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Grian was really tired of being summoned.
Blah blah do this.
Blah blah do that.
Ugh.
He was having lunch too. Who summons someone during lunchtime!? Scar and Jellie had made cucumber sandwiches and Pearl had brought clam chowder. And someone had the gall to summon him!?
“Oh, crumbs!” Grian blinks as he stops in the summoning circle and stares at a very tall man. “Why are you in my kitchen?”
Grian stares at the tall mustached man in front of him. “Why did you summon me?”
“Summoned?” The man asked. “What are you talking about?” He holds up a croissant. “I was making a sandwich.”
Now Grian had some weird summoning. One only gets summoned by cults so many times before weirdness stops becoming a thing. He looks down at the floor. But this? This was weird. “Is this mustard?” He bends down and looks at the yellow summoning circle on the floor. He pokes it.
“Oh yeah.” The man said bending down as well. “My mustard exploded.”
Grian sits down in his mustard summoning circle. “You summoned me accidentally with mustard.” He puts his head in his hands. “You summoned me accidentally with mustard!” He yells, throwing his hands up in the air. “Oh, Scar is never going to let me live this down.” He whispers. “Oh, I’m going to get teased for the next three centuries.”
“I made a summoning circle?” Oh yeah. The tall mortal. “Who are you?”
Grian rubs his brow and as slowly as he could, climbed to his feet. “I am a Watcher. A fey. May I have your name?”
The man hums. “Well mate, only if I can have yours.”
Grian grins. He loves the smart mortals. He hates the idiots who summon him and sure this mortal is an idiot who summoned him accidentally but at least he knows better than to give Grian his name. “Smart little mortal.” He knows his grin to sharp. “Shall we share names?”
The man thinks for a second. “Well, I’m Mumbo.”
“Grian.” There’s a shudder of power through him. They are sharing names now. He wonders how long it will take the mortal to realize they now shared names.
“Well, Grian,” Mambo says with an oblivious smile. “I got an extra croissant. You want a sandwich?”
…
The funny thing about sharing names is that it isn’t the sharing of names that is important. It's the fact that names hold power. By sharing a name, the two have shared power over each other. Neither can make the other do something. But the power held in the name, well Grian now knew far too much about cinematography, Minecraft Redstone, and biking. And Mumbo? Grian is fifty percent sure he won’t grow wings but… well the fact that the man was currently wandering around the fey lands with a look of horror and wonder on his face speaks for itself.
“Hello Mumbo.” Grian swoops down from the air, allowing his sometimes green, sometimes purple, and right now brown wings to carry him in front of the man. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know!?” Mambo cried out throwing his hands up in the air. “I was reaching for my toothpaste and put my hand on the mirror and then I fell into it!”
Grian nods. “Yes, that does tend to happen.”
Mambo tears at his hair. “What do you mean that tends to happen?!”
“We share names.”
Mambo blinks and sinks to the ground. “We share names.” He repeats, rocking back and forth. “Oh god, I share names with a winged person.”
“Fey.” Grian corrects.
Mumbo laughs and it's a bit hysterical. “So what? I’m magical now?!”
“Course not,” Grian dismissed. “We share names.”
Mumbo nods as if he’s trying to make sense of all of this. “Sure. Sure.” He nods again. “Fantastic.” He mutters to himself. “I’m sharing names with a fae and he has wings and I can just come to the fey realm this is fine everything is fine.” Mumbo nods and takes a long deep breath. “May I go back to my apartment?”
“I mean yeah,” Grian said with a shrug. “Just find a pond or any reflection and you can come and go.” He smiles with too many teeth. “And so can I.”
“Oh.” Mumbo said walking away from Grian to the nearest pond before face-planting into the shallow water and vanishing, Grian hears him mutter, “Well now I have a fey roommate… Oh, crumbs I’m going to need more sandwich materials.” And then the man is gone.
Grian hums, taking off into the sky again. “He’s going to need to find Cleo. She’s shared a name with that strange mortal for many years now. Maybe she can tell him how one shares a name. Or maybe she’ll laugh at him. But either way, he’s taking advantage of sandwiches.
…
Grian steps through the mirror that Mumbo had put in the kitchen. “Hello Mumbo.” He gets hit in the face with a slice of tomato.
“You need to stop scaring me mate.” Mumbo grumbles. “Send a quick text. Hey mate! I’m going to be stepping out of the mirror in your kitchen in five minutes don’t get your pants scared off you when I step through!”
“Noted.” That was something Cleo and Joe told him after they finished laughing at him. Joe once scared Cleo so bad that she stabbed him and Joe although strange and possibly immortal, is still very stabbable. So don’t sneak up on people unless you want to get stabbed. Or get a tomato thrown at you.
