There were seven bad harvests in a row when Merlin was young, one after the other. Food was scarce and Merlin's parents could barely scrape together enough to feed themselves, let alone their son.

Merlin was one of the lucky ones. Even when people were dropping dead from hunger on the streets outside, he lived a relatively cushy lifestyle and was accustomed to eating somewhat regularly. It was hardly ever a complete meal, but who ate a complete meal in such trying times? Certainly not him. Certainly not his family.

It was enough. Not much, but enough.

He had it better that the children who were dying of hunger, his stepfather would remind him. Better than the homeless and the orphans and the runaways.

Merlin's stepfather was a shrewd man, the kind inclined to speak his mind without thought of the consequences of his words, nor indeed any feeling it might bring another person; if he had strong feelings about something, you'd be sure to know about it. He wasn't one for sugar-coated words and euphemisms, so when he told Merlin he was lucky because he wasn't starving to death, Merlin believed him.

Sometimes, when he misbehaved, his stepfather would take away his plate and scold him, saying "You can have this back when you learn to your lesson."

Invariably, the food would disappear, leaving Merlin with nothing but a growling feeling in his stomach.

He learnt quickly – he always was a perceptive boy – that doing something wrong meant you would lose the privilege of food. It meant that you would go hungry. Even when he left Ealdor for Camelot, that fearful belief lingered in his mind and refused to be shaken.

This fear reminded him that he had to be careful what he said or did around Gaius and Arthur because – at the end of the day – they were the ones who decided if he ate. As his masters, they had the power over him that his stepfather had.

Still, they never exercised that power, as Merlin never gave them the opportunity. He stayed on his best behaviour (or as close to that as he could) and in return, he had never lost those precious privileges.

There were times when he thought he would, times when he pissed off Gaius with his reckless behaviour or irritated Arthur with his snarky attitude, but neither of them had ever done anything about it, which was strange. Even so, he remained hypervigilant. He couldn't let those things happen to him again.

He had just settled down for lunch with Gaius when Arthur barged into the room. "Come with me Merlin. You will be eating with me and my knights today," he announced.

"But I don't want to," said Merlin.

"You don't get a choice," countered Arthur, beckoning Merlin towards the door. "You are my servant, and I'm ordering you to eat with us today. Now come with me."

Merlin cast a desperate look to Gaius, who shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it. Sighing, Merlin rose to his feet and followed Arthur down the corridor.

This whole ordeal had unsettled Merlin. He was meant to eat with Gaius today. He always ate with Gaius.

Meals with his mentor were quiet, somewhat formal events. Gaius wasn't much for conversation, especially not a meal times, so Merlin refrained from talking too much, not wanting to bother him. Despite all that, Merlin liked eating dinner with Gaius, because he was predictable.

Gaius was as regular as the sun's rising and setting - he went through the exact same motions every day, at precisely the same time. Having such a routine comforted Merlin, and having it disrupted by Arthur pissed him off beyond measure. Who was Arthur to barge into their chambers and demand that Merlin ate with him and his knights?

'He's the heir to the throne, that's who. Of course he gets to boss you around, the privileged asshole.'

Arthur guided Merlin into the mess hall. In the centre of the room was a rickety old table, which currently housed five rowdy knights. Arthur grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and deposited him on the bench, right between Gwaine and Percival.

Hot food was slammed down in front of him – some bread and meat of some kind – along with a pitcher of ale.

"You're giving me ale?" said Merlin. Back in Ealdor, this stuff was a luxury; it was not the kind of thing people like him drank.

"Why not?" shrugged Leon. "Heaven knows we drink enough of the stuff. You might as well get in on the action."

"We don't drink that much booze," grumbled Gwaine, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

"Says the man who gets black out drunk at the tavern every chance he gets," smirked Merlin. "You don't exactly hide it well, the way you stumble home every night." The group erupted into a chorus of rowdy laughter, and Percival clapped Merlin on the shoulder, making Merlin jump a little.

"That was a good one Merlin," laughed Arthur. There was something hidden underneath his cheery expression, though Merlin didn't know what it was.

The conversation shifted to another topic - some play the knights were thinking of seeing - when Arthur, still nodding along with the conversation, reached over and swiped a piece of bread from Merlin's plate. Arthur didn't even look at him as he did it.

Merlin's anxiety spiked. He glanced around the table, looking to see if any of the other knights had noticed, but none of them seemed to care.

