to scratch at his beard, eyes seemingly glazed over, as though reminiscing upon an earlier time. A simpler time perhaps.

So there's that word again. Solastalgia. And perhaps Grian is not the only one who feels it at this moment.