It's the scars which have brought them here, to where they are. Together in Sussex with a cottage and bees and books, marked by adventure. Without the scars, they would never have met. Without the scars, they would never have admitted what was in front of them all of the time, leaving this forever in the bounds of friendships, pulled slowly apart by time. They almost allowed that to happen as it is. And though they've scarred each other - words said at the wrong moment, actions done that cannot be undone, two long years apart - that's all part of their history now. Woven into their tapestry, embroidered on the very foundations of their relationship. Though it bloody hurt at the time - and for a long time afterwards - they recovered. They moved on, stronger for the pain, better able to bear the next battle however much it may burn. The scars remind each of them of the hell that they went through, but, in the end it's the scars that make this more precious, the threat of the almost driving them to treasure further the already treasured, engrain it deep so as to be undeniable.

And so it is, born from blood and promised death, the scars serve a new purpose. The reminder of their battles and wars, the stories that they could tell but choose not to. Ultimately, it is the story of two men who forged a path together and carried on, who battled through even when it seemed certain that everything was lost. In truth, they saved each other. (And where these scars are concerned, it doesn't matter that that's a cliché.)