“So,” Mumbo said, as he turned to the stove and threw a couple of slices of bacon on there. “What do you need, Grian?” There is always a certain thrill that happens when someone mortal says his name. So many get it wrong. He remembered ages ago that everyone who found writings of it pronounced it Grain. But he is Lord Grian Dreamslayer thank you very much. It does wonders when people get his name right.
“I would like a sandwich,” Grian said, remembering what Cleo said when he insisted they weren’t friends. She’d laughed again and patted his shoulder. Just wait. She had said. And she was right, as Mumbo bustles about his kitchen, muttering nonsense to himself, Grian knows, he made a friend.
They end up sitting in Mumbo’s living room. “So where do the wings go.” He pokes at the air where Grian’s wings should be.
“Pocket dimension,” Grian mumbles into his arms as he curls up on Mumbo’s incredibly comfy couch.
Mumbo flops back against the ground. “Course it is.” He grumbles. “You fae have anything normal?”
“Cookies.” Grian mumbles. “Our cookies are normal.”
“Your cookies aren’t normal!” Mumbo yells throwing his hands up in the air. “I ate a purple one and I teleported!”
“That happens. Scar likes to experiment.” He remembers when Scar and Pearl joined forces and tried to make a soup cookie (despite it being explained to them that a soup cookie is just cookie dough but they were insistent that cookie dough was a chowder) and ended up with something that had to cast into the void.
“That’s not a normal cookie,” Mumbo argued.
“Well, your cookies are just boring then,” Grian said flatly, hiding his grin.
“Oh oh!” Mumbo crows pointing a finger in Grian’s face. “I’ll show you boring cookies!” And he was off. Grian hides his smile on the side of the couch. Well, looks like Cleo is right. He has made a friend.
…
He feels the familiar but annoying summoning and easily allows himself to be sucked into the spell. “Listen,” he said as the spell ends and he knows he was in a summoning circle. “I know I was ignoring your texts but me and Scar were having a staring contest…”
“Hello, Grian.” That wasn’t Mumbo’s voice. He whirls around and a man wearing a golden crown and a sharp grin stares at him. “You are Grian. Aren’t you?” He tosses a diamond at Grian’s feet and his heart stops. He was a revolutionary at heart, kinda his whole thing. Centuries ago he’d allowed the idea to spread, those who revolt against the powers that oppress them could call upon him but if they give him a diamond he will help them. “I need help resisting a resistance.” He hates that those words make sense, the power settling in his veins.
Grian groans and rubs a hand down his face as he pockets the diamond. “I am obligated to agree to that.”
“Excellent.” The man rubs his hands together wildly. “Follow me.” Grian lurched forward, walking as slow as he possibly could. He couldn’t stop following but he could make this a pain. “Now.” They emerge in a large cavern and Grian knows. This is another cult. Great.
“So what do you need from me.” He shoves his hands in his pockets to hide the way they shake. He hates cults. And he especially hates people who aren’t actually resisting anything. This man is doing both. And Grian has to follow him because he paid the stupid fee.
“Nothing much.” The man said with a casual wave of his hand. “Just success.” Ooh, now Grian’s interest was peaked. That was so vague. He could get away with some real shenanigans under the parameters of ‘success’.
“Success?” Grian questions, shoving the Cheshire cat grin down. They round the final corner of the seemingly endless maze that this place is to a room. Where more guards watch from the shadows. And three familiar mortals in the middle; snarls painted on their faces as they struggle against the cultists holding them. He knows those mortals. They had summoned him to stop…. Ah, shoot. This is that blood cult or whatever they needed help resiting the magical effects of. He had told these fools to be careful… obviously, he hadn’t made the warning strong enough.
“Recognize them?” He hadn’t realized that the man had appeared behind him. “Their little books lead me to you. Resistance against the blood spell, fascinating.”
“It is,” Grian said through gritted teeth as the struggling mortals recognize him, eyes lighting up. He knows what they think. He knows what he can’t do to help them. He’d love to summon a blade and stab this man until he can’t anymore. However, he can’t move, frozen till the next command. Held still by an invisible chain.
“Ha!” One of the mortals yells. “You're fucked now!” Grian winces.
The leader pulls a knife from his pocket and lazily passes it to Grian. “Kill them.” His grin turns sharp. “Guarantee me success.”
He takes the knife as the three revolutionaries' face fall. He steps forward, running every possibility, looking for any way around the words: kill them. It's vague enough that he could instead kill every guard but then the second part. Me in that line throws everything off. The only success for this man is if these brave insurrectionists are dead or under his control… And Grian is currently under his control.
“Why.” The one closest to him. The one he will have to stab first said, sounding so defeated. “You helped us. For what? Some sick game?”
