FINALLY

With a broad, self-satisfied grin, Cedric splays his arms and declares, "I have elected to look into Memory Charms!"

The raven stares, blinking, his mind whirring to a halt. "Memory charms...?"

"Indeed, Wormy!" Cedric exclaims, and starts rattling off the same way he does about his Amulet plans. "Sure, I will have to dig up my notes―oh, the irony! I've forgotten all about it, hah―but once I do, I'll be able to perform a masterful one on myself, and kablui! We can literally forget all about it for good."

At his words, everything seems to fall silent. The seagulls' cry over the sea, the rustle of wind-swept waves, the calls of castle staff in the courtyard. For a moment, in the raven's mind, all falls to stillness.

"You―" Wormwood finally whispers, his mouth gone so dry the words scratch him on their way out, "you want to... erase your memories...?"

"Well, erase is a rather crude term, but... yes, you get the gist," Cedric answers, with a small hand-wave. "I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner, really! I was never into the whole mind magic business, I guess."

Oblivious to the raven's stunned silence, Cedric quickly rolls up his sleeve, exposing the four white lines marring his thin forearm. "Of course, like you said, I'll still have the scars," he says indifferently. "But I'll find a way to explain them to myself, I'm sure. I wouldn't worry about it."

But his words barely reach Wormwood; the raven cannot take his eyes off the scars. Almost breathless, he murmurs, "You'd do something like that… to forget I ever put my claws on you."

"Exactly. This way, there will be no reason for it to bother us anymore. Problem solved at the root. Perfect, right?" the sorcerer is still saying. There's something in his voice, some undefined edge of panic. Please, stop me, Wormwood hears that something beseech. "Don't I have the best ideas?"

He finally looks up at Cedric's satisfied face―arms crossed, his nose in the air, a smug smirk stiffening his laugh lines―Wormwood can feel nothing but the slow beat of his own heart, and the screamed prayers in his mind. He hadn't considered, not even for a moment, the things Cedric's particular brand of ruthlessness can drive him to.

"Wormy?" the sorcerer's voice calls after a while, sounding as distant as if he were all the way across a field.

The raven realises he has been staring off into space for a full minute at least. Everything has become a blur, and he tries to answer, but no words can make it past his clenched teeth, and his breathing is speeding up. A great wave of dread hangs above him, the air pressing down and muffling all around him. Something is stuck in his throat, aching like a bite too large to swallow. His eyes sting again, both of them.

"Wormy, is something the matter?" Cedric calls him again. This time, the blurriness doesn't go away when he blinks, and as the fear grows he feels control slip from him. "Have you got something in your eye again?"

"Is this what I've done...?" he murmurs, and his voice comes out different, clipped and shaky, his throat spasming painfully. "You were right―all along, you were right―how could it be the same when I―what was I thinking when I did this to you?"

"I... am afraid I don't follow," Cedric says, puzzled. Instead of fleeing from him, he inches closer. "What are you saying, all of a sudden?"

"Why have I been so stupid―how could I be so cruel, as to make you want to―want to..." He brings a hand to his throat, trying to feel the thing obstructing it, but there's nothing but omitted words. When an unknown force pulls it out of him, the word chokes him, "Mutilate yourself, dabbling in mind magic of all things, all because of―"

Sounding mildly alarmed, Cedric raises his palms at him. "Now, now, with those crude terms! Granted, mind magic is tricky, and some do say fickle and dangerous, but―" he halts when a strangled noise escapes Wormwood. "It… was just an idea, it just seemed practical, to get rid of them and... get things back to normal, you know? Wormy, what―oh my."

Just like the night he lost his way in the forest, the raven feels his cheeks grow wet as though raindrops were running down his face. With unsteady hands, he covers his mouth and throat, trying to contain the overwhelming unknown. Cedric reaches up, and tugs his hands until they unclench, and the nails stop digging in his own skin.

"Please, don't do it," Wormwood keens, in a broken, wet murmur. "It's your memories, anything could happen, don't―"

It feels so strange, the iron clench in his chest, like a cage too small; the sting that travels up his nose, the throbbing ache in his throat, his eyes leaking without injury or infection, without him being able to do anything about it. He feels Cedric's hands cup his temples, his body shift closer, as if he didn't know where to touch him to contain his distress, and he cannot help but reach up and close a tense hold of his arms. His body moves, shuddering convulsively with a new surge of tears every time he breathes out, and he cannot help it, he cannot control any of it. He weeps, full of astonishment.

