Arthur woke to the sound of voices from afar. He had been propped up in a seated position, his legs curled to the side, and tied with his hands behind his back with thick ropes attached to a wooden shaft of some kind. He panicked about his lack of sight for a moment before he realized he must have been blindfolded, which struck him as odd considering he couldn't feel the usual wisp of fabric across his nose. His mouth was as dry as cotton and his head felt as though it had been smashed between a pair of boulders, not to mention the ache in his shoulders and neck from the position his captors had set him in. He wriggled his hands, trying to feel if he could reach the knot in the ropes, but to no avail. They were tight enough to completely restrict his movement but not to cut into the flesh of his wrists, which he was grateful for. Unfortunately, without being able to touch or see his surroundings, Arthur was unable to begin formulating an escape plan. There was nothing to do but wait quietly. He didn't have to wait long before he heard the rustling of a tent flap.

"Oi, you awake in there?" called the male voice from the forest. Arthur lolled his head to the side where the voice came from and frowned. "I'll take that as a yes. Water?"

Arthur hesitated briefly before nodding. If they wanted to kill him, they would have left him with the slave trader. A wooden cup was brought to his lips and he gulped down the refreshing liquid.

"Whoah, slow down, mate! You've taken quite the nasty hit to the noggin, and I don't want to be the one charged with cleaning up if you get sick. Just take it nice and slow, there's plenty more where that came from."

Arthur heeded his words, sipping the next time the water cup was offered. "Thank you," he said afterwards.

"No problem. The name's Will," the man said, taking the empty cup away from him.

"Arthur," he replied.

Will whistled, the sound splitting Arthur's head and making him want to groan. "Arthur, huh? We knew you were a knight of Camelot from your crest, but we never expected the crowned prince to be traveling alone. What brought you so far out of the citadel?"

Arthur frowned and didn't answer. He'd already given too much away by giving his name.

"Eh, suit yourself. Emrys has ways of making you talk, I just figured I'd try and be friendly first. Not a big fan of royals myself." Will said, and Arthur was sure he could sense him shrug. "I'll inform Emrys you're awake."

With that he heard Will leave and he was alone once more, but not for long.

"Arthur Pendragon," a man said. His voice wasn't as deep as Will's, but it was much harder, more commanding than friendly. Arthur could only imagine how imposing the man must look to have a voice like that, one that boomed loud enough to take up the entire room.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure," Arthur tried for nonchalance.

"I am Emrys. I'm sure you have questions, but first, I have questions of my own. What was a Pendragon doing so close to druid land, alone?"

Arthur sighed. Well, that explains the bolt of light I saw, he thought. "I didn't know I had encroached upon your land, it was not my intent. I was unaware there were druids here."

"Oh, I'm sure. Why would a Pendragon have any interest in the druids?" Emrys spat his name like it was offensive. "I find it hard to believe you had no idea as to where our encampment was. I find it more believable that you were sent as a scout, to determine our location so as to gather reinforcements and force us out. Lucky for us you ran into some trouble."

"I am not a scout! I happened through your land on accident, I told you I had no idea there were druids here. I wouldn't have found out either, but as you said, I ran into some trouble and your people helped me."

Arthur felt a puff of hot air on his face, carrying the scent of honey and mint to his nose. Emrys remained quiet, but his breath kept ghosting over Arthur's cheek. Arthur turned his face towards him, lifting his head high to jut out his chin.

"I don't happen to care what you believe, I only request that you release me. I am the crowned prince of Camelot and I do not answer to the druids."

Emrys laughed at that, low and menacing. "Unfortunately for you, Crowned Prince, I cannot let you go. As soon as you would return to Camelot, your King would be sending you back to wipe us out. You'll be staying here."

"You cannot do this!" Arthur shouted in frustration.

"You have no authority here, Arthur Pendragon!" Emrys' voice boomed, and Arthur felt the air around him grow cold and dark. He shivered in spite of himself, afraid of the power the man seemed to hold. "I answer to the Earth and my people answer to me. It is my duty to protect them, and your presence in these woods is a harbinger of doom. I will not let my people fall prey to Uther."

"You intend to keep me here as your prisoner? In a few days time, Camelot will mark my absence and send search parties of knights."

"They will not find us, you can be sure of that. Do not fear for your safety, Pendragon. My people do not harm those who have not harmed us. You will be free to walk the camp, but you will be kept under watch so I do not suggest attempting to leave."

