Garryn sat in the quiet of his friend’s home, his mind a storm of thoughts. The crackling fire in the hearth did little to soothe the tension in his shoulders. He should have known that leaving the throne wouldn’t mean leaving behind all the burdens that came with it. He’d abdicated for a reason, seeking a simpler life where he only had to answer to himself. But the world, it seemed, had other plans.
His gaze shifted to the small, makeshift nest in the corner of the room where a young griffon lay, bandaged and weak. The poor creature had taken a blade meant for him. The assassins had come in the dead of night, silent and swift, with murder in their hearts. Garryn had fought them off, but not before his griffon had been wounded, and the attackers had fled.
He hadn’t had the luxury of chasing them down, not with his companion bleeding out in his arms. Instead, he’d focused on keeping the griffon alive, nursing it back to health as best he could with what little he knew of healing. The bird’s sharp eyes were now dull with pain, its once-strong wings folded in defeat. Seeing it like this tore at something deep within him—this griffon was his responsibility now, and he’d be damned if he failed it.
But Garryn knew he couldn’t ignore the broader threat. Someone had sent those assassins, and while he no longer held power in Tantervale, it was clear that his past wasn’t ready to let him go. He’d sent out messages to his friends and allies, hoping they could shed some light on who was behind the attack. The list of suspects was long, but he couldn’t fathom why anyone would still care about a dethroned dwarf who just wanted to be left alone.
Sighing, Garryn leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He’d given up the crown, the titles, and the responsibilities that came with them. All he wanted was peace, a life where he could raise his griffon and live on his own terms. But peace, it seemed, was not something easily earned.
He’d wait for word from his allies, but he wouldn’t just sit idle. Once his griffon was on the mend, he’d find out who was behind this and make them regret ever crossing his path. He might no longer be a king, but he hadn’t forgotten how to fight.
The heavy doors closed behind him with a muted thud, sealing off the outside world. The Circle's halls were quiet, a welcome reprieve after the day's exhausting trials. Jareth rubbed his eyes and sighed, muttering under his breath, That’s enough for one day. Without a second thought, he collapsed onto the nearest settee, the weight of his body sinking into the cushions.
Sleep was elusive for most, but not for Jareth. As his consciousness ebbed, he knew he was simply trading one reality for another. The Fade called to him, as it always did, even more so with the Veil shattered. Lifting himself from the physical form he'd left behind, he entered the further—the realm beyond dreams, where the lines between past and present, memory and magic, blurred.
The Fade had changed since the Veil’s destruction. It felt more volatile, more tangible, though Jareth still wasn’t sure what that meant for him. Steeling his focus, he began searching for his spirit companions, their presence a familiar anchor in the chaotic expanse. But instead of their reassuring forms, he found something unexpected.
A vision.
In the haze of the Fade, a scene from the past played out before him. The smoky, blurred figures of spirits recreated the memory with ethereal precision. His old friend, Garryn, pushed through the Circle’s gates, face etched with urgency. Though the vision was dim and soundless, Jareth knew the expression well—it had been years since he’d seen the king, yet the sight stirred something deeply buried.
Garryn? Jareth whispered, stepping closer as if to grasp the fleeting image. But before he could reach it, the vision evaporated into the mist, leaving only questions in its wake. His brow furrowed, confusion settling in.
Jareth awoke with a jolt, the weight of the past heavy on his mind. His body felt sluggish, not just from the dream but from the lingering fatigue of his recent battle with a demon. Maker’s breath, he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he forced himself upright. He shook off the remnants of sleep.
There was only one thing to do. Follow the dream.
With a determined sigh, Jareth strode back through the same heavy doors, intent on finding answers—and, perhaps, his friend.
Garryn stared into the fire, the flickering flames casting long shadows across the room. His mind was made up—he would deal with the threat head-on. No more hiding, no more pretending he could live a quiet life while enemies still lurked in the dark. The griffon stirred weakly in the corner, and Garryn’s chest tightened. He had to protect it, and himself.
Just as the resolve settled in his bones, he heard it—a faint crunch of footsteps outside, barely audible over the rain. His heart quickened, instinct immediately flaring. Someone was coming.
He stood up, the chair scraping against the floor as he grabbed his sword from where it leaned against the wall. The familiar weight of it in his hand was a comfort, though he hadn’t expected to need it so soon.
For a moment, Garryn listened. The footsteps drew closer, splashing lightly through the mud. His grip on the hilt tightened. Friend or foe, he wasn’t about to take any chances.
