Ok, so initially this started off as them off alone hunting but then FireChildSlytherin5 pointed out that that Arthur is king now and he doesn't exactly get to just go off and randomly hunt just because he feels like it anymore. Plus, it actually kinda works. The Round Table Knights would know better than to interfere unless necessary… The next chapter will probably combine their POVs.

Thank you to DragonflyonBreak for betaing this chapter :) She was a great help in pointing out and resolving several issues!

.oO***Oo.

Arthur lightly brushed his fingers over the oval shaped scar. From this distance he could see the ridges, measure the scar's size and the length of the dented tendrils that spidered away from it. He could tell what stage of the poison Merlin had gotten to, calculate how long and how badly he had suffered. The information was, quite literally, right under his fingertips if he choose to look for it. Arthur traced the pale vines and unconsciously measured them, calculating.

Hours.

Merlin would have suffered for hours.

And (though he tried not to) he could almost hear the pain filled screams. He tried to shake the image of Merlin, sweaty and pale, clawing at his own flesh. Tendrils of this length meant he would have reached the final stage of the poison before whatever miracle that saved him had done so. He would have reached a stage of the poison they had never allowed Sir Robert to get to.

Merlin would have begun to slowly suffocate as his lungs filled with fluid. His breath coming in short gasps as he sucked in air but never seemed to get enough.

Arthur's old research told him it was only an unlucky few that reached the final stage of suffocation. He had a new found appreciation for Merlin's often underestimated endurance. Most people's bodies gave out from the shock of the pain long before the poison reached the final stage. That, or they had someone (as Sir Robert had) to take pity on them before they got to that point.

The fact that Merlin had reached it meant he had suffered long and he had suffered alone.

"What's got you so fascinated back there?"

He could tell Merlin was trying to keep his tone light, but Arthur knew him too well. He heard the subtle changes in his manservant's voice that said any answers given would be guarded (if he could get anything beyond sarcasm, that is) and that brought his attention to the rest of Merlin's reactions. The set of his shoulders, the way he'd unconsciously shifted to the balls of his feet, and the growing caution in his eyes.

Merlin wasn't reacting like someone who knew he'd have someone he could rely on, someone who would have his back if he asked for it. The set of his shoulders belonged to someone who'd been stabbed in the back one too many times (apparently literally as well as figuratively). Someone who'd trusted too much, had been burned.

But it made no sense.

Merlin was one of those people that everyone seemed to love being around. Without ever trying to, he awoke protective instincts in even the hardest of hearts, and Arthur was no exception to this. Even before he considered Merlin to be one of his closest friends (or even before he'd even considered him to be a friend) those protective instincts had flared each time the servant was in danger. He almost couldn't bring himself to question how many other times Merlin had been hurt that he didn't know about.

Arthur jerked away from his manservant as the painful whispers of his mind told him of the inadequacy of his friendship.

"Nothing." His tone came out far harsher than he intended, but he was still haunted by the imagery of Merlin's suffering that his mind had provided.

He backed away from his manservant, settling himself next to a completely forgotten Sir Leon who was looking over Arthur with the same worried curiosity that his manservant was. They kept an eye on the mentally afflicted king, though Merlin set the large cooking pot outside the mouth of the cave to collect water to cook their dinner in. Gwaine would be back from checking the perimeter soon and he wanted to at least get the water boiling before the knight got back. They were all cold and wet. Some stew would do them all good.

When the other knight did return, he brandished a decently sized pheasant (that for some strange reason brought an amused smile to Merlin's lips) and a small bag of berries which he declared to be dessert. Merlin took one of the berries and observed it carefully before muttering dryly, "I hope you didn't eat any of these."

Gwaine smirked. "Of course not! Would I treat myself without sharing with my fellow knights?"

A chorus of several Yes' was his answer. His face took on a mildly offended pout until Leon sauntered up to him and looped an arm over his shoulder. "Now, now," he started, sounding almost scolding of the other men, "Surely the bright red on his lips is, in fact, from kissing a fair maiden. In the middle of the forest. During a freezing cold rainstorm," he informed them before ducking away from the playful swing Gwaine took at him.

Everyone laughed though Merlin's smile quickly faded. "So long as you didn't eat of them-" his tone clearly indicated he believed otherwise.

"I didn't!"

"Then take these and chuck them outside the cave where no one else will accidentally do so," he finished as though Gwaine hadn't interrupted him. He handed the cotton bag that was beginning to turn red from the juices back to the long haired knight and waited for the question he knew was coming.

Gwaine eyed the bag suspiciously and asked, "What if a few might have made their way into my mouth?"

"Then you're going to have very bad stomach cramps in about an hour unless I get a few of the leaves from the plant," the manservant answered. He eyed the still-drying tunic by the fire before grabbing his jacket and walking out of the cave, calling behind him, "Next time leave the foraging to me, Gwaine!"

Arthur sighed in annoyance. "Gwaine, go with him. Make sure he doesn't get himself killed," he ordered.

"You can prepare the bird then!" Gwaine laughed as he tossed the pheasant to Elyan. He gave Arthur a mocking bow before chasing after his best friend.

Arthur waited until they were gone before he spoke quietly to Leon beside him. "Do you remember Sir Robert?" Leon frowned in confusion and Arthur immediately realized the reason. Robert was a common name and Leon would have no reason to make the connection between Merlin and the now-dead knight. "Sir Robert of Estercliff," he clarified.

Recognition lit Leon's eyes but his confusion only grew. The knight remained silent as he waited for more information.

Arthur's eyes wandered back to the mouth of the cave where Merlin and Gwaine had disappeared, "Merlin has a scar from a Serket's sting on his back."

Leon froze at his words."That's impossible."

"Apparently not." Arthur's eyes returned to his knight and he added, "And I fully intend to find out how."