"Or what?" Arthur said angrily. "You just stated you will not harm me. Is that to be broken if I intend to leave?"

Emrys chuckled again. "I said my people do not harm, but I am free to use any means I see fit. Although, there are other methods than violence. I suppose that, as a knight, you wouldn't know that. You see, my people are quite fond of pleasure," as he spoke, Arthur felt fingers trail up his chest to his chin, holding his face in a vice-like grip. "I know how to bend a man to my will."

"What do you intend to do to me?" Arthur risked asking. The slight tremor in his voice betrayed his nervousness.

"It's up to you if you truly wish to find out." With that he was released, and he felt Emrys step back. "I shall send Freya to untie you and to remove the enchantment I have placed over your eyes. Once I return, I will have the enchantment placed over your eyes again."

"Why?"

"Because I see fit," was his response. "I shall be back at dusk to begin your questioning. If you attempt to leave, I will be informed, and I will be forced to make accommodations to my hospitality."

Emrys left without another word, taking the cold and dark with him so that the air in the tent was warm once more. Arthur let out a frustrated noise and tried in vain to release his hands. His father was going to be furious! Not only had Arthur taken leave due to emotional reasons, he had allowed himself to be captured by druids, Uther's most hated enemies. The anger with which the girl, Freya, had bestowed on him made perfect sense now. Uther was famous for decimating magical peoples during what historians called the Great Purge, and the druids were sought out most of all for what his father labeled as an unnatural affinity towards Earthly magic. No man should have dominion over Earth, his father had told him once. That is why the druids are so dangerous. While Arthur agreed with the sentiment, he did not condone his father's brutal methods of disposing of those with magical abilities. His own court physician had been a sorcerer, and a very famous one at that. But Uther had weighed his value and found it more than he could lose, so Gaius had been spared so long as he never used magic again. It was something that could not be said for any other sorcerer or creature of the Old Religion that Uther had deemed a risk to the livelihood of Camelot. It was the darkest year in Camelot's history, as Uther purged his lands of any trace of magic. Few escaped to other kingdoms or the unclaimed wilderness, and those that did would never risk their lives to return to Camelot for any reason but to seek Uther's life as penance for his deeds against humanity. Arthur had been witness to several executions, been a part of numerous hunts for magical folks who dared return. He had no choice but to follow his father's commands, had never dared to question his orders or decisions. Arthur wondered briefly if he would tell his father of the druid encampment's location upon his return to Camelot.

A rustling of the tent flap roused him from his musings and he heard a woman muttering what sounded like an odd language. The ropes dropped from his wrists, but he remained still, not wanting to spook Freya before she lifted the spell from his eyes. She came closer, still muttering, and touched her fingertips to his eyes. He felt a warmth emanating from the contact that spread through his face, and suddenly he was able to open his eyes. Freya stood before him looking unimpressed, her mouth drawn to a thin line. She was just as petite as he remembered from his bludgeoned haze.

"Thank you," Arthur said, trying to sound sincere. He really was grateful for the restoration of his sight, and he took the opportunity to take in his surroundings.

The tent was rather large, the cloth walls a light buttery beige to allow for natural light to filter through. The ground was soft dirt and moss, but there was a nest of animal skins to the farthest corner and a table with a chair to the other side. A small wooden chest sat beside the table, and upon the table was a deep blue runner with gold edging with a thick tome atop it. The pillar Arthur had been bound to was one of five, one in each corner and the last in the middle to create a lofty fabric ceiling. Although the construction of the tent was crude, it had a homey and inviting appearance. It was simple, yet had an air of easy luxury about it. The light colors made the tent appear more spacious, and with little furnishings, there was more room to move about inside.

"This is where you'll be staying while you're with us. Emrys was insistent that you be treated fairly, more like a guest than a prisoner," Freya sniffed indignantly. "Come. I'll show you where you'll be working."

Arthur swung his head around to look at her. "Working?" he said, incredulously.

Freya rolled her eyes as she led him out of the tent and into the open. "It may be different where you come from, Pendragon, but here we all work for our bread. If no one worked, there would be no bread. There would be no fire, no shelter, no clothes. So you will work. Maybe it will teach you to appreciate the luxuries given to you, and the people who provide them."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest her statement, but no words came out. Around him was a small bustling village of tents, with people hurrying about and chatting. He saw people weaving fibers, washing clothes, and chopping firewood. In the center of the space was a large table, upon which were fruits and vegetables and curing meats being prepared for supper. Both women and men worked together on every task, unlike in Camelot where the tasks were separated by gender and type. The smell of roasting meat and bubbling soups made Arthur's stomach growl in hunger, and he realized he hadn't eaten since he left the kingdom. Embarrassed, he placed a hand to his abdomen and hoped Freya hadn't heard. She rolled her eyes at him again but asked a woman to bring a platter of food so Arthur could eat.