Pushing the door open, Garryn stepped out into the damp night, eyes narrowing as the cold air hit his face. The rain had lessened to a drizzle, but the mist made it hard to see. The faint silhouette of a figure approached through the gloom, and for a heartbeat, Garryn’s breath caught in his throat. Was it one of the assassins? Had they come back to finish the job?
He took a step forward, sword raised, ready for anything.
Who's there? he called, his voice steady despite the tension curling in his gut.
The figure came closer, their features beginning to take shape through the mist. Garryn held his breath, waiting to see whether this was an ally... or another threat.
The blade glinted even in the dense clouds that overwhelmed the senses. Like a lighthouse guiding lost ships, Jareth spotted the familiar figure ahead. Clad in flowing robes adorned with intricate silver embroidery, the mage's attire shimmered faintly, catching what little light pierced the fog.
A soft glow emanated from the staff he carried, pulsing gently and pushing back the mist just enough to reveal his friend amidst the gloom.
Garryn… The name escaped his lips, a breath caught between relief and disbelief. It had been too long—
You should know, better than most—there are consequences to threatening a mage. Friend, Jareth said smiling, his voice steady, but the words trembled with the weight of memories. He could almost hear the echoes of their past, the rush of adrenaline, as they shared danger.
With each step forward, he felt the air thicken with unspoken tension, memories crashing over him like waves. He remembered the bitter moment he had awoken to find Garryn gone, the panic clawing at his chest.
Dreams had recently come to him—visions of Garryn, trouble closing in, and the haunting call for help that pulled him from his sleep.
Jareth's heart raced, not just from the urgency of the moment but from finding out his friend was alive, and well. He reached out, letting the soft glow of his staff wash over Garryn, the warmth spilling like sunlight on a cold morning.
Its been far too long- he continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. But I knew I had to find you. I needed to know if you were okay.
Garryn’s stance relaxed slightly, his sword lowering as he recognized the familiar figure in the mist. Relief washed over him, mingling with a confusion he struggled to hide. He hadn’t expected to see Jareth—not after these last couple of years. But here he was, the faint glow of his magic cutting through the fog and the chill of the night, looking much the same as he had the last time they’d met. A part of him wanted to believe this was another vision or trick of the mind, but the warmth in Jareth’s voice was unmistakable.
A wary smile tugged at Garryn’s lips, his grip on the sword loosening as he stepped forward. Well, you’re either a good spirit or you’ve finally lost it enough to come after me in the middle of a mess like this, he muttered, a dry chuckle escaping despite the weight of his worries. Either way, it’s… it’s good to see you, Jareth. Damn good.
The warmth between them softened the night, even as the rain drizzled down. Garryn glanced back at the doorway, where a soft whimper drifted from his young griffon, injured and restless. He looked back at Jareth, guilt flickering across his face.
I wish I could say things were quiet here. I wanted that, you know? But it seems someone’s determined not to let me go in peace. Garryn’s voice grew sharper, hardened by frustration. Assassins came for me. Thought a dethroned dwarf wouldn’t be missed, but they missed their mark. The griffon… he took a blow meant for me.
He shook his head, fighting to keep his emotions in check. Now that I’ve come close to losing him, I realize I’m not willing to lose anything else. Whoever’s behind this—they’ll regret it. His eyes narrowed, a flash of the fighter he’d once been gleaming in their depths.
Garryn studied Jareth for a moment, the weight of his past lightening, if only slightly, at the sight of his old friend. What’s brought you here, truly? Not just a friendly check-in, I imagine. His smile was guarded, but his voice was tinged with hope. After all these years, perhaps there was more left between them than just memories.
Jareth gently rested his hands on Garryn’s shoulders. He chuckled, It's great seeing you too... His tone trailed off, his eyes widening in surprise.
He stepped inside. Naturally, he quickly was drawn to a creature he never imagined he’d see outside the pages of books. Is that— he began, his voice barely above a whisper as he moved closer, dropping his wet coat to the floor with a soft thud. It wasn’t like him to ignore someone; he always paid attention.
Yet, who could blame him? Before him stood a griffon—a rarity, its feathers soft and downy, a wild beauty that tugged at his heart.
When Garryn mentioned assassins, alarm flared in Jareth’s chest. A thousand questions swirled in his mind, demanding answers. But he pushed them aside temporarily, urgency demanded it.
He hovered his hands just above the creature, feeling for its vital signs. The outside world faded into an echo, leaving only the slow, rhythmic thump of the griffon’s heart—a pulse so different from the steady beat of a human.
I see, he murmured, the weight of the situation sinking in.
Concern creased Jareth’s brow as he stole a glance at Garryn. The expression on his friend’s face was a tumultuous blend of relief and something else.
