Author's Note:

Thank you to Missy for beta and consistency help! I don't think you know how much it means.

Also, this chapter is dedicated to my dear friend Sally, for years of friendship, support, and just for being a wonderful person.

6. Food for Thought

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
"Pooh!" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."

- A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

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Arthur found his thoughts slightly scattered the next day as he once again rode through the darkness lashed to his horse.

It was getting colder. Was that just the weather? Were they riding north? Was it both?

Angry Soldier had tried to feed him again that morning, which Arthur again refused, making him Angrier Soldier. Angry Soldier was a stupid name though – Arthur decided he would call him Claudius after his least favorite dog. Claudius the Clotpole.

He hoped the patrols that would be sent out to search for him would find Merlin's body, and he prayed it would be Leon. The older knight had liked the boy; he would make sure Merlin was brought home to Gaius and given a proper burial.

Poor Gaius. Merlin was like his own child. This would break the old man's heart.

Would it break his own father's heart, if he never came home? Sometimes, he wasn't even sure if his father loved him, or just loved having an heir. If he never came back, he wondered who his father would name to the throne. Would he perhaps remarry? Sire more children?

The prince shook his head, drawing his wandering brain back to the present. He had been kidnapped – an unfocused mind could get him killed.

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It seemed to take an excruciatingly long time for the soldiers to halt that night. They rode for hours, at the same fast pace as before, and Arthur was sure they pressed on far longer than they had just yesterday. He wondered if they were close to their destination and pushing to complete the journey. The young prince searched his head for which kingdoms they could have reached with three days of hard traveling…

When they did stop, however, it was just to make camp again. So, obviously not the end of this dratted trip, Arthur thought with a sigh as he was led stumbling from his horse to the royal comfort of a hard tree trunk, just like before.

Once he was bound in place and left alone, Arthur forced himself to listen. It didn't take him long to realize that he hadn't been completely wrong – there was something different about this camp. It was noisy, in a way the last two hadn't been. He heard new voices, people shouting orders and commands, the sound of pots banging and several fires crackling, even the crunch of dirt and sticks under wagon wheels.

The company of soldiers had met up with another group, apparently comprised of more soldiers, servants – even a few slaves, he thought darkly, if he wasn't imagining the clink of chains that pricked his ears – and wagons full of supplies. It once again spoke of the preparation that had gone into this whole endeavor, as well as told Arthur this was indeed likely to be a lengthy trip.

He frowned.

The blindfold he could live with, though he detested it with every fiber of his soul, but if they kept the ropes around his wrists for the entire time, it might do permanent harm.

It was one more worry to add to the large list he already had.

Arthur soon caught the scent of delicious things cooking. Of course, they were in the middle of some unknown woods, so the food could hardly be on par with a feast from the royal kitchens, but to his gnawing stomach it smelled just as tempting. Soon enough, his own dinner was brought over, this time born by both the incredibly antagonistic "Claudius the Clotpole" and his friend "Faceless Soldier Number Two," hereafter to be known in the prince's own head as Bernard.

The attempt to feed him ended about the same as all the others had, with cursing and spitting and a few bitten fingers.

Claudius swore strongly. "Why won't you just eat it?" the man shouted, kicking him hard in the leg.

That spurred Arthur's own fury and he yelled back, "Because I am a Prince of Camelot and I don't eat food from the hands of murderers like you!"

A second, harder kick followed and Claudius dissolved into the type of language that made even the prince blush. Bernard pulled his companion away, and Arthur fought a satisfied smirk as he strained to catch bits of their conversation. He knew he'd have to abandon this rebellion, probably in the morning, if he wanted to keep his strength up and be fighting fit if the need should arise, but it was worth one more night of hunger just to have won this small battle.

" – been almost three days! He has to eat!"

Arthur strained to hear the whispered words as the two men argued.

" – can starve to death for all I care!"

" – will be our heads if Sir Einar –"

They bickered for a while more, but their voices dropped below what Arthur could make out until eventually Claudius shouted, "Fine!" and stomped off.

It didn't sound like someone who had given up, but rather a person who had decided to change tactics. Warily, Arthur waited and listened carefully.

It was only a few minutes later he heard the man returning and it sounded like he was dragging something with him.

A weapon? Arthur wondered. Some means to force him to eat, whether he wanted to or not?

And then the soldier lobbed the object at Arthur's feet and he realized it was actually another human being. Arms and legs – and what felt suspiciously like chains, confirming his earlier thoughts – tangled against him for a moment before the person was able to right themselves and move away.

Behind the blindfold, Arthur's eyes narrowed and his heart quickened. Long, gangly limbs had reminded him too forcefully of what he'd just lost, sending a burst of hope he couldn't allow shooting through him. He squashed it quickly, replacing it with anger. This was just some other unfortunate soul – probably a slave – whose life had been ruined by these men.

"Get this idiot of a prince to eat or I will take it out on your own hide!" Claudius ordered the poor stranger. Arthur felt several more, smaller objects hit him, heard what sounded like dishes being slapped on the ground, and then the enraged soldier stormed off.

Silence descended, filled only by a faint rustling as the other person gathered up the food. And yes, he wasn't imagining it, there was also the light jangling of chains.

Arthur sighed, knowing this changed everything. He was willing to endure a great deal for the sake of his pride, but he wasn't willing to put some other innocent and helpless person in the line of fire, especially after the painful lessons he'd learned in the last few days.

Pride wasn't worth another man's life.