"I beg you," he chokes out. "I beg you, don't do this."

"Alright―I won't!" Cedric's voice reaches him, right next to his ear, alarm grown to distress. He's so close now, almost under his hunched, crumpled form. "I won't even look into it, no memory charms, not even a little one. I won't do it, I'll keep my memories. I promise. No need to get upset."

The relief at his words, though intense, doesn't do anything to stop what's happening. If anything, it worsens it. The shuddering grows, until it's too strong to withstand, and Wormwood finds himself clinging for support, dropping his forehead onto Cedric's bony shoulder. The sorcerer, arms trapped at his sides, reaches up to pat him hesitantly over the ribs.

"Please, I don't know how to do this," he whines, grabbing on his clothes and shaking him a little bit. He shuffles against Wormwood, clicking his tongue in dissatisfaction. "I've never seen you like this―what is happening to you?"

The raven lets out a muffled wail. "Old friend," he sobs out, and Cedric's breath hitches. "I've made... a terrible mistake…"

"It's alright, I said I won't do it," Cedric says awkwardly. With some difficulty, he snakes his arms between them, and up around the raven's bowed head. "Wormy, it's alright."

"It is not!" he almost shouts, tearing himself away from his chest, undeserving of such comfort and closeness. "This is all my fault, I'm the reason these days have been a nightmare―I wish I had never messed with that blasted Well."

Now that he has confessed, the rush of apologies flows from his mouth, like a stream wrecking the dam of his pride and flooding the land. Cedric's eyes that have seen all, known all of his days and so little of his thoughts, the raven shies away from their wide, over-bright stare, clumsily grabbing what he can reach of him in his hands, handfuls of robe in his empty hands, handfuls of sorry in his blubbering mouth.

"Oh, Wormy," Cedric murmurs, in his teacher's voice that is lower and softer, almost a croon, putting a hand to his lips to stop the flood, hush him so he may say no more. "I already know."

Somewhere, something in the raven's chest cracks open. "Of course," he murmurs, words into thin gloved fingers. Deliriously, he places a kiss on the hand, as though a ring of royalty were on it. "Of course you would figure it out―but I've dragged you into something I cannot control―something terrible, I―"

"It doesn't matter now. First, you need to calm down," Cedric tells him, pulling him in. No written or spoken word, no matter how wise, could ever convey how overwhelming the relief that washes over him feels. "If you were still crow-sized, at least I could―now I have no idea how..."

Wormwood lets himself be pulled effortlessly, folding down until the sorcerer has his head cradled in his arms, his face pressed down into his lap.

"You can still fit like this, sort of, right?" Cedric says, a touch of apprehension in his voice. His hands run into his hair as they used to run through his feathers, so precise and gentle, like the evening before, when all they thought lost found them again. Despite the fear, Cedric's hands are less hesitant, surer of what their touch can accomplish.

The raven finds the strength to nod, face buried in his stomach, tied belt against his forehead. And this time, Wormwood does pull him close, arms all around his lower back. He clutches blindly to him, as though he were a lifeline, a strong branch to cling to, and wait for the storm to pass.

Wormwood doesn't feel the hard tree roots under his legs anymore, nor the cold air around him. At times, Cedric reaches to tuck his wisps of hair back behind his ear, scratching gently, like the autumn of his first moult; before leaning it back around him, he runs his hand like a small lick of fire, smoothing down his spine. The raven can do nothing but tremble helplessly in his hands, every touch drawing together to his undoing.

As they stay like that for a while, his ragged breathing slowly winds down, the sobs ebbing away. Then, Wormwood angles his head to the side, and murmurs, "Tell me what the King did this time."

"Hm? Why would you want to know about that, now?" Cedric asks him, eyebrows shooting up. "Aren't you upset enough?"

The raven sighs. "At least I'll think of something else, and you'll get it out."

"Oh, alright." The thought of the coach ride makes Cedric inhale, his middle swelling up with air and pressing back into the raven's browbone, and let out a huge, exasperated sigh.