Jareth crossed his arms against the chill that suddenly wrapped around him, a shiver coursing down his spine. Was it the atmosphere, or perhaps—a remnant of the magical link he had forged with the creature? What—what happened to… Too many things to say, he was uncertain as to where to begin. The words annoyingly stuck in his throat.
That’s when he noticed it. The weight his friend carried, the sharp edge of his frustration. Garryn, he finally said, his tone softening, you’re not alone anymore. He pulled his friend into a brief embrace, hoping to convey his unwavering support before stepping back, his expression serious.
Now—this is important. What do you remember about the blade that struck... this griffon?
Garryn was momentarily taken aback by the embrace, the warmth of Jareth’s hand on his shoulder grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. The world around him seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving only the silent camaraderie and shared understanding of two friends who had seen far too much.
He returned the embrace, a brief but firm clasp, before stepping back, his gaze settling on the griffon with renewed determination. The creature stirred, its pale eyes meeting Garryn’s, and he felt a surge of responsibility wash over him. He turned to Jareth, his expression darkening as he recalled the events of that night.
It happened so fast, he began, his voice carrying the weight of lingering anger and frustration. They came in the dead of night, shadows slipping through the trees like they belonged there. There were three of them, maybe more. Didn’t catch a good look at their faces… but the blades? I remember those. He looked down at his hand, clenching it as though he could still feel the bite of steel against his skin.
They weren’t ordinary weapons, Jareth. The blade that struck my griffon—it had this dark, unnatural gleam to it. Almost like the metal itself was... tainted. He paused, recalling the strange, almost corrosive effect the weapon had on the griffon’s wound. The wound isn’t healing as it should. Whatever they used, it’s got some kind of magic on it, something foul. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The young griffon looked at Jareth, clearly trying to express pain and agony that it was in because of the wounds.
Tension hung thick in the air like smoke trapped in a closed room—dark and oppressive. Jareth drew a slow, measured breath, heart pounding in his chest as he gazed at the young griffon. The creature’s wide, pleading eyes reflected a pain too profound to ignore. He stepped closer, hesitating for a heartbeat, his fingertips hovering just above the quivering feathers, as if even the lightest touch might shatter the fragile beast.
It’s a cruel thing, he murmured, voice low and reverent.
He turned to Garryn, searching for reassurance in his friend’s gaze. I’ll do what I can. I won’t let it end like this. To promise life when death looms… it’s the worst burden a healer can bear. A flash of doubt flickered in his mind. What if his magic faltered? What if he failed?
No! It must work! A fire ignited within him, dispelling the shadows of doubt.
With a heavy heart, Jareth closed his eyes, centering himself. He drew in a deep breath, letting the warmth of magic flow through his fingertips, steadying his resolve.
Hold on, friend, he whispered, placing his hand over the creature’s wound. A soft glow enveloped his palm, radiating an ethereal light that pulsed in time with the griffon’s shallow breaths. Jareth focused intently on the dark taint left by the blade, summoning the energy of his magic to purge the poison that clung to the injury.
Purge! he chanted, his voice a thread of power weaving through the air. Light erupted from his fingertips, transforming into luminous strands that stretched into the wound like tendrils. They delved deep, pulling forth the dark essence as if extracting an arrow from a man’s chest. The griffon stiffened, a pained cry escaping its lips.
In a shimmering exhale, the dark taint was drawn from the wound, dissipating like mist in the morning sun.
Jareth’s brow furrowed as he turned to the next phase. Now, lets mend what’s broken, he intoned, channeling the full, controlled force of his magic. The wound began to knit itself together, raw edges smoothing beneath the soft glow of his healing aura.
He could feel the griffon’s pain subside, the tension in its body easing as the magic took hold. Its breaths grew deeper, steadier, and Jareth felt a swell of relief mixed with fierce pride. The creature was no longer a mere victim; it was a survivor.
As the final threads of his magic wove the griffon’s flesh back together, Jareth stepped back, breathless yet exhilarated.
Jareth turned to Garryn, his heart full as the weight of despair lifted. Together, he said, a smile breaking through.
Garryn's expression softened, the tension etched into his features easing as he watched Jareth’s magic mend the griffon’s wound. The creature shuddered once, then relaxed, a low, contented chirp escaping its beak as it settled into a more comfortable position. Relief flooded Garryn’s heart, bringing a tremor to his voice as he turned to his old friend.
Jareth... you’ve no idea what this means, he said, shaking his head as if to banish the weight of disbelief. Thank you. I don’t think I could have done this without you.
He stepped closer, clasping Jareth’s shoulder with a strong, calloused hand. For a moment, they stood in shared silence, two warriors who had faced countless battles and carried the scars to prove it. But this moment—this victory—was theirs.