"What's your name?" he asked quietly, but there was no answer. Instead, he felt a water skin touch his lips, wobbling ever so slightly. He gave a little nod and allowed the water to be tipped down his throat.

The pace was slow and careful, even after his body reacted to the thirst he finally acknowledged and tried to gulp it madly. Too soon it was drawn away and he licked his parched lips. A moment later, a spoon replaced it, held close to his mouth by the same trembling but gentle hands, as if asking for permission.

"Don't worry, I'll eat," he said quietly. "I won't let them beat you because of me."

The stew was warm, good, and filling – and absolute heaven to his empty belly, though he would never admit that out loud. Forcing himself not to cringe at the indignity of his situation, he held his head high and let the other feed him not only the stew, but several pieces of semi-soft bread as well. Metal links clanked together softly each time the silent man moved his hands, reminding Arthur that he was not the only one bearing injustices.

"Thank you," he said when the food was gone and the water skin had been raised once more. He wet his lips and then swallowed, feeling the tension between his eyes ease just a little for the first time in days.

The empty skin was put aside for the last time, and Arthur expected the stranger to rise and leave. Surprise jolted him, however, when he felt thin, calloused fingers ghost across his face, brushing the two-day-old bruise on his cheek.

He froze. There was something almost…

Hope gave a little limp flutter inside his heart and he stopped breathing.

The hands traveled down, pausing at his neck and giving an efficient and oh-so-familiar tug to his collar, smoothing it one way and patting it down. At the same time his nose, made hyper-sensitive after almost three days of being blinded, caught a whiff of a scent he'd know anywhere – leather mixed with herbs and the faint odor of polish that always clung to a certain servant's ragged jacket.

Arthur gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing, and he felt his eyes fill with moisture once more. "Merlin?" he breathed incredulously, not even bothering to hide how the word cracked with a sob.

There was still no verbal answer, but the youth sat down beside him, bumping his shoulder up against the prince's in a gesture only his friend would do, and then rested a hand for just a moment on top of his knee.

Merlin! It was Merlin! The boy was alive! His friend wasn't dead!

Arthur gulped in air, fighting the urge to hyperventilate. "I thought…! They said…they told me you were dead, Merlin! I thought I had lost you! I thought I got you killed!"

Merlin bumped against his shoulder once more, and then just sat there, letting their arms touch as Arthur worked through the total mess that was his emotions. He felt thin and stretched, yanked back and forth from one extreme to the other with no time to adjust in between. Anger, astonishment, sorrow, shock, amazing relief, numbing grief and unbridled joy… They were all jostling around inside of him and he had no clue which he should be feeling at that moment, which should win the day.

"Ha!" he finally laughed, a real smile tugging up the corners of his mouth for the first time in ages. "I knew you were too stubborn to be offed by a bunch of stupid soldiers!" he cried happily, but then almost instantly his smile faltered.

Something was wrong. He remembered the sound of chains as Merlin moved, the tremble in his friend's hands. And then there was this all-encompassing silence that did not belong anywhere near the boy Arthur knew.

Why wasn't Merlin talking? Complaining? Yammering on until Arthur told him to shut up?

"What have they done to you?" he demanded. "Why won't you speak to me? Have they hurt you?"

Again silence – awful silence, though Merlin did at least pat his leg one more time. Arthur had no idea what answer to which question it was supposed to imply.

The prince sighed, something he was doing far too often lately, and let his head fall back against the rough bark of the tree as the boy pulled away from him, severing physical contact. Arthur heard the sound of items being gathered up off the ground and knew his friend was preparing to leave. Urgency and a little fear suddenly gripped him again. Who knew when they would next be allowed to sit together?

"Merlin, wait?" Arthur called. It was time he rectified something he should have fixed ages ago. "I need to tell you something, something I've waited far too long to say."

He swallowed, and then plunged on. "I found the cloak-pin, stuck in the hem of the wool. You didn't steal it, of course you didn't! I should have believed you and listened to you, but more importantly, I should have simply known that you would never steal from me. I dragged you out on that blasted hunt so I could make things right with you, but I'm an arrogant prat, as you like to say, and kept tripping over the words in my head. I should have told you the moment we were a league outside of the city instead of letting you stew while I fought with my pride."

He paused for just a moment, wishing desperately he could see his friend, see if his words were being accepted. It unnerved him to be speaking to Merlin and have it perfectly still and quite around him as though he was speaking to nothing but cold air. Still, he felt the top of Merlin's knee press gently up against his calve, and that was all he needed to steel his nerves and finish.

"I've spent the last two days believing you were dead," – his voice wobbled slightly on that last word and he hurried on – "believing you had died and I'd never made things right between us! Merlin, I'm sorry, for everything. More sorry than you can know. I behaved abominably and I hope you can forgive me."

Arthur didn't know what reaction he expected, but it certainly wasn't to have a mess of bony manservant fling himself at him and attempt an embrace despite chains and ropes and tree trunks.

"Ooof!" Arthur grunted with surprise before breaking into an amused grin.

"What are you doing?" a shout suddenly rang out through the camp and boots stomped in their direction. "Get away from him, you brat!" a voice Arthur didn't know ordered. Merlin was jerked back and Arthur's rage flared again.

"Leave him alone!" he shouted. "Tell me what you've done to him, and I demand you harm him no further!"

"Poor, foolish prince, thinking your orders still hold power," the man scoffed derisively and then he marched away, the smallest noise of jingling metal Arthur's only clue that Merlin had been dragged along with him.

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