It wasn’t enough.
The bedroll next to him was empty, although there was a trace of body heat lingering there. Loth rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, attempting to wake up properly, and peered around the camp. It appeared he was the last to wake. The smell of the Swamp of Death was tempered slightly by the smell of something cooking, possibly eggs, and Loth nodded in unconscious approval. He hauled himself out of the bedroll and wandered off to the far edge of the campsite to relieve himself and was back just in time for Scott to thrust a plate at him.
Loth was too tired for this. He peered at the contents. “What’s this?” Because it certainly wasn’t eggs.
“Royal porridge, your Lordiness.”
Loth supposed the lumpy mess might be called porridge, if porridge was having a very bad day. He prodded at it with a finger. It jiggled in a way food shouldn’t and smelled distinctly fishy. Loth hated fish. “I think I’ll pass.”
Scott’s earnest-but-stupid face fell. “But I made it to the special recipe.”
“Special recipe?”
Scott nodded. “It’s the kind of porridge from the palace. Grub said it’s what you’d expect. It was just lucky we had everything in the cart.”
Loth smelled a rat. A stinky, fishy rat. “Remind me what’s in here again? Just so I can be sure it’s proper Royal Porridge.”
“Oats, honey, cinnamon…” Scott recited, as Loth nodded along. “And of course, the dried eel,” he added, and Loth’s stomach dropped. “He said it's what royalty is raised on, your Princiness, and that you’d love every bite.”
Loth noticed Grub watching them, smirking, and it fell into place. He should have known the little shit would try and get him back for the horse jokes.
Loth sniffed the gooey, salty mixture. Oh, he was going to make the boy pay for this. “And so I shall,” he declared, and scooped up a huge bite, shoving it in his mouth before he could think better of it. He gulped convulsively in an effort to get it down his throat before his tastebuds noticed what he was doing.
He failed.
His mouth was filled with the conflicting taste of cinnamon and seawater, warm and thick and utterly gag-worthy. Normally Loth had no problem swallowing a salty treat, but the overriding flavour of eel ruined it somewhat. Still, he managed to get it down and keep it down, much to his relief.
Ada was watching him far too closely for his liking, so he was forced to make a show of humming and licking the spoon. He peered into the bowl, fighting the frown at how much of it was left. He managed another three gut-churning spoons full before he begged off. “After all my time locked away, I fear my appetite has decreased,” he sighed. “Still, it's a shame for it to go to waste. Perhaps Grub can have the rest, as thanks for remembering the recipe? I’ll wager you’ve never tasted anything like this before.” He thrust the bowl into Grub’s face and was rewarded with a scowl as the boy sniffed and went slightly green around the gills.
“Come on now, eat up—it's a treat!” he said, holding the spoon to Grub’s thinly pressed lips, an unspoken challenge.
There was sheer murder in Grub’s eyes as he reluctantly took a bite, and then another, Loth shovelling the disgusting mess down his throat as fast as he could. Loth didn’t give him time to protest, pressing the spoon to his mouth like a determined mother forcing vegetables on an unhappy toddler. He wasn’t a complete monster though—he relented after four or five mouthfuls and dropped the spoon into the bowl.
“Shame,” he sighed. “It’s gone cold, and it can’t be eaten cold. Still,” he said, giving Grub a particularly obnoxious smile. “I don’t expect this every morning Grub, but if you do make it again, I'll be more than happy to share with you, as a thank you for this taste of home.”
“It was a one-time thing. I don’t think there’s any more dried eel,” Grub gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Oh well, in that case, I shall eat what everyone else has, like a commoner,” Loth said breezily.
“Right. Like a commoner,” Grub said, still sullen, and stalked over to the other side of the camp, arms wrapped around himself.
Loth followed and sidled up close to him because he hadn’t quite had the last word. “It was a good attempt, I’ll give you that,” he murmured out the side of his mouth, “but don’t try and play a player, my little equine eroticist.”
Grub snorted at that one, and the corners of his mouth twitched up in what might have been a smile. He turned to Loth and unwrapped one arm from his body just enough to extend a hand. “Fair enough. Truce?”
Loth looked down at the thin wrist, the delicate fingers, the pale skin still marred with ingrained dirt. Clearly Grub had been through a lot. Maybe, Loth pondered, just this once, he could try not being an absolute arse. He’d heard people managed it all the time.
“Truce,” he decided, giving the hand a shake, “although I'll have you know, I’ll be tasting eel for weeks. Special royal porridge, my eye.”
“Oh, there is a special royal porridge,” Grub offered, smirking, “but it has fresh berries and cream, and it’s topped with hazelnuts, not fish.”
What an odd thing for him to know.
They made slow progress, and Loth wasn't the only one who didn't trust Scott’s sense of direction, apparently. Calarian took it upon himself to confiscate the map and appoint himself their guide.
“I know how maps work,” he explained. “We use them in Houses and Humans.”
It was a relief when after some twists and turns, the lost road came into view, and the party hurried towards it. Scott was still scratching his head at how it could possibly have moved so far from its appointed spot.
Grub had agreed to take turns riding pillion as part of their truce. So Loth was treated not only to the pleasant weight of Grub’s body leaning against his, but also a clear view when Pie flitted up to perch on Scott’s shoulder. Scott opened his mouth to say something, possibly pointing out that the dragon liked him after all. Before he had the chance, Pie lifted his tail and deposited a squirt of filth down the back of Scott’s doublet. Scott squawked, and Pie chirruped and circled back to Loth.
“Good boy,” Loth crooned quietly, and Grub’s body shook with suppressed laughter where they were pressed close.
“He’s my favourite,” Grub said quietly.
“I thought I was your favourite?” Loth teased.
“No, I still hate you. But you know the saying. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“That’s a stupid saying. It should be, keep your friends close and your enemies in an unmarked grave. Or, keep your friends close and your enemies far enough away that they’re not a problem. Or even, keep your friends close and your enemies too busy fighting your other enemies to worry about you.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Grub asked.
“See, now I’ve said the word enemy too many times and it doesn’t even sound like a real word,” Loth complained. “En-em-ee. Em-en-ee. Mem-en-em-en-em-ee. I can’t tell which one is right anymore.”
Grub snorted. “I’m certain you’ll remember. You must have enough of them.”