Everything had been going flawlessly according to plan. Merlin pretended to stumble as they walked over herbs he recognized to have sedative properties and were known to grow in the area. At least that is what he told the prince. The truth was that the herbs on their own didn't do much unless properly processed by a skilled physician or a learned sorcerer. The part of the plan he didn't discuss with the royal was that he would be whispering a spell to enhance the herbs every chance he got.

While on the ground he discreetly shoved as many handfuls as he could into his pockets, muddy roots and all. Needlessly elaborate it had all been because none of the party ahead in possession of their bonds noticed his "misstep". The chains grew taut before he could climb to his feet. He lurched forward, face plowing a path in the dirt behind him. He clawed at his raw, abused wrist and kicked his feet furiously. He felt a sudden hand on his shoulder try to hoist him up but to no avail.

"Stop! Can't you see the man can't get up?!" The prince yelled at the backs of their captors.

A round of "hault"s were called and all the knights atop horseback all paused.

The warlock made a show of getting up slowly and acting pained. Truly it was the easiest acting Merlin had ever done. He really put his heart into that performance, especially the next few labored steps.

Merlin must have performed too believably because Alfric, an older knight, scolded Arthur. "Don't just stand there! Take an arm and help him, or I will make sure you walk with a limp too!"

Arthur scowled at the knight, then Merlin who was looking down, feigning pain, to hide his smirk. He grabbed the pale deserter's arm rather roughly and threw it over his own shoulders. Merlin had to bite his cheek and turn a chortle into a pained wince. He couldn't help but find the royal's anger hilarious. For good measure and personal entertainment, he made sure the prince was carrying a good amount of his weight.

After a few steps the prince asked, "Are you alright? You did put on a rather spectacular show."

Merlin figured he must be sporting a few new scratches for the royal prat to be so concerned. He was going to respond sarcastically but decided he shouldn't discourage the humility.

"Yeah. Fine. It's called acting for a reason," he lied easily.

Arthur wasn't entirely sure that he believed his new partner. The ordeal looked painful but decided it ultimately wasn't important.

"Riiigghht..." he drawled "... Did you get it?"

"Of course. What do you take me for?" Merlin responded with too much indignation for someone who looked as ridiculous as he did, covered in dirt, wearing a flimsy, feminine neckerchief and black hair all askew.

"An idiot of course," he bit back, "and get off me if there's nothing wrong with you."

"Ah, ah, ah," Merlin chided, "they'll get mad. You're supposed to be helping me, remember?"

"Fine." Arthur supposed it was in his best interest that the idiot beside him recovered as much as possible before they fled. Even if he claimed there was nothing to recover from. The prince could only run as fast as the man chained to him and he'd rather not have that man act as an anchor.

"Can you at least stop leaning on me so much?"

"Nope."

When it came time to stop and camp for the night Merlin and Arthur were unchained from the horses and resecured to a tree as expected. What was unexpected, was that Merlin and Arthur were chained in such a way that they could access the warmth of the fire. It was a simple and unnecessary kindness. Merlin had been without a fire the night before and hadn't seemed to shake off the deep chill that lingered since.

After perching near the fire, one the knights asked Merlin how his leg was. He said it would be fine if he rested it. This seemed to open up the conversation to include the scruffy captive. Merlin remained rather quiet and only chimed in occasionally but seemed unbothered by their attention. Arthur was stunned at the casual relationship between the men, captive and captors. He felt like he had opened a book and started reading at the middle. He supposed he had in some way.

The mood was amicable and as warm as the fire that Garret was working hard to build up.

"Since Tom isn't here to cook for us, we'll just have to put up with whatever slop Warrick makes for us."

Warrick lamented, "Why do I have to cook?"

"It's your turn," another voice responded immediately.

"It's not that hard just boil the meat with some spices and hand out the bread," Ewan ordered.

"If it's not so hard, why don't you cook?" Warrick asked.

"Because it's your turn," Ewan said, impassive to Warrick's plight.

Garret paused in poking at the fire to add, "That's a good point though. It's not as if it is that difficult, yet he still manages to make it inedible every time. Maybe I should just do it so we can enjoy our meal tonight."

Bors, the most experienced knight, chimed in, "I think he does it on purpose, so we stop asking him to cook"

"Well, it's not working," Warrick said sadly.

Merlin seized his opportunity, "Why don't I help cook tonight?"

"There is no need, just sit and rest your leg," Bors said, "Warrick needs the practice."

"Maybe we shouldn't let our prisoner touch our food," Alfric translated.

"You have shown me great kindness and humility when you didn't have to. Let me repay that," Merlin said earnestly, "Besides I have no desire to try the slop you described. Call it self-serving."

"Thank you, but really there is no need; and you are still attached to the prince. Going to be hard to cook like that." Bors insisted.

"Haven't you ever wanted to see royalty do something for themselves just once? I know I have. Consider it dinner and a show!"

There was a chorus of laughs and one lone frown. Arthur had not considered this as one of the possibilities when it was discussed how to sneak the herbs into the night's meal.