As back in the old days, Cedric narrates, and Wormwood lets himself be carried by his voice, like an air current letting him soar above the clouds. Somehow exhausted, he watches the tear-stain on Cedric's robe dry, his hands relaxing on the soft grass-covered ground behind the sorcerer's back, his arms in a loose circle around his knelt form. He huffs a laugh when the mood requires, or lets out a hum of agreement, or a click of his tongue in disbelief, just the way he used to.

When Cedric gets to the worst memories and how the King behaved, however, something shifts. Wormwood feels his knees start to vibrate with anger under his head, his voice waver and crack. The raven pulls himself up, and Cedric, talking faster and faster, starts to feverishly swat away the green grass strands from his shoulder.

Without a word, they switch; Wormwood stops the sorcerer's fretting hands, and loops his arms in turn around his lithe frame. His heart gives a flutter, barely withstanding the way he is now the one that can keep Cedric hidden in the folds of his sleeves, like a shining, frail secret between them.

In a rather hasty gesture, Cedric clings to his neck, still muttering into his shoulder. The air from Wormwood's exhales rustles the fine hair that sweep up slightly at the sorcerer's nape. With his arms raised around his neck, Cedric's shoulder makes a small crook that feels moulded to fit Wormwood's nose and forehead. When he breathes in, his quickened heartbeat seems to fill the remaining space in Wormwood's arms, like a last missing piece.

The raven listens to him vent, and breathes in lungfuls of his scent, sweat and dust and the briny trace of that forest, up North, where they were born. The scent has always clung to him, like the magnetic field clings to earth, impossibly, devastatingly warm.

"And I've gotten so upset, I told him you don't actually have a licence," Cedric is saying, and glances up at him. Something hangs in the air, unsaid. "That was probably unwise of me. But he didn't seem to have any qualms about it! ... he really likes you, that fool."

"Unbelievable," Wormwood says, accidentally echoing Sofia. Goodwyn had brought Cedric to lose sleep, obsessing over his results and grades, insisting that Enchancia and its King would accept nothing short of the very best. Wouldn't be such a bad idea, to get a licence, he thinks distantly. "And he let the matter drop, just like that?"

Cedric nods, frowning. Unable to keep his hands still, he lets go of Wormwood's neck and reaches again for his teacup. The raven lets him go, his arms falling away, lingering in the trace of a protective hold.

"He has pretty much told you he doesn't have any good reason to think of you as he does, beside his own issues," he says, incredulous.

"That's what he said," Cedric mutters sullenly into his tea.

"I cannot believe I've called you a coward," Wormwood hisses, disgusted. "And he wants me to stay just because you're having a rough week? No wonder you want to take a day off from these people sometimes."

"Didn't even thank me for the job done," the sorcerer grumbles, draining the cup in one gulp, as though it were something much stronger than tea. "Just said he was relieved I managed."

"But you've worked so hard."

"I did, didn't I?" Cedric agrees, suddenly brightened. "It is such a thankless job."

"These ingrates." Wormwood's voice doesn't sound much different from his aggressive caws, roughed up from crying. He nudges the last loquat towards his companion, shaking his head once again. "You used to tell me how hard it was, but seeing it with my own eyes... it really seems that every day is a fight, where all you do is taken for granted, and worthy of notice only when you slip."

"You too, old friend, were right all along." Cedric sighs, munching on the fruit. Between bitterness and resignation, like in all his moments of bleak realism, he says, "No one actually needs me here, or wants anything to do with me. Unless Sofia is there to twist everyone's ear, of course."

"Or me, rest assured," the raven promises, clenching his hand into a fist. Cedric half-smiles at him, and feeling his cheeks heat up, Wormwood ends up blurting out, "Even if that's what they think, we'd all―they would all be lost without you here."

"Then, you and the Princess are the only ones on my side," the sorcerer says, with a strange, soft light in his eyes. He sends some faraway gaze up in the tree's bare branches, and adds, "Though, she just wants everyone to get along. She doesn't know yet... for some the time for that is over."

Wormwood attempts, "It depends how disposed to forgiveness one is."

"It depends how heartfelt the apology is," Cedric rebuts dryly, his voice lilting a little bit at the end, curling into a hidden question mark.

Slowly, Wormwood takes the hand that hushed him, and brings it to his lips again.

"Most heartfelt." This time, he angles it higher, so that his kiss touches it on the glove, just above the higher knuckles. In a shaky breath, he lets out, "I... if it were anybody else, I wouldn't care, but you... I couldn't bear to cause you harm, ever again."

