The kitchen was bustling and noisy, as usual. The servant went off to supervise something, and Merlin weaved through the crowd, looking around curiously for the deer.
Merlin always checked Arthur's food with magic. He had found several useful spells that, when done properly, would reveal if a dish was deadly. Unfortunately, he was only slightly better at it than healing spells. So, more often than not, he would have to bring the food back to Gaius's chambers to take small bits of the chicken or vegetables or sausages and pour various potions on it to see if it reacted the way it should. It was boring, tedious, and slightly dangerous to be handling the potions. Usually, there was absolutely nothing to find.
Usually. He had found poison, four times, which was why he kept doing it.
As often as was possible, Merlin observed the food being made. He had discovered, to his surprise, that the poison-detecting spells worked better if he had seen the food cooked and prepared. Gaius had theorized that close contact to something made a faint connection, allowing magic to flow more smoothly.
However it worked, Merlin was just happy that this particular self-imposed task was the easiest out of all his ways to protect Arthur. If it happened to be a bit boring, Merlin reminded himself of the Questing Beast, or the serkets, or the dragon attack.
Finally, he made his way over to where a large deer was being skinned, next to the door where servants threw out water and scraps. Looking closer, he realized with a start that it's right eye was missing.
"Poor thing gouged it out on a stick when it was thrashing in the trap."
Merlin turned to see a man dressed in typical woodsman fashion; dark trousers, light grey shirt with a dark green jacket. He was rather scruffy, and was shorter than Merlin by a head. His face was scruffy with a sparse beard and brown hair. His voice shimmered with quiet sadness.
"I hate when they injure themselves." Merlin offered, glad to be distracted from the butchering of the deer.
"Indeed. I ended it's pain as quickly as possible." The woodsman stared directly at Merlin, the sadness still audible in his voice. "It's a snare for rabbits and such, you know. I never thought it was large enough to take a deer. I didn't know what to do with it, until that nobleman came along."
The woodsman hesitated, never taking his gaze from Merlin. "Is it true the...the prince himself will eat it?"
Merlin nodded, trying to keep a straight face. No wonder Arthur was so puffed up, if this was the admiration he got from even a simple woodsman.
The man cocked his head. "Are you the taster? I've heard of tasters."
Merlin smiled. "Something like that. I'm Merlin, Arthur's personal servant. I bring him his meals."
The woodsman nodded, looking thoughtful.
Glancing back at the deer, Merlin noticed something else. "Why are all it's legs broken?"
"I told you," the man said, never moving his gaze from Merlin's eyes, "The snare was for small animals. I didn't have a way to move it, so I fashioned a sort of sled out of a few branches. The legs were all over the place, dragging the sled down and making the deer fall off. I had to make it more compact."
Merlin grimaced but nodded. It was a reasonable explanation. He well remembered how unweildy a deer carcass could be, and that was when they had sleds designed for that sort of thing.
"What is your name?" Merlin asked, holding out a hand.
"I have no name," the woodsman said as he grasped Merlin's hand with both of his.
Click.
Something, - something - snapped into place around his wrist, and Merlin staggered.
His magic, always comforting and always there, suddenly simply vanished.
"Are you alright?" the woodsman asked, in exactly the same tone in which had stated he had no name.
Merlin bent over, trying to find his balance again as his thoughts scattered and cried where is it? where is it?
"Perhaps you need some air," the man said with no trace of alarm in his voice. He led Merlin toward the door nearby.
Something inside him warned Merlin. He jerked back, but the woodsman easily kept hold of him, pulling him outside and letting the door swing shut behind them. They were in the small side courtyard, empty of witnesses.
Merlin felt as if one of his legs had been taken away unexpectedly and was trying to stay vertical during an earthquake. It was taking all his attention to keep from falling over.
There was something to be concerned about, some dange-
Then he felt a blow to the back of his head, and he lost the battle with gravity.
Falling into a deep, deep well of blackness darker than the night sky, he heard someone mutter, "Seven handfuls."