Unbetaed by anyone but myself. Hopefully that won't distract any of you too much.

Disclaimer: *consults Old English dictionary* Anyone know how to say "Give me control of your characters and 'verse"? No? Darn. :(

It was Guinevere, surprisingly enough, that opened his eyes to one of his many faults. He was beginning to get used to Merlin ignoring the social boundaries, but it seemed his bad habits were spreading among the palace's serving staff. Arthur would have to make sure that he gave Merlin some extra chores this week so he wouldn't have time to foment any subtle rebellions, unintentional though they may be.

But that was for later. Right now, Guinevere's brazen reprimand that he should be grateful for the sacrifices the villagers—Merlin's mother in particular—were making to accommodate his pompous royal self brought him up short. His immediate response of a scrutinizing look prompted her remembrance of their relative social statuses and she'd apologized before he could say anything, but that hadn't made her any less correct.

Now that he was paying attention, it didn't escape his notice that the sacrifices made to feed even four more mouths were large in the face of the problem that had brought them here. Kanan's extortion had already cut into their supplies and here he was wasting what little food they had left.

His appetite hadn't been strong when presented with the meager meal before, and his predicament wasn't made any easier for the uncomfortable weight of his spoiled, selfish behavior that had taken up residence in his gut.

He remembered what Merlin had said in the darkness that first night. "As long as you've got food on the table and a roof over your head, you're happy."

Well the people of Ealdor weren't happy with good reason and he'd be damned if he contributed to that state of affairs any longer.

He scooped up the mush and swallowed it down in a few mouthfuls. It wasn't tasty by any stretch of the imagination, but it was filling and it would give him the energy he would need to train the villagers and keep up the facade that their victory tomorrow was all but assured.

Besides, he'd had worse rations on campaign before. Perhaps palace life was making him soft, he thought with a grunt.

He returned to Merlin's house and handed the empty bowl to Hunith, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you for the meal," he said sincerely.

She was a bit flustered under his very direct attention as she took the bowl, but smiled. "You're welcome, Sire."

As he turned he saw Guinevere smiling proudly and Merlin grinning goofily—not that the latter was anything out of the ordinary.

Time to make his servant useful in one of the few ways Merlin could actually manage. "Come, Merlin," he ordered on the way back outside. "I need to show the men how not to fight."

He could practically hear Merlin roll his eyes as he sighed, "Yes, Sire," but when they stepped into the sunlight it was followed with a genuine—if slightly teasing—"That was polite of you."

"It's polite of your mother to share with us," Arthur replied, hoping that the conversation would end there. It was a vain hope, but he held onto it for a few precious moments.

"My mother's always polite. You on the other hand..."

Arthur sighed and shoved his manservant's shoulder. "Just call the villagers back together, Merlin. We've got training to do."

Merlin sketched a quick bow that was one part subservience and ninety-nine parts cheek, judging by the smirk accompanying it. "As you command, Your Highness."

Arthur resisted the urge to sigh or roll his eyes again. Tomorrow they would face Kanan and his fellow bandits, thus securing safety for Ealdor and restoring their simple happiness, and the day after that they would leave for Camelot where Arthur could eat as he pleased without guilt and where Merlin could start applying that cheery attitude to cleaning out some stables.

The very thought was enough to make Arthur smile as he joined the villagers. "Two lines!" he called. "Left side blocks, right side strikes. Begin!"

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