Cedric looks at him, and Wormwood can tell the sudden fear in his eyes has nothing to do with his claws being near. He looks like there's something he needs to say, pressing down on him like an unbearable weight. Tell me, the raven writes in the tender brush of his thumb on his knuckles.

"Y-you mean...? But I thought―" Cedric blurts out, a jumble of words, reddened ears, eyes that shy from his. "I was under the impression―the King's favour..."

Wormwood feels like he could cry again. When he nears his fingers to the sorcerer's cheek, carefully bent so he won't scratch him, he can see his own hand shaking. He asks, "Do you really think I care about that?"

Cedric's brow knits. "Why would you do all this, otherwise?" he asks, full of incomprehension. And there, bare in his eyes, a touch of hope. "You must have a reason."

"I do, old friend," the raven answers, and watches the hope bloom to a beautiful, incredulous sheen. "It's you. There is nothing that matters less to me than that man's favour, and nothing that matters more than you do."

"Me?" Cedric breathes, and the cheek grows a little warmer under his touch. "But I―"

"I've been told it's wrong for a human to be the world to another, but I am no human, and―I've missed sharing your days more than I miss my wings," Wormwood hears himself say, in the beautiful words that were always somewhere in him, in some bubble that never before had had reason to burst. "And I swear to you, I will never treat you like an enemy again."

A long moment passes. The wind grows colder, as the afternoon darkens over them. Wormwood would expect him to retreat and hide, so Cedric inching closer instead, and the hand that poses coyly on his cheek, come as a surprise.

"Then, I should do my best to accept it." Cedric looks away, as if overwhelmed by his own boldness, and adds, "My oldest friend, if anyone has a chance of being forgiven, it is you."

Doubt crossing Wormwood's mind, he says delicately, "Not many have ever apologised for wronging you… have they?"

And he sees the sorcerer hesitate, forest creature caught in a trap. "No one, in fact," Cedric admits, his touch growing nervous, almost a tug on his cheek. "You are first, congratulations. That's beside the point, anyway."

The raven inches closer, pulled in, leaning into his companion's space until the tip of his nose brushes his pinked round cheek. Cedric has a child's face, hardened just a bit by the sharpness of his chin and the lines around his mouth; but his eyes can look very round and guileless when they widen, in their delicate shade of golden brown, in all the unsaid things they hide.

"I'll keep it in mind, then." Wormwood gives the cheek a small nudge, like a peck, and having a mouth instead of a beak lets him feel how soft it is, sort of fuzzy, like a summer peach, growing warmer and redder under his breath. He hears Cedric gulp down a lump of nothing, take in a shaky inhale.

"There were many things I've missed, too. Things very dear to me," Cedric whispers. The quick, impatient touch of his lips on Wormwood's cheek also comes as a surprise, so much that his breath catches. "You taste of tears."

The raven huffs a laugh from his nose. Still unsure how welcome his touch is, he just moves away a strand of Cedric's fringe that falls forward, combing it back with the tips of his claws. Cedric's eyes, too, are still a bit red, full of questions and hesitation, and so, so bright. The little filaments that compose his irises, burnt umber as the autumn cooling crisp around them, remind Wormwood of the woods, the dark forest up North where they were born. A miniature red world, dearest to him than any kingdom.

Mirroring the gesture, he places a clumsy kiss on Cedric's cheekbone, more of a bump, that makes the sorcerer wince a bit. Wormwood tries again, carefully, finally kissing those fine lines that grace Cedric's eyelids, his temple, his forehead; his huff of airy, nervous chuckle shivers on the raven's chin.

"Do I?" The raven can't help but slide his gaze down to Cedric's mouth, the pale curve of his parted lips, the touches of colour bitten into them, as he breathes in answer a toneless, yes.

Their touch is already a ghost of a sensation, too quick to savour. Yet, from the way his mind has hazed, he already knows he needs more of it. A lot more. He runs his black thumbnail on them, so gently it leaves no mark, not even a white line. Cedric's exhale has a slight tremble in it, hot as dragon-breath on the raven's sensitive thumb.