"You'll need the energy for work," she explained.

Arthur was surprised when the woman returned with a plate full of bread, meat, and cheese. She also held out a pear for him, which he took, thanking her. She smiled at him and turned back to her own work. Arthur ate happily, the bread freshly baked and warm on his tongue. It was soft enough to melt in his mouth, and Arthur had never had anything so delicious. The meats were seasoned lightly, and paired well with the variety of cheeses. When Arthur bit into the pear, the juices leaked from his mouth and down his chin. He hummed in delight and closed his eyes for the briefest moment to fully enjoy the ripe flavor of the fruit. When he was finished, which was too soon for his liking, Freya handed the platter to a man washing the cutlery. Arthur followed her without question, trying to take in as much of the camp as they passed.

Freya stopped before an unoccupied wood chopping block and turned to him. "This is your station for the day. I'm sure you don't need to be taught how to chop firewood." Arthur shook his head, and Freya handed him the ax. "Mordred will keep an eye on you, so try not to hurt yourself. Emrys is our healer so you wouldn't get treatment until he returns."

"Where is Emrys?" Arthur asked. He didn't really expect an answer, but Freya shrugged.

"He's in council with the Dragon."

She walked away, leaving Arthur stunned. He turned to the young man next to him, who must have been Mordred. He had shaggy black hair that curled around his ears and a handsome face. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement at Arthur's obvious shock. He stuck his hand out, and Arthur took it.

"Mordred," was all he said. His voice rumbled in his chest and made Arthur's stomach clench pleasantly.

"Arthur," he supplied.

"I know," Mordred smiled. His tone was light, but curious. "You're all anyone can talk about. We don't often receive visitors, and we've never entertained a royal from Camelot."

Arthur sighed and took a large log from the pile to their left which was full of wood in need of splitting. He placed it on the chopping block and swung the ax down heavily, splintering the log in half, effortlessly. Mordred stood and stared at him, obviously waiting for some kind of reply. Arthur turned the halves to quarters, placing them gingerly on the neat stack of firewood before grabbing another log from the opposite pile. He swung again, fueled by the frustration that the other man seemed intent to watch him work.

"If you have something to say, don't be shy. Spit it out," Arthur said, the irritation evident in his voice and clipped words.

Mordred's expression softened further and Arthur felt briefly ashamed of himself. This man wasn't trying to pester him, so why had he reacted so defensively towards him? His head ached and Arthur was confused by the variances with which he was treated by the druids. His father had always taught him not to trust magical folks, and it was hard to deny his lifetime of training. Arthur would never dream to take on so many people by himself, let alone those with magical abilities, so the only thing he could do was be as gracious to them as he could until he was released or could make an escape.

"It's alright, Arthur," Mordred said, just as Arthur opened his mouth to apologize to him. "You can't have had an easy time, and I'm sure this is all very new for you. But I promise, we want nothing from you. We ask nothing of you but to stay for our own protection. I understand that seems selfish, but what would you do in our stead, my lord? Most who come here do so for either of two purposes: to join us or to kill us."

Arthur nodded, even as he internally rolled his eyes. "And which do you believe of me?"

He was surprised by the warmth that graced Mordred's face as the corners of his mouth turned up gently in a smile. "We haven't decided yet, my lord. But I believe it to be the former. I think that Emrys believes it to be as well, otherwise he would have instructed Freya and Will to take you back into the forest after he had healed you instead of allowing you to stay in our sanctuary. But," he added, taking a log and splitting it into quarters with one swing. Arthur watched his eyes flash golden for the briefest of moments before they settled back to their natural deep blue. "Only time will tell."

