He gave some sort of a small smile, “unfortunately, Achilles, I take no pride in stealing food from the King’s mouth.” Perhaps when he was younger, but not now, the course of time had changed him, and he was better than that. “So I shall pass, but, by all means, take what you wish.”
Mordred couldn’t help it, as much as he tried he wanted to think of something other than Merlin, but every now and then he found himself wishing that there was something different than what there was between them. And he hated himself for it.
“So, since when did a knight of Camelot take to stealing chickens from the kitchen, hm?”
‘Don’t be silly, Mordred, I never steal, I am merely, and rightly so, offered the leftovers. I wouldn’t have to if they fed me right, but it’s not often that they do, I’m almost always hungry.’
He replied, a small smile on his face as he slowed his pace to match the other man’s. It was still very much a shame that Mordred was taken by some other man, besotted with him. He reached out, his hand grasping the other man’s for just a moment, he squeezed, hoping that the small gesture of affection would make Mordred feel slightly better about whatever was really ailing him. He took him down to the kitchens and pushed the door open to lead him inside.
The kitchen staff looked up as Achilles entered and the young man gave the cook a smirk, a particularly large, muscled man, standing and cutting meat. Achilles definitely used his status to his advantage.
He led him across the kitchen and to the already cooked food and, grasping a plate, began to spoon the thick stew onto it, soaking a chunk of bread in the gravy.
'Food always makes things better. I like the food here, the stews are delicious, hearty, these cooks are fantastic.’