#eritha writes

A laugh bubbled out of Caspian and he waved his hands apologetically. “Maker, no, nothing like that!” he said. “It’s only that– there’s an old rivalry in Ostwick; practically splits the city. About whether you put the jam or the cream on a scone first. I was curious what someone who didn’t grow up there would do.”

Scone rivalries… It was so quaint, that Dorian felt all fluffy inside.

“Well, what do you do first?” he asked.

“Oh no, no, no– I’m not going to influence your answer. Pick for yourself.”

“Hm.” Dorian tapped his scone absentmindedly. Caspian could deny all he wanted that it was a test, but this still felt oddly stressful. “I suppose… I don’t see any butter, so perhaps the cream first? It already looks a bit like the white butter we have back in Tevinter.”

Caspian thrust his arms out enthusiastically, rattling the tray slightly. “Yes! Exactly!” he exclaimed, eyes shining with apparent satisfaction. “The cream replaces the butter!”

Maker’s breath, this may have been the most fired-up Dorian had ever seen him. It was utterly adorable.

“I chose correctly, then?” Dorian ventured with a smirk, eyebrow raised.

Caspian huffed and rolled his eyes good-naturedly, finally grabbing a scone for himself and slicing it in half. His voice took on a conspiratorial tone.

He had only taken a few steps down the trail when Manannan appeared before him with a burst of static, his eyes burning, his lip curled with unspoken fury. Gwydion felt the weight of his mistake immediately.

As punishment, he was confined to his room for two whole days with no food, and his only water being what was left in his washbowl. Looking back, Gwydion suspected that it was only his master’s disdain from having to attend to himself for once that prevented him from being imprisoned any longer.

“Perhaps now you will appreciate the freedom I already grant you,” Manannan had said upon finally releasing him.

Yet despite the starvation, the dehydration, and the complete lack of stimuli from being trapped in his tiny cell of a room for forty-eight hours, it wasn’t even the worst part of the whole ordeal.

===

Manannan had summoned Gwydion to his study a few days later. He said nothing for a minute or so, simply fixing Gwydion with an unnerving stare. Then he muttered something, waved his hands, and from them he conjured the most beautiful bird Gwydion had ever seen. He watched with awe, barely noticing his master’s penetrating gaze, as it fluttered around the room, cooing softly.

Entranced, Gwydion held out his hands and the bird landed in them. Its pearlescent feathers were silky beneath his fingertips, thrumming with an orphic sense of magic. As he gently stroked the creature, Gwydion absentmindedly wondered how a man like his master could create something this charming and delicate.

Alas, it then happened so fast.

One moment, the bird was singing a pretty song to Gwydion and the next, it was writhing and contorting and with a last ghastly shriek, it crumbled to ash in his hands.

With utter horror, Gwydion watched as the ash showered to the floor, slipping through his quaking fingers.

Manannan finally spoke again, snapping him briefly out of his harrowed daze.

“That, boy,” he declared, voice cold and face stoic save for a strange leer in his eyes, “is what will happen to you if you ever attempt to leave this mountaintop again.”

And later, as Gwydion swept up the remains of the bird with silent tears rolling down his cheeks, he promised himself that he would never ever go near the mountain path again, not once.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked instead, unable to keep the smirk out of his tone.

Finnigan said nothing at first, instead crowding even closer, the firm line of his body incredibly warm against his back. Horus was unable to hold back the hitch in his breath when Finnigan nuzzled into his neck, the bristles of his beard prickling at his skin.

“Hmm…” Finnigan rumbled against his pulse point, voice pitched almost sinfully low. He ran his hands down over Horus’ hips. “You’ve been on my mind all day…”

Horus swallowed, and whined quietly in the back of his throat. Oh, this was unfair.

“Why did you have to do this whilst I was making dinner?”

Finnigan just chuckled. He pressed a firm kiss to the sensitive spot behind his ear before finally extracting his arms and stepping back.

Skylord Horus looked, frankly, a mess. The half of his face not obscured by a messy beard was gaunt, his eyes shadowed with dark circles. His curls of auburn hair were lank and matted and fell at his chin, and he wore dirty, threadbare clothing that seemed to hang off his frame. He was also covered in a few bruises and abrasions in various states of healing.

—-

[sidenote: amber suspected that horus might be a little suspicious when the heroes found him so she sent them off with a childhood nickname that would hopefully win him over]

Xephos extended a hand out towards him. "We're friends. We're here to get you out."

Horus just squinted at the proffered palm.

"They've tried a lot of things to get me to talk," he said, redirecting his gaze to Xephos' face, his deep blue eyes dull with malaise. "Why should I trust you?"

"Uh..." Xephos drew back slightly. He had to admit that the Skylord had a point. Breaking into his cell didn't necessarily make them trustworthy. But they were running out of time; Israphel’s minions could show up at any moment and—

"Bambi sent us," Honeydew piped up suddenly from his post at the cell doorway.

Horus' demeanour changed immediately.

"Amber?!" he shuffled about almost feverishly, as if he were about to attempt to stand up. "Is— Then she's—" He scrubbed at his face, barking out a borderline hysterical burst of laughter that was thick with emotion.

"She's fine," Honeydew soothed, stepping further into the cell. "But she's a scary lass and I think she'll have our heads if we don't bring you back in one piece, so..." Honeydew also offered him a hand. "Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

The Skylord stared at him for a couple of seconds, his eyes flicking around his face as if searching for something. He apparently found what he was looking for and nodded slightly, setting his jaw in a determined grimace. He took Honeydew's wrist in a shaky grip and was pulled to his feet, accepting Xephos' steadying hand on his other side.

—-

"So, what are the names of my two handsome rescuers?" the Skylord asked, offering them a crooked, if tired, grin.

"Oho, you charmer!" Honeydew giggled behind his hand with faux coyness. He gestured to himself, "This prime specimen you see before you is Honeydew, and the lanky one with a beanpole for a body is Xephos."

"Is it an unwritten rule for all Skylords to be gay or something?" Xephos blurted out, a blush colouring his cheeks.

Horus laughed heartily at that— well, as much as a weak, malnourished man in the midst of an escape attempt could, anyway.