Arthur spent the morning splitting numerous logs until blisters formed on his hands, which would soon develop into another layer of calluses. Arthur didn't mind. He preferred having the hands of a laborer than a fair maiden, for he believed his worn hands told those who shook them that he was not afraid of hard work. He was a prince by birth - and subsequently a knight of the realm - but he chose to labor with his men, working alongside the people he would someday rule. He wished to understand their daily lives instead of hiding behind the luxury of his titles. In Uther Pendragon's eyes, the people were worthless, their entire existence meant to be ruled by a firm hand. That was their duty, the duty of a king. Arthur disagreed. He knew too many royals who were out of touch with their peoples, who were ignorant of their lives in any other capacity than as cogs in the wheels that kept the kingdom running smoothly. The people were what made the kingdom prosperous, the King only served to protect and guide them. Without the people, there was no fiber for clothing, no grain for bread, no wood for warmth. Take away his people and a king was nothing more than a man himself. But one does not speak of such things to Uther, and try as he might, Arthur had never been able to get through to his father about their differing ideas. Uther treated him like a disobedient child, only the rod was replaced with heavy words of disappointment that cut Arthur to his core, just as they were intended to.

The only one who seemed to understand his plight was his half-sister, Morgana, for she had been on the receiving end of his fury almost as many times as Arthur. Yet unlike him, she remained steadfast in her convictions, holding herself to higher standards than Uther ever could. Arthur's heart leaped for joy each time she stood up for the people when he could not, and he wished he had her heart, for it was larger than any he'd ever encountered before. Arthur decided she would like life amongst the druids. She would appreciate their connection to the land and each other. Arthur wished she was here with him, but felt foolish for doing so. As much as he was being treated fairly he was still a prisoner, unable to leave for threat of punishment. He could never wish that for Morgana.

Once he and Mordred had finished their pile of firewood, the chopped quarters stacked neatly to the side, they broke for food and water. The sun sat high in the sky, signaling that it was midday, beating down upon them as they took shelter from its rays beneath a large apple tree. Together they harvested the ripe fruit and Arthur moaned in delight upon biting into the crisp fruit. He did not speak as they ate the apples and bread they had received for their labor, instead he listened to Mordred recount his history with the druids. Listening with rapt attention, Arthur was surprised to find Mordred was of a noble bloodline. After his mother died as a result of his wild magic, his father had taken him away to spare him from Uther's wrath. He brought him to the forest and begged the land to lead him to the druids, and Emrys heard him. Emrys was no more than a boy himself, but he took the man and his child to their encampment where Mordred grew up learning magic and his father lived out the remainder of his days. Magic, he told Arthur, was innate. Everyone was born with the ability to use it, but only those who studied it or those who were truly gifted could harness it for its full potential. It was the user who willed it to do good or evil, just like any form of power, but the druids were bound to use their magic to benefit others.

"Just as you are bound to your knightly codes, so are we bound by the laws of the Earth. But only those chosen by the Earth itself can communicate directly. That is why Emrys serves as our leader," he explained. "I have never seen such powerful magic, and it is because he was given that power by the Earth."

"So, Emrys is your king, the king of the druids?" Arthur asked.

Mordred smiled kindly. "Not quite; Emrys is a sort of vessel for the will of the Earth. He is more akin to a knight, or rather a servant, than a king."

Arthur nodded, even though he did not quite understand.

They returned to the main encampment and Mordred gave him over to Freya before taking his leave, but not before thanking Arthur for his time and work. Arthur was sad to see him go, as he had taken a liking to the dark-haired man. Conversation came easily with Mordred, whereas with others like Freya it was stilted and sour. Freya led him back to the tent in silence, only speaking to him once they entered the minimal privacy the canvas walls provided.

"I will need to bind your hands and close your eyes again," she said without emotion. "Emrys is due back at any moment."

Arthur wanted to lash out, even though he knew she was only doing as she was told. "I don't understand why I am allowed to see everyone in the camp besides him."

Freya paid no heed to him, saying, "Because that is what Emrys wishes. Now hold out your hands."

He did so, muttering all the while. It wasn't until she reached her hands to his face that he reared back, suddenly afraid. "What if the spell doesn't come off?"

"Hush, Pendragon," she rolled her eyes. "You will not be blinded forever."

She spoke, this time in a language Arthur did not understand. He closed his eyes as she reached for him once again, and the darkness became permanent. He bit his tongue against the noise of protest that almost escaped him. He had never done well in darkness, always irrationally afraid of that which cannot be seen. Bandits and opposing knights rarely bother with blindfolds for which Arthur is always thankful for, because the idea of having one of his senses taken from him unnerved him more than he cared to admit. As a knight and a warrior, he relied heavily on his eyesight. To have it so easily rendered unusable was frightening.

