Eyes Up, Guardian - Extra Scenes

Safety

Warning; moderate, undetailed sexual content.

 Torak descended to the rock only after he'd proved at least three times over that the surrounding area was clear for a solid three miles. No one would be bringing word back to his father that he had helped the King's son. The King's disappointing, weak, good-for-nothing son.

He didn't feel that way about the prince. He didn't want to feel that way about the prince, not after so many people already did. The prince was kind, a rarity in this clan. He was smart- another rarity- and he was willing to stick his neck out for people, even the lower classes. Damian had earned his respect a long time ago. Torak had been able to see it in him when they were growing up, his inner courage, his backbone, his grit. He'd cemented that respect recently, when sickness had ravaged valley.

The King hadn't cared that his people were dying. He and the nobles had hidden in their palace, all the while calling them weak, saying they were lessor for getting sick, that they deserved it. That they deserved to die. Damian hadn't followed along. He'd taken the opportunity to escape his tower room, using his knowledge to come up with a remedy, a cure. But no one had trusted the young prince. They thought he was trying to poison them, to torture them or kill them with his mysterious remedy, his potion.

He'd come to Torak's door at a last resort. His father had been with the king, hiding away from the sickness while Torak's sisters, his own daughters, coughed up their own blood. Torak had allowed him in, and convinced his sisters to take the potion. They'd recovered quicker than any of them could have hoped, and Torak had helped him spread his remedy across the valley without the king finding out. Now, Torak owed him a life debt, because he'd saved his sisters, and as he circled high above the rock, he had a feeling he was about to repay him.

He descended to the rock in a quick burst, folding his wings in tight as he shot down from the sky, only to throw them out at the last second, landing on the rock with a gentle thump. The prince lay at the flat end of the rock, up above where he had landed along the slant. Torak hadn't gotten a good view of him in his descent, but he already knew he was alone. He'd spotted his partner fleeing into the night not an hour after sundown. It had taken all he had not to go after the bastard.

He hurried up the slope quickly, frowning at what he found before him. Damian was unconscious, curled on his side, his chest bare, his wounds exposed to the harsh chill of the winter air. Torak spotted his shirt and coat tossed off to the side of the rock, wet from the spray on the rock, useless. His skin was pale as Torak knelt beside him, and there was a pool of blood from the two slices on his back resting below him. He set a hand to one of the wounds, prodding it with a finger. His partner had cut deep, as though he'd wanted Damian to bleed out on the damned rock. Why had he chosen that bastard, anyways?

Worse still, his skin was cold to the touch, his body heat just about gone. He wasn't even shivering any more. The warrior drew off his heavy cloak, and his coat, sliding the prince into the coat and securing it around his smaller frame before wrapping him up in the cloak. He had to get off of this rock, and fast, before the rest of the village woke up and found him on the rock, or worse, climbing through Damian's tower window with the unconscious prince in tow.

He wasted no time scooping up the prince and lifting him into his arms. Luckily for him, Torak had been training with his father's soldiers for years, he could fly with heavy packs, and warriors twice his size. Damian was a small burden to bear, especially as the prince seemed to have been losing weight the past few months. He took to the skies quickly, staying low over the forest to avoid being spotted by anyone patrolling overhead as he made the short flight back to Damian's tower room.