Grian can’t look them in the eye. He needs an out. A way around this… He reaches into his pocket and feels the diamond there. The stupid diamond that started the whole thing. He grabs it and presses it into the man's hand, eyes dead serious as they meet the watery brown ones. This is his only shot at not stabbing these mortals. The man’s eyes go wide and he takes ownership of the diamond before immediately pressing it back into Grian’s hands. “I summon you.” The man whispers as Grian raises the knife and then the man smiles. “Guarantee me success.”
Grian laughs, actually throws his head back as he turns from the terrified mortals and turns his attention to the man in the crown. “What are you doing?!” The man screamed. “Kill them! Now!” The command hit like a brick. And it felt like it too. But the smile and cheers from those kept him moving forward instead of turning the blade back on them.
“No.” He snarls, something inhuman leaking out. He lets his wings out, allowing the normal two and then four more to spread out. They’re purple right now. Shining blinding purple and the eyes on them open. Any humanity bleeds from him. He is Lord Dreamslayer. He is Xelqua. He is Grian. And he will not be cowed by this mortal. The dagger grows to a pike in his hand. Dull in places it shouldn’t be dull and sharp in ways that can’t be sharp.
He drives the blade home. Success is such an interesting word. And has such interesting consequences. He feels something shatter as he drives that pike home. He’s never disobeyed an order like that. Has never pulled this level of shenanigan and it hurts. He’s never felt this level of pain before. Not since he became a Watcher centuries and centuries ago. He’s fairly sure he screams as the man dies on his blade. He hears a cheer come up from behind him. But all he knows is pain. He disobeyed an order. Sure there were two orders in contradiction to each other but that’s the only reason he isn’t a pile of ash on the ground. He’s in pain and doesn’t know what to do about it.
He smells the delicious scent through the breeze of his swirling panicked mind. Of cookies and sandwiches. Of warmth. It's welcoming and it's an escape. Grian turns towards the warmth and runs.
…
When Mumbo accidentally summoned a fey, well he wasn’t expecting a friend that’s for bloody sure. And yet, here he is. Wondering if Grian would prefer roast beef or ham. He sighs. It's obvious, both. He sighs again, he knows Grian well enough to know that the fey would want both.
Humming to himself, he prepares the sandwiches and keeps an eye on the oven. Ever since the cookie debacle a couple of months ago they'd been sharing cookies from all over the human and fey worlds. Today was snickerdoodle.
He hears a thump behind him. “Oh hi…” There is a pile of almost purple but not quite feathers. He leans down to the pile and pokes it with his spatula. “Grian?” The pile sits up fast. And it’s definitely Grian but… it's also not. It’s Grian shaped is what it is. Grian shaped with too many eyes and teeth and wings. “Oh crumbs what happened?” The thing looks at him and then spits far too much blood onto his kitchen floor. “Alright,” Mumbo said backing up slowly with his hands in the air from the not Grian. “I’ve got you a sandwich here.” He slides the plate with the roast beef and ham sandwich in front of the creature. It eats it in one bit. Plate and all. And then it falls over on its side, completely passed out. Mumbo blinks. Well alright then.
It takes two days for what he's 50 percent sure is Grian to wake up. The being sits up and almost like one would shed a coat, it reaches a hand onto one of the smaller wings and pulls. Suddenly it’s not a being with too much of everything laid out on Mumbo’s couch. It's just Grian.
“What?” Grian croaked out. “What happened?”
“I have no idea,” Mumbo responds as evenly as he can. “Scared the pants off of me.”
Grian falls back against the couch. “Thank you for taking care of me.” He said gesturing to the bandages that Mumbo’s sure are useless. “When I’m like that.”
“What…” He doesn’t know how to phrase this. “What was that?”
“I’m fey,” Grian said, not looking at Mumbo. “I was summoned and paid my due fee… Didn’t follow it and paid the price.”
Mumbo swallows tightly. He doesn’t want to ask. “What’s the price?”
“I found a loophole,” Grian said far too naturally for someone saying that he’d broken like a law of the universe. “The rules of the universe will correct themselves. They are the Watchers and they don’t take kindly to my perfectly legal shenanigans. So they’ll correct it. Probably at my expense.” He takes inventory of himself. “Haven't lost anything yet.”
Mumbo stares. He can’t help himself. The universe has rulers. Grian is actively spiting them. Sure. Why not. “You were bleeding.”
“I suppose I was.”
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Neither did I.”
They leave it out. Mumbo doesn’t push for what Grian was asked to do that he had decided was too far. What was he willing to find a loophole and possibly die to get out of? And Grian doesn’t seem all that interested to share.
And that seemed to be that. Until one-day Grian falls through the mirror, a harried look on his face. And before Mumbo can even say they were all out of cheddar how about swiss, his friend grabs his arm and pulls him into the fey realm.
He without a word spoken hugs Mumbo tightly and it is nice but Grian is acting weird and Mumbo’s got to know what’s going on. “What’s going on?”
Grian looks away. “I’m going to go… away for a while.”