"Come, lie down," Freya said after she released his face.

She took his hand and led him to the pile of furs he had seen earlier, helping him to his knees so he could lie on his side. The furs were plush and soft beneath his head. They smelled familiar, like honey and clover, mint and… something Arthur couldn't quite identify. He heard Freya bid him goodnight before traveling the short distance to the opening of the tent and closing it behind her, leaving him alone once more. Arthur could still hear the bustling of the druids outside, preparing for their feast. He briefly wondered if this was what the kitchens sounded like in Camelot or if it was as silent and joyless as the rest of the world under Uther's thumb, as though pleasant chatter and laughter were punishable by the sword. He found the white noise soothing, the happiness in the air warming him as though he was basking in the sunlight. He was used to stone walls and a chill that you could feel in your bones, not the open, soothing atmosphere of the druids. He didn't know how long he laid there, content to listen to the life outside himself, but he was startled when he heard someone calling Emrys' name in greeting. The fond greetings and laughter from the imposing man startled him further, for he had only heard his voice dark and hardened when speaking to Arthur. It made something in his chest tighten to know he would probably never be privileged to receive a greeting like that from Emrys, but he understood the need to keep prisoners in line with steel and strength. There was no room for comfort when dealing with an enemy.

"Pendragon," the cool voice said as it entered his sanctuary. "I heard you worked well today. My people thank you."

Arthur remained quiet, the tightening of his lips the only indication he had heard or acknowledged the other man.

"I have brought your dinner. Come, sit up and let me feed you."

"I do not need to be spoon-fed like a child," Arthur snapped, although he did rouse himself from the comfortable nest, as gracefully as he could with bound hands. "I am more than capable of feeding myself."

"What, was there no appointed servant for stuffing the Crowned Prince's mouth?"

Arthur knew what Emrys meant, but couldn't help the blush at his own implications. "If you would untie my hands-"

"No. You will either allow me to feed you or you will go hungry. The choice is up to you."

"You mean to make a fool of me," he said, and Emrys chuckled darkly.

"If I wished to make a fool of you I have more effective methods than keeping you fed, my lord. But if you are ready to sacrifice your health for your pride…"

Arthur's stomach chose that moment to rumble in protest, causing Emrys to let out a full bellied laugh. The sound was such a contrast to what Arthur expected that he didn't mind. Emrys' laugh was beautiful, like the chiming of church bells, sturdy and strong. The tense atmosphere in the room lightened and Arthur couldn't help but smile himself.

"The mind may be willing, but the flesh is weak," Emrys said when he recovered from his laughing fit.

"Since my body has betrayed me, I would be making a fool of myself if I were to refuse your kind assistance. It does smell wonderful," Arthur added.

Emrys hummed in response, lifting a spoonful of vegetables in sauce to Arthur's eager mouth. They didn't speak any more as Emrys continued to feed him and he was grateful for the silence. He savored the slices of meat, the spiced vegetables, the bread. The unique flavors of each morsel burst to life on his palette, causing him to groan in delight. The other man chuckled almost every time Arthur let a satisfied noise slip from his lips, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to mind. The meal was over far too quickly for his liking but not without leaving Arthur full.

"Playtime is over," Emrys said once Arthur had taken the last bite of food, and just like that the lighthearted atmosphere charged once again. Arthur swallowed around the lump in his throat that formed at the menacing tone, but remained still, waiting. "Since you were of use today, and I'm feeling generous, I think I'll let you decide your fate. So, Arthur Pendragon, which shall it be: pleasure or pain?"

"I don't understand," Arthur said, confused.

"Pleasure or pain," Emrys repeated. "Tick tock, Arthur. If you can't decide I'll have to choose for you."

"Please, I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'll give you one more chance," he said, close enough for Arthur to smell the sweetness of his breath, to feel it ghost over his lips in a gentle caress.

Arthur felt something inside of himself reaching out, whispering at him, telling him something he couldn't understand. Heat pooled in his belly, his chest, his cheeks. His senses were filled with sweet mint and honey, suffocating every thought he had in the delightful smell. He opened his mouth and heard himself as though he was listening to a stranger.

"Pleasure."

He could practically hear the smirk in the other man's voice as he said, "The pleasure is mine, your majesty."

He moved away, speaking to someone outside. He said something in the odd language Freya had used earlier, but when he spoke, a thrill went up Arthur's spine. Was that… magic? He recalled the way Mordred's eyes had flashed gold when he used magic and wondered if Emrys' did the same. He wondered what color his eyes naturally were. He didn't have long for his thought to wander before Emrys was back, catching Arthur off-guard by pushing him back into the nest of furs.

