A/N: Sorry for the super short chapter. I hope you all had a happy Thanksgiving!

Arthur drifted away, cheek leaning against the bars. With darkness, the crowd had dispersed. But the damage was already done. He could barely move due to pain and stiffness. His throat was on fire and the wind blew chills through him. He could barely keep his eyes open.

He'd been without water for too long. If they left him for much longer up here, it wouldn't go well. But why would they help anyone they considered a worthless slave?

"Psst! Are you alive up there?" a man hissed.

Arthur jerked, his head thumping against the bars.

"My brother was saved by Camelot knights once, so here." A full waterskin thumped into Arthur's lap.

Arthur snatched the waterskin and gulped down the water. Pain cracked through his fingers and arms, but it was worth it. The water, warm and leathery, was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

"Thank you," he mumbled.

"You're welcome. You'd better toss that back before they catch you with it," the guard said.

Arthur drained the waterskin and tossed it out of the cage.

"Good luck," the guard said.


The guards dragged Arthur out of the cage a day or two later. They gave him water but no food and sent him off to work.

He almost didn't mind scrubbing the floors now. It was better than the cage. And tonight he'd be back with Merlin so he'd rebuild his sanity.

But that evening, after mucking out the horses' stalls, Boar grabbed his arm and hauled him to the base of the castle.

Three pigs rooted around in mud, trapped by an iron cage forming four barred walls and an iron ceiling. Boar unlocked the cage and shoved Arthur inside.

"Wait!" Arthur darted forward. The cage door slammed. He grabbed the bars. "What about the dungeons? What about Merlin?"

"What about them?" Boar laughed. "Enjoy the pigs, slave!"

"Wait. You can't leave me here all night! Please! Come back!"

Boar strolled off whistling.

Arthur fell to his knees, cool mud seeping into his pants. He wasn't even a person to them, just a beast.

A pig snuffled the back of his neck and grunted.

Arthur shoved the bristly pig snout away. "Don't touch me."

A servant—or a slave like him—unlatched a small iron door in the cage wall and dumped slops into the trough. The door wasn't large enough to dive through, so Arthur focused on the food.

The food truly was pig slop. Trash. But the scraps of meat and melon rinds were more than he'd eaten in days. He shoved the pigs aside and snatched an armful of scraps.

One of the pigs growled and shuffled forward. Arthur kicked it in the face. The pig snapped at him but shuffled back to the trough.

Arthur hung his head. Look at him, fighting a pig for scraps. He should be sitting at a banquet table, training his knights, sneaking kisses with Gwen, harassing Merlin, making faces at Morgana. Not here.

He just wanted to go home.