Had he done something wrong? Was it something he said? Why was Arthur doing this to him?

Swallowing his worry, he did his best to pay attention to the conversation that was going on around him. Even so, he found himself getting distracted. Arthur kept eyeing him out the corner of his eye, and even though he probably thought he was being subtle, he really wasn't. It all made Merlin feel even more anxious. He hoped it was all just a fluke and Arthur wouldn't do it again.

"What do you think Merlin?" asked Lancelot.

"Huh?"

"Head in the clouds again?" jested Percival. "You're such a daydreamer."

"Oh, piss off," said Merlin, taking a sip of his ale. It tasted bitter and he resisted the urge to scrunch up his face in disgust. How did people stomach this vile crap? "What were you saying?" he asked.

"Are you free later this week," repeated Lancelot. "We could all go to see that play together. Make a day out of it."

"I don't know," replied Merlin. "I'm pretty busy. I have my job and everything."

"Eh, I'm sure Arthur will give you the day off."

The group expectantly looked at Arthur, who shrugged. "I don't see why not," he said, taking a swig of his beer, and chewing on chicken bone, rather like a dog. The conversation drifted again, and much to Merlin's dismay, a hand reached over once more, swiping a piece of meat from his plate.

It was Arthur. At least now Merlin knew the first time wasn't a fluke. This was deliberate. Arthur was trying to punish him, but for what? All he had done was talk.

Talk.

Was that it? Did Arthur want him to be quiet?

But he had invited Merlin here to eat with his friends. He had practically dragged him here, kicking and screaming, and now he was trying to force him into silence? Why? What purpose could that serve?

He could feel Arthur's eyes on him, staring. Merlin opened his mouth to respond to something Gwaine said, and saw that same hand reaching into his peripheral vision, this time taking another roll of bread.

Fine.

Arthur wanted him to be silent.

He'd be silent.

He'd behave and this would all stop.

Right?

Thankfully, after that, Arthur didn't make any move to steal from him again, and Merlin was able to scoff down the meagre remains of his meal in peace.

The rest of the meal had a sour tone to it, and both Merlin and Arthur were in dour moods. The other knights, noticing the tension between the two, excused themselves and left the room. Soon, only Merlin and Arthur were left.

There was a silence. A long, empty, depressing silence.

"What did I do wrong," blurted Merlin, at the exact moment the same words left Arthur's lips.

Both stared at each other in bewilderment. "What are you talking about Merlin?" asked Arthur.

"You kept taking my food from me, and I don't know why. What am I doing wrong? Do you not want me to speak at all? I will if that's what you want. I just want all this to stop."

"I wasn't… I don't understand. I was just trying to make you feel welcome," said Arthur.

"By stealing from me?" snapped Merlin, anger finally bursting out of him.

"By sharing a meal with you!" exclaimed Arthur. "Do you not share meals in Ealdor?"

"Not like this."

"Look, Merlin, I don't know what it's like in your hometown, but in Camelot sharing a meal is normal. The other knights and me always eat off each other's plates. It's just a kinship thing. What's mine is yours, you know?"

"Then why were you staring at me the whole time like I'd done something wrong?"

"I was looking to see if you would do the same thing in return. I'm sorry Merlin. I truly didn't know that this was a trigger for you."

"It's not a trigger," barked Merlin. "It just brings back bad memories."

"That's the definition of a trigger dumbass."

"Shut up."

Arthur rolled his eyes, collecting up the plates from the table. Then, he disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared moments later, having exchanged them for a plate of food. There was enough on there to make up for what Arthur taken, and then some. Grabbing Merlin by the shoulders, he sat him down at the table and set the dish in front of him.

"Here," he said. "This is all yours. I promise I won't take any of it."

Merlin stared at Arthur, still worried that he might take it all away. Noticing his apprehension, Arthur pushed the plate closer to him. "It's yours Merlin. I'm not having my servant go hungry."

Merlin barely stopped to breathe as he wolfed it all down.

The next time Arthur demanded Merlin come to dinner (or invited him, as Arthur would so eloquently put it), Merlin couldn't help but notice that Arthur and the knights kept their hands to themselves. He was secretly pleased, but said nothing, not wanting to give Arthur the satisfaction of knowing he had done something right for once in his life.

Across the table, Arthur smirked.