"Here's how this is going to work," he said, his hands holding Arthur down by his shoulders. Arthur tried to struggle but Emrys only muttered in the language of magic again, stilling him with fear. "You're going to tell me what I need to know by answering my questions truthfully, and only then will I let you orgasm. I have a spell tied to you that will allow me to see if you are lying, so I suggest you make this easy and don't bother with misinformation. Oh, and I've placed us in a silencing charm so feel free to be as loud as you like."

"What?" Arthur started, but the sound of Emrys spitting and the hand worming its way into his breeches stopped him short with an unbidden moan. To his horror, he felt himself begin to harden as a warm hand curled around his sex. "Stop, please!"

"Oh no, Arthur. I asked you, pleasure or pain, and this was your choice," the other man said.

Arthur sobbed as the hand began to pump his cock. "I didn't know! Please, I don't want this!"

"Don't you?" A harsh squeeze accompanied the statement, forcing a gasp from Arthur. He began struggling in earnest now, but Emrys spoke harshly, effectively binding him into stillness with magic. "Your body betrays you, Pendragon. Don't fret, crowned prince, it's only natural. Give me what I need and I'll return the favor."

Emrys' hand moved in earnest now, and Arthur couldn't help the way his traitorous body responded to the attention. He thickened fully in Emrys' warm palm, gasping at the harsh friction that sparked heat in his belly. His hands clutched at his rope bindings, desperate to find purchase in something to ground himself. His cock leaked precome, and Emrys swiped his slit with a thumb to gather the beads of liquid to increase the slick drag of his hand, all the while murmuring in Arthur's ear, catching the lobe between his teeth and tugging until Arthur moaned.

Suddenly, the hand let go and Arthur swore, trying to buck into the empty air, straining against the magic holding him in place.

"Why were you traveling through our lands alone?" Emrys asked, his voice soft and even.

Arthur shook his head and bit his lip, refusing to answer. Emrys squeezed the base of his cock, delaying his orgasm by almost completely deflating his pleasure. Once Arthur's body had calmed, he started again, spitting in his hand and pumping Arthur with long, languid strokes. Arthur's panting breaths were the only sound echoing loudly in his own ears as he tried to remain in control of himself, but each time Emrys swiped his thumb over his slit, his breathing hitched and his control cracked. He was so close he could feel the way his stomach tightened, coiling like a spring ready to be released.

Again, Emrys stopped his ministrations and asked, "Why were you traveling alone?"

Arthur snarled at him, baring his teeth and once more refusing to answer. They kept at it for what felt like an eternity, each time Arthur got close enough to orgasm Emrys would grip him firmly and stave him off, increasing Arthur's desperation. He asked several questions, none of which he received an answer for, for which Arthur was proud. But his pride came at a cost, as his body was denied and his agitation grew. Emrys was patient in taking apart his resolve. He never raised his voice, asking his questions in the same cool tone which drove Arthur mad. He murmured in his ear about how easy it would be to just give in, to tell him what he wanted and then Arthur could come. The need to release made Arthur sob every time he was denied.

He knew he couldn't last like this much longer, but he was saved by Emrys releasing him and repeating his first question. "This is your last chance, Pendragon. Why were you traveling alone through our lands?"

Arthur whimpered but kept his mouth shut resolutely, shaking his head.

Emrys sighed. "So be it," he said.

He lifted the charms from Arthur before throwing him roughly from the furs and dousing him with icy water. Arthur yelled in surprise, shivering on the dirt floor in wet clothes with his breeches still unlaced, his cock having been exposed to the frigid torrent. His hands were still bound by ropes and his eyes remained unseeing. Tears of frustration spilled down his cheeks. Emrys threaded gentle fingers into his sopping hair, offering comfort and crouching down beside him. He dried him, being careful to ignore Arthur's sex. Wrapping him in a warm fur, he tucked him back into the nest and brushed the hair away from his face.

"You will not touch yourself, or I shall know. We'll begin again tomorrow," he said. His voice was commanding, but softened when he said, "Good night, Arthur."

Arthur made no comment, continuing to shiver inside his fur blanket. Once he knew the man was gone, he let the tears fall freely from his eyes, sobbing into the fur to muffle the sound and crying himself to sleep.