It is gravity that pushes him forward, the planet's axis tilting for him to fall in and touch Cedric's lips with his, in a first dry nudge that leaves him wondering why his whole body was calling him to it. Then, it's Cedric's hand, the slightest of impatient tugs, and something melts away between them, and the thin slit of Cedric's mouth is like a searing wound under his, sending shivers down to his fingertips. Oh, he thinks, and his world empties of thought and worries, just for a moment.

He must taste a bit odd, tears and that hint of blood from his bitten cheek. If Cedric minds, he doesn't say. Wormwood could never understand the appeal of a human mouth, but now―from the moment Cedric pulls him flush against his chest, his scalding breath filling all the empty spaces between them, and Wormwood's hands move on their own, cupping his companion's skull and shoulders, and Cedric lets out that small, sob-like hum in response―now each and every one of his senses tell him he could never stop doing it, never let go of the adored creature in his arms.

"You taste so sweet, instead," he murmurs, without even thinking about it. And it seems, in the end, the rabbit was right. Equally absently, the sorcerer sighs.

"Someone put three sugars in my tea," he breathes, his voice high and chime-like, pinked cheeks and wide pupils taking in the low light like hungry, burnished suns. He looks dazed, the way Wormwood has seen him only under the trickster fairy's enchantment. For a moment, the green grass around them seems to shine in the waning grey light.

He screws his eyes shut. Like lightning shedding a harsh light on the warm dark cotton of his mind, Wormwood remembers what he has been keeping to himself for so long. If he had ignored it, Cedric would have lead him back to the castle, and they would be taking that nap they so could use.

No, he tells himself, his hold tightening. He already knew. He was the one to take it all on himself, the whole of today, until I could gather my courage and come clean. Forcing his eyes open, he finally lets himself see what has been there all along. Or at least, ever since Cedric knelt there. At first glance, it seemed like a trick of the light, but―

"Oh no," he gasps, taking a better look. It's definitely not a trick of the light.

"Huh?" Cedric murmurs, as if he'd just woken up. He blinks, and immediately peels his hands off him to slap on his mouth, blanching. "Oh no, you weren't―?"

"No, no, it's not that―uhm, I very much was. But look," Wormwood hurries, making to scoop him up so he won't be in contact with the soil. "The grass. Look at the grass under you. It's green."

"Wormwood, what―" the sorcerer starts to protest, putting a hand down on the ground. Where they can reach his bare fingertips, the shortish blades of grass curl around them, as though they wanted to trap him there. "Oh."

He scampers up in the raven's lap, and though his bony shins dig painfully into his thighs, Wormwood is all too glad to allow him the space to climb.

They give a glance around. The circle of revitalised grass spans a few feet from where Cedric was sitting, changing so gradually they haven't noticed.

"I've waited too long to tell you," the raven groans, shaking his head. "I wanted to find a solution first... but I couldn't, and this mess has grown bigger than my strength."

"I'd love to hear an explanation, actually, yes," Cedric says, still staring down wide-eyed. "The island is desperate, and if you messed with that Well... you must be involved."

Echoing one of Cedric's own favourite retorts, Wormwood asks, "What makes you say that?"

"Too many circumstances were overlapping to be mere coincidences," the sorcerer explains, shrugging minutely. "From what you told me about your transformation and the absence of a mark on your body... what you've achieved isn't a simple disguise or change of appearance. Your entire structure was muted to this one." And he gestures to the whole of him. "It must be one of the most powerful charms I've ever seen in action, and I know that my Family Wand is involved somehow. But how? And why?"

The raven draws in a sigh. "It all started with our plans for the kingdom," he starts, and gives Cedric a moment to stare at him in disbelief. "You see, we've been working on them for so long... that you'll be King, and I'll be your Royal Advisor... but this whole year, you've done nothing but backtrack. It made me doubt your determination, and in turn, my own." A pause. Two sighs. "Although... I do wonder if you really want it?"

"Of course I want it!" Cedric says, but he has never sounded less convinced. Or convincing. "This year has been busy, with all these Enchanted Feasts, and birthday favours, and Kings-for-a-Day―but that Power-Plucking potion idea you had could actually work, you know? That way Sofia wouldn't even know I took her Amulet, and I could get the powers without abiding by the rules and, well... I could give it back. And she wouldn't know that I... that I'm not…" he trails off. "But I digress, I'll figure something out. Go on."

Wormwood shakes his head. He takes a deep breath, and finally narrates of the fruitful morning he re-encountered the Well, just a couple of days prior.

