A door burst open. Arthur jumped. A shining breastplate clattered to the ground.

"I hope, for your sake, slave, that you have completed your tasks," Boar said.

Arthur's heart sank. A line of piled armor yet unpolished stretched to his left. He squared his shoulders. Nothing for it, then. He pushed to his feet, a stab of pain radiating through his right shin.

Boar strode around and laughed. "Of course you failed, lazy slave. Good thing I came prepared." He twirled a cane in his hand.

Arthur curled his hands into fists. He would so enjoy tearing Boar into pieces.

"Boys!" Boar called.

Two guards stalked into the room. Arthur charged them, but they caught him and pinned him to the wall chest-first. He struggled, but he was too weak to break free of their hold.

Boar snapped the cane against Arthur's back. Stinging pain spread across Arthur's skin. He bit his lip to keep the cries in as Boar caned him. Finally, the beast released him.

"Lethervale has summoned you to serve him his luncheon," Boar said.

Arthur grimaced. After being half-starved for several weeks, this would be a special kind of torture. He stumbled out of the armory, his back stinging and his head spinning.


"Here, carry this to King Lethervale." The woman that had given Arthur the knife handed Arthur a large tray laden with a whole roast chicken.

Arthur's mouth watered. He grabbed the tray and limped into a darkened great hall. Lethervale lounged at the head of a long table. A large, muscular man stood behind him, likely a bodyguard. Lethervale's eyes latched on Arthur. He smirked.

Arthur glared at him as he set the tray down.

The bodyguard stepped forward and backhanded Arthur. "Do not look his majesty in the eye."

Arthur stumbled, pain bursting through his cheek. He curled his hands into fists but trudged back to the edge of the hall. He had already had one caning today. The last thing he needed was another.

His stomach growled. He pressed a hand against his stomach. Lethervale didn't say anything, but his smirk widened.

Arthur dug his fingernails into his palms. The golden-brown roast chicken sat on the silver tray. When Gwen helped serve meals, did she think back to that uncooked whole chicken at home Arthur had immediately given up on cooking? It must be hard, looking at a feast and being unable to partake.

"Slave! Come fill my cup with wine," Lethervale said.

The woman servant handed a full pitcher of wine to Arthur. The pitcher was cool against his hand and heavy. He limped forward, keeping his eyes from Lethervale. The dark red wine sloshing in the silver pitcher would give Arthur the strength he needed to get through the rest of the day. Hands shaking, Arthur poured the wine into Lethervale's cup.

The bodyguard settled a heavy hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Stay near so you can refill his cup."

Arthur nodded and shuffled to the other side of Lethervale's chair. Pain throbbed in his back, sending trembles through his arms. Gwen would have a meal of her own to look forward to. Perhaps not as sumptuous, and she would have to cook it herself, but still food.

All Arthur had to look forward to was discards, gruel, and slop.

He closed his eyes. Tonight, when they took him back to the cell, Merlin would have something goofy to say, perhaps another magical story he'd heard from Gaius or Hunith.

He just had to make it through the day. Just one day.


After Lethervale's luncheon, Arthur was dragged back to the armory to finish the polishing. The task was much harder with the welts from his caning sending pain flaring through his back every time he moved his arm too much. He distracted himself by imagining all the ways he would take revenge on Boar. Perhaps tear all his fingernails out or boil him in a vat of oil.

Boar burst into the armory. "You done with the polishing, slave?"

Arthur nodded, dropping the last polished piece of armor on the pile to his right.

"Good. You need to clean out the castle's chamber pots. One of the scullery maids is sick."

Arthur ground his teeth. Boiled in a vat of oil after being whipped with a cat o' nine tails.

"Now, what do you say?" Boar asked.

"Yes, master," Arthur spat.


"You look terrible," Merlin said. He sat near the bars separating the two cells.

Arthur collapsed next to Merlin on the other side of the bars. "It's been a long day."

The guards chuckled, tossing a plate on Arthur's cell floor, then slamming the door.

Arthur picked up the plate and the food that had fallen off. A half-picked over chicken bone, a small pile of overly cooked vegetables, and a burned roll. His stomach clawed at his ribs. This wouldn't nearly fill him.

His shoulders slumped. The work itself had been one thing, destroying the pride he knew Gwen didn't have a high opinion of, but the attitudes of everyone around him had worn him down more than the work itself. The bows and smiles of the people in Camelot had always lifted his spirit and he hadn't even realized it until he was faced with Boar's degradations and the people in the hallways ignoring him—if he was lucky. But what right did he have to complain? How much was Lethervale's and Boar's vendetta against nobles and how much was what every servant did? He couldn't complain about what Merlin and Gwen did every day with cheerfulness.

A large soft white piece of bread dropped onto Arthur's plate.

"I saved something from my dinner," Merlin said. "I figured they wouldn't feed you well."

Arthur grabbed the rich piece of bread. Was even that just a luxury he was used to as prince that Merlin wouldn't usually get? "You're fairly skinny. You may need it more than I do."

Merlin frowned. "Arthur, they gave me too much. I'll be fine. It's you I'm worried about. They give you stuff I would feed pigs in Ealdor."

Arthur picked up the piece of bread and turned it over in his hand. "I never realized how hard it must be to serve a meal when you're so hungry yourself and not be able to partake."

Merlin shrugged. "I can't say I'm wild about it, but Gaius always has a good meal waiting in his chambers if I can't steal something from the cook beforehand. My work has its…pros and cons, but it's not bad, honestly. I get good food, shelter, safety, substantial pay, and I have friends. What they're doing to you, Arthur, it's different. They're taking a normal job and twisting it so it's abuse."

Arthur hung his head, weariness pressing in on him. "I'm tired, Merlin." He ate the bread, then leaned against the bars, his eyes fluttering closed.

"You need to eat more," Merlin said. "You won't be able to keep going if you don't keep up your strength."

"What's the point?" Arthur asked. All that would mean was another day full of hard, disgusting work and harsh punishments.

"We will get free," Merlin said. "We will go home, Arthur. I promise."

"Always the fool, Merlin." Arthur forced himself awake and grabbed the chicken bone. "You're probably out of your dumb stories, too."

"I've got a few left," Merlin said. "There's one about a prince that the Sidhe tried to sacrifice."

"Another fairy story." Arthur rolled his eyes to hide his interest in the magical stories. "Well, go on, I know you will regardless."