Mumbo snorts. “Vague.”
Grian huffs and shoves him lightly. “It’s fine.” He gets serious again. “I may not come back for a long time.”
Mumbo nods along. “Did the universe cops catch up to you?”
And finally, Grian smiles. “Yeah.” He said, voice still sad and withdrawn. “Yeah they’ve caught up to me and I…” Something so human cracks in Grian’s voice. “Mumbo I may not come back. I don’t know their plan or if I can wiggle out.”
Mumbo swallows tightly. “Come back.” He whispers, something hot building in his throat as he realized that he may never see his best friend again. “I’ll make you all the sandwiches and cookies you want just please promise me you’ll come back!”
And Grian just smiles and with a quick shove, Mumbo is falling back into the pond with a splash. “Goodbye Mumbo.”
He lands in his kitchen. “Promise!” He yells to an empty kitchen. He runs forward and places a hand on the glass. It doesn’t ripple the way it has for ages now. It's just glass. And Grian is gone.
…
He does not age. It's been years now and he has not aged a day. He prays that he won’t.
He sets a sandwich and some cookies next to his mirror in his kitchen every afternoon. And the next day when he replaced the previous day's uneaten sandwich he tries his best not to cry.
He doesn’t like to think how long Grian was gone. Or what horrors might be happening elsewhere.
Until one day he does.
He was in his bedroom doing something largely unimportant, folding socks probably, when he hears the crash in the other room. A distinct crash that only Grian makes when he flies into the pond and crashes into Mumbo’s pots. He drops the socks.
“Grian?” He calls, practically falling down the stairs. “Grian?”
“Mumbo?” He hears another crash.
And then he sees his best friend. Standing in the kitchen holding the sandwich in one hand and about five pots in the other. But Mumbo doesn’t care. He launches himself forward. The sandwich and the pots go flying. He feels Grian’s hands wrap around him and the wings follow.
“Crumbs,” Mumbo said with a wet laugh. He pulls away and slaps his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t you ever do that to me again!” He grabs Grian again and pulls him into a hug. “I missed you so much.”
“I’m getting incredibly mixed signals,” Grian mumbled, face smashed against Mumbo’s shirt.
“Shush,” Mumbo said with a laugh, not planning on letting go of Grian anytime soon.
But eventually, they pull away, and the two stare at each other for a long moment. “I'm sorry.” Grian finally said. “I'm so sorry Mumbo.”
“I highly doubt you asked for any of this,” Mumbo said. He had been angry in the beginning. But that was years ago at this point and he knows the anger is misdirected. Grian didn’t ask to get ripped from his life. He turns his attention to the sourdough he picked up from this quaint local bakery earlier in the week. “Sandwich?”
“Yes but I—“ Grian stops. “That’s it? No… You're not mad at me?”
Mumbo waved his bread-cutting knife around wildly. “For what, getting taken by some universe cops? And doing… something…”
“Death game.”
“And…” Mumbo looks at his friend. “What?”
Grian sighs and settles in one of Mumbo’s barstools. And that’s when Mumbo notices how frankly exhausted his friend looks. There are dark bags under his eyes and the normally hidden away in a pocket dimension wings are dropping against his back. “Troublemakers of the universe get swept up every once in a while.” He sighs again. “No one ever truly dies, that wouldn’t be entertaining for the,” he snorts, “universe cops.”
The knife trembled in Mumbo’s hand. He doesn’t even know how to respond to that. “That’s…”
“Messed up?” Grian said, snatching the words from Mumbo’s mouth. “Definitely.” He shrugs. “Gotta keep us in line somehow.” His face darkens. “Lead a revolt once… Did not go well.”
They leave it there. Mumbo isn’t sure he’ll ever understand the way Fey work or their cruel laws. And Grian doesn’t ask why Mumbo doesn’t let him out of his sight or why he would be in the fey realm far more than he had been previously. They decided it was best not to talk about those things.
And eventually, they healed. Grian would still disappear every once in a while. And Mumbo would be there to pick his best friend up. And when Mumbo freaked about the fact that it had been fifty years and he hadn’t aged a day and people are going to be suspicious… Grian built him a cottage next to the giant boulder he lived in.
It has been three hundred years… give or take a few decades. (Mumbo had long since lost track) They had tea scheduled for noonish with Cleo and Joe and Mumbo was making cucumber sandwiches.
His soul gives a particular tug as Grian flies in through the skylight and lands gracefully on the kitchen counter. Mumbo smacks him with a dish towel. “Claws off the table.” He grumbles as Grian hisses at him.
The afternoon sun flirts through the window. And even three hundred years later, Mumbo can’t help but bask in the beauty of the fey realm. Sure he knows what hides beneath it. But the land is gorgeous. He smiles at Grian as his friend smiles back. This was gorgeous. And no matter what, he was here to stay.