"So you used one of your remiges―a flight feather, a part of your body―and made a wish. Into the most dangerous and powerful Wishing Well in the kingdom," Cedric sums up, "and you wished for breakfast?"

"Eternal breakfast." Wormwood heaves a sigh. "Seemed innocuous enough, at the time. But now, the land is... dying because of it, I gather."

The sorcerer emits a thoughtful noise. "Then, not unlike Prince James who had me drown out a giant's snoring with fireworks... with the potion we've been asked to brew, we've only been covering up the problem," Cedric notes critically. "And what did you pay for your human form?"

The raven clears his throat. "A vine with seven fruits, of the same climber."

"The one you had just made? You went and started a loop?" Cedric exclaims, throwing his hands up. "Whose bidding have you been doing for three decades, Wormwood, the village baker's?!"

"Yes. I mean, yes, I've made the loop, I messed up," Wormwood sighs. "But my first human form... the transformation was... quite unpleasant. I was an old man, no teeth, bones chattering... I was frightened―and the Wand was there, the Well told me it would work, and..."

"Hold on, hold on," Cedric interjects, rubbing his temples. "You're telling me… you've paid my Family Wand, handcrafted by Solomon the Sentient and passed down for six generations, that I was able to pry form Father's grasp only after saving an entire village―including my own mother―from melting to death,"―pause to breathe in―"for... youth?!"

Wormwood relaxes a fraction. He was almost expecting him to say, for this repulsive hybrid form?! so it comes as a sort of relief. For the umpteenth time, he sighs.

"You don't understand," he says, half-begging. "I was more than old, I was―it felt like I was about to drop dead any moment. You've always taken care of my aches with magic, I never realised how old I was getting... that I was running out of time."

"Oh, so now it's my own fault?!" Cedric asks aggressively. "And what do you mean, out of time? We're only six years apart!"

"I didn't say it's your fault," Wormwood assures. "Ravens are lucky if they live far into their second decade, though, remember?" He waits for the light of recollection to hit Cedric. When it does, the sorcerer's jaw falls open. "It dawned on me that... I wouldn't live to see the dreams we shared come true. I'd miss all of it, and I couldn't even tell you. I panicked."

But he isn't quite sure Cedric has heard him. Still balancing on his thighs, he seems to be reeling into a panic of his own.

"How could I forget...?" he murmurs, almost to himself, a shaky hand covering his mouth. "And I've wasted all this time... you had to go and do all this mess, just for me to listen to you―and I never knew..." Suddenly, he halts. "Wait. The Well... told you to use the Wand as payment?"

"Kind of... nudged. Kept calling me Your Majesty, and I wasn't thinking straight, and I took the Wand there just to hide it, you know, like I've done other times with your things... I wasn't planning to use it like this―"

"Because of that morning's experiment?" The raven nods. "And after, the Well gave you back the black wand that I cannot touch?"

"When it was all done, yes."

Cedric takes a long pause. He asks him to recite the exact wording of his wishes, a couple of times. Then sits in silence for a bit longer, rubbing his chin.

"The Well has tricked you," he declares in the end, with iron-clad certainty. "It brought you to use the Family Wand as payment, and this thing you brought back is certainly not the real thing. I don't know why a Wishing Well would do that, or how, for the matter. But we're going to find out."

He zaps the tea tray back to the kitchens, and flows off Wormwood's knees to get up. The blood chills in the raven's veins as soon as Cedric's weight lifts off him.

"What, right now? Wait," he says, leaping up and nervously stretching his numbed legs, clutching at him. "You can't possibly go there alone."

"You think I can't take on a Well on my own?" Cedric sneers. "It's a Well. I'm not Roland. I won't be tricked."

"I just―I don't want you to be in danger," he blurts out, his voice thick with worry. He forces himself to add, "When yesterday I brought you back, after you collapsed in the village... I realised it was me, I was leeching your magic. I went to the Well for an explanation, and it told me that if I brought you there, it would give me… a source of energy of my own." He pauses to swallow. "If you go there... I don't know what, but something bad will happen."

For a moment, Cedric just stares at him, pale in the face, looking terribly frightened. Then, with evident and deliberate effort, his eyes harden with determination.

"I will not leave the most precious heirloom entrusted to me to rot at the bottom of a well," he declares. "I have no choice."

Eternal breakfast, Cedric.