Looks like I owe you more than one now, Garryn added, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was the smile of a man who had faced loss, pain, and betrayal, but who still clung to hope with stubborn tenacity. And I don’t plan on forgetting that anytime soon.
His eyes hardened again, the resolve burning brighter now. But whoever sent those assassins won’t be expecting what’s coming next. They wanted a dethroned king out of the way, someone who would go down quietly. They didn’t count on old friends and old magic, did they?
A spark of fire lit in Garryn’s eyes, a hint of the warrior-king who had once commanded legions and held his ground against impossible odds. He glanced back at the griffon, now resting more peacefully than it had in days, then met Jareth’s gaze with fierce determination.
Together, we’ll find them. And when we do, they’ll learn what happens when you cross someone with nothing left to lose—and everything to protect.
Jareth paused, his expression softening for a brief moment. A faint smile was drawn at the corner of his mouth as he shifted his stare. His hands, still slightly trembling, clasped together in front of him, as though the praise was something he wasn’t quite sure how to handle. He glanced down, gathering his thoughts, before meeting the other’s eyes with a quiet nod.
It’s nothing, he muttered, the words spilling out almost too quickly. Just… just glad I could help. He looked away again, the weight of the moment slipping through his fingers.
He let out a soft breath, his shoulders relaxing beneath the hand resting on them. For a heartbeat, he stood still, allowing the warmth of the gesture to sink in.
Jareth’s brow furrowed, a faint trace of a smile tugging at his lips as he met Garryn’s eyes. His countenance softened, but a slight shake of his head followed—a subtle dismissal of the praise.
You don’t owe me anything, he said, his voice firm & kind.
We’re in this together, same as before.
And then—there he was. As if pulled straight from one of those books he constantly read. The ones about heroes, about overcoming impossible odds. The mage’s jaw tightened, the weight of Garryn’s words settling deep within him. A flicker of something—admiration, perhaps?
Well said, friend, he added, his voice carrying a note of approval.
Jareth’s expression was hard now, his mind made up. There was no hesitation in him, no second-guessing. He would see this through—whatever it took.
Garryn gave Jareth a firm nod, appreciating the steadiness of his old friend’s resolve. The warmth of camaraderie tempered the cold anger that had settled in his chest since the attack. He turned his gaze back to the griffon, now resting peacefully. Its rhythmic breathing was a testament to Jareth’s skill, and to their combined determination to set things right.
We’ve been through worse, haven’t we? Garryn said, a wry smile breaking through his hardened exterior. Though I don’t think either of us expected to be patching up griffons and chasing shadows again. It’s almost enough to make me nostalgic.
His tone was light, but his eyes carried a weight that couldn’t be ignored. He reached out, brushing a hand gently over the griffon’s feathers, his touch both protective and reverent. She’s strong—stronger than I thought. Just like you. He met Jareth’s gaze again, the teasing warmth replaced by a rare earnestness. You don’t give yourself enough credit, you know. Always playing the humble mage. But I see it, Jareth. You’ve got a fire in you. And we’re going to need that fire for what’s ahead.
Straightening, Garryn’s demeanor shifted, taking on the air of a man accustomed to planning his next move. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the familiar weight grounding him as he began to piece together a strategy.
Those assassins didn’t just stumble upon me by chance. Someone sent them, and whoever it was knew exactly what they were doing. The blade they used—it wasn’t just designed to kill. It was meant to leave a mark. A message. His jaw tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface. They wanted me to know they were coming, and they wanted me to know I couldn’t fight back. But they made a mistake.
He stepped closer to Jareth, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. They underestimated me. Us. The blade—did you feel it? That taint wasn’t just magic. It felt... wrong. Like it didn’t belong here. I think we’re dealing with something bigger than assassins or rival kingdoms. Something darker.
The fire in his eyes burned brighter now, his resolve as unyielding as the steel he carried. We’ll need to track them, follow their trail back to whoever pulled the strings. But first, we regroup. Rest. You’ve done enough for tonight, my friend. We both have.
He placed a hand on Jareth’s shoulder once more, the gesture firm and reassuring. We’ll face this together. Just like we always have.
The griffon stirred, lifting its head slightly to watch the two men, its gaze filled with gratitude and trust. Garryn smiled faintly, a rare softness breaking through his hardened exterior.
And with her on our side... well, I’d say we’ve got the beginnings of a fine team, wouldn’t you?
His laugh was quiet but genuine, a small flicker of light against the darkness they faced. Whatever was coming, whatever lay ahead, Garryn knew they would face it together. And that was enough. For now.