Arthur knew how to cook. He was taught the basics as a squire. Cooking, starting a fire, hunting and creating shelter were all fundamental skills taught to every knight. These were all skills he had utilized over the years to keep himself alive... but rarely used if he were honest. His cooking knowledge only covered the simplest foods and the lessons only extended far enough to cover how not to poison himself. A prince wasn't going to cook his own meals unless he had to. He certainly had no idea how stew was made.

The knights refused to let their chained captives use a knife for the meal so one of them cleaned and diced multiple rabbits. The very same rabbits that they stole from Arthur's encampment hours ago. Another went to go gather the tubers and herbs Merlin pointed out that they passed not far from the road. A third and a fourth went to refill waterskins and fill the pot with water. They did allow Merlin an extremely small and dulled knife, more metal scrap than cooking instrument, to scrape the peel off the wild vegetables. This task was immediately passed off to Arthur. The prince was indignant at being forced to perform for others entertainment like a court jester. His face flushed as he asked Merlin to demonstrate how and the various knights around him snickered.

His face continued to grow redder and pulse with anger as he, a literal prince, was ordered by a mere peasant to chop the vegetables while he did nothing except watch, attached to his side like a barnacle. The noblemen around them had the decency to attempt to hide their amusement and called out vaguely sarcastic remarks like "good job, sire!" or "excellent knife skills, as expected!" The peasant turned head chef, held no reservations and was outright cackling as he scolded Arthur for chopping the vegetables into uneven sizes. How was he supposed to know that would cause them to cook unevenly?

When Merlin held out a pouch of salt and "asked" him to season the stew, he yanked it out of the smug bastard's hand. He walked it over to the fire in a white knuckled grip, dragging a mirthful Merlin behind him. Just as he was about to dump the pouch's entire contents of salt into the boiling pot, no less than three knights jumped up to stop him along with seven identical shouts. Warrick practically tackled the raging prince to save the stew.

Holding up the pilfered pouch like a trophy, Warrick stated proudly, "Even I know better than that."

Chaos broke out around him. Laughter was no longer subtle; it was deep chested and unrestrained. Ewan was on the ground spasming with a red face and wet eyes but no sound left his mouth. Merlin followed the knight's example, ignoring the seething blond noble he brought down with him.

Arthur had never felt so degraded in his life. The plan no longer felt worth it. He felt like a puppet on a string and Merlin was the puppet master manipulating him through their shared chains. All that wasn't for naught as Merlin winked at him and managed to use sleight of hand to combine his own pocketed herbs into the pile Alfric brought them. Of course, that neat, little trick was performed while handing the pile to Arthur to process.

After the stew was bubbling away, Merlin and Arthur bedded down in the warmth of the fire to wait. All the knights were busy taking care of the horses, preparing bedrolls, making sure no blades were damaged in the quick fight earlier and the like. The two leashed men were alone to watch over the cooking meal.

"There was no reason to humiliate me," Arthur said bitterly, "we could have added the herbs now while we're unsupervised."

"How was I to know that we'd have this opportunity?" Merlin asked exasperated.

"I don't know! But I'm sure there was more than one way to go about it and you picked the most humiliating one!" Arthur was able to restrain from yelling but just barely.

"Don't put this on me! We needed a way, so I found one! There is no humiliation in survival!"

"Yes, there is!"

Merlin was growing tired of these exchanges, and it was becoming obvious in his voice, "Well then you're the idiot for choosing to be humiliated by such a simple task as cooking"

The royal's tone calmed into a quiet anger, "I didn't choose to be humiliated. You humiliated me in front of those men."

"They're our guards, jailers, captors, pick a word, why do you care What they think?!"

Perhaps the idiot had a point. Arthur's temper instantly cooled and suddenly his words were a lot less explosive and accusing, "you said we have to work together to escape. So, let's actually work together."

"Alright, that's fair," Merlin sighed, "just so you know I don't think they were laughing at you."

Merlin observed the men work around them for a moment before he added, "I will run my plans by you, if I have the opportunity to."

Arthur supposed that was good enough for now.

Soon more hard tack and bread was handed out as well as bowls of stew. The Essetir knights had no qualms about borrowing the prince's equipment as they didn't have enough bowls for their two prisoners. Arthur refused his helping and the knights let it be after a few offers. He was curious to try his own cooking but not curious enough. Merlin on the other hand very happily accepted one and Arthur glared at him. He mouthed "what are you doing?" at the idiot but he was waved off. Perhaps he was worried about drawing suspicion if he also refused the meal. Merlin faked a few bites and gave the prince a knowing look that said, "see, faking it."

Before they ate Ewan gave a toast, "Cheers to the Prince! He caught this supper for us and cooked it too. Not many royals would be so kind"

The toast was met with a few good-natured chuckles and an excessively hearty one from Merlin. Bors told everyone to tone it down a notch and then sincerely thanked the prince for being a good sport. Arthur calmed down a bit at that. He was starting to sense they hadn't meant to humiliate him, just as Merlin claimed and just liked to rile each other up. It reminded him of his own knights on patrols or campaigns, except he was never included. They were always afraid to say the wrong thing incite the wrath of the king or his son. Conversation usually dried up as he walked by. It had always made him feel like an outsider even among his peers. It was odd, feeling like these foreign knights holding him captive, had treated him more as an equal than any of his own men ever have. Perhaps it was less odd and more sad.