A/N:

Hi folks! Here's the next chapter for you, and I'm sorry if I disappoint anyone, but it's not the confrontation just yet. Just need this last bit of set up/interlude before the fun begins *snigger*. But I promise that will come in the next chapter (which I am working on, and it's nearly ready to go).

Thank you all once again for sticking with me and for your fantastic reviews. Those of you to whom I could not reply are just as lovely and appreciated as those to whom I could (and I wish there was some way I could thank you personally).

Disclaimer:

Merlin is the solely owned by Shine. Why can't they have shares in it? Then I could say (with hand on heart) that I DO own it (or at least part of it...baggsies on Colin's mouth!).

Chapter 10

"...and a representative from the stonemasons guild would like to arrange a personal meeting with you to discuss the terms of the agreement signed with your father two years ago. It would seem that the new policy you drew up with the carpenters' guild last month has become public knowledge and..."

Lord Bretel's thin, nasally voice droned on and on, like the wings of a tired fly as it battered incessantly - for hours and hours - against the panes of a window. Arthur had long since tuned him out, and only periodically focused his hearing to pick up enough words here and there to string together a vague gist of the noble's long and convoluted speech (for such a time as his opinion was sought, instead of just being spoken to). Judging by the quiet snores of Lord Corbet, coming from the far end of the council table, he was not the only one who had long ago succumbed to boredom, and a need to mentally be somewhere else.

The scary thing was that this scenario had become all too frequent in recent times. Although he had had to take a more proactive role in council meetings whilst his father had been alive, and suffering from the effects of his only daughter's betrayal, it was since Uther's death that the onus had completely shifted onto Arthur. The emotional and physical burden sometimes seemed too much, even for his broad shoulders to bear, and if not for the support of his Uncle, he would long ago have hung up his crown and gone to live on that farm he and Gwen had once talked about. It didn't help either that he did not have a certain young, raven-haired, always late, cheeky-mouthed idiot to distract him with nothing more than a smirk or an eye-roll from the periphery of the room.

And there also was the crux of the problem today, as it had been for the past week. Today, yesterday, the day before, and even the day before that, he had been distracted. Distracted to the point that Agravaine had started showering him more and more often with disapproving frowns. Once or twice he had even tried to remind him - in the privacy of his own chambers, of course - of the necessity to at least appear to be performing his duties in front of his people, and especially certain members of the council. More than one still needed a little convincing that he was capable of filling his father's shoes and was therefore worthy of his title. He did appreciate the man's concern and discretion when voicing it, and deep down, he knew he was right. But in light of recent events - well, one event involving a rather idiotic servant in particular - he was finding it harder and harder to actually care what his council members - and indeed his Uncle - thought of his lack of amenity towards Guild laws, and petitioners, and cattle thieves, and just about anything else it was his solemn duty to oversee.

He had tried many things over the past seven days, to distract himself from his distraction. The latest bill from the straw-man maker's workshop had been placed at the top of the pile of paperwork on his desk that morning by George. The fact that he'd had to have every single one of the practice dummies replaced, in such a short time, served as a not-so-subtle rebuke for his inability to rein in his temper. Though it was fair to say that not all of them had met their end on his own blade. In fact, it was witnessing the brutal removal of one such dummy's head, by a very drunk and very angry Gwaine, that had reminded the King that there were other things he could release his anxieties on than his own goblets and wardrobe doors. Several hours, and pretend enemies later, and he was no nearer to ridding himself of the need to break things, in the absence of being able to talk to the one person who might - if he was only conscious and willing to divulge - have the answers he so desperately sought.

Talking to anyone else hadn't been the solution, either. Gwen had helped...a little. Her voice, touch and kisses had been a kind of soothing balm, anyway. It also gave the King a modicum of relief to know that she had no more idea than him of the mind-workings of their mutual friend. He had not had a great deal of time in the past week to share ideas with the maid. Only snatches of conversation here and there; either first hand, as they exchanged places at Merlin's side, or overheard from the other side of a door, as she helped the physician prepare the many remedies required to ensure his ward's speedy recovery with minimal pain. But even those brief encounters had been more than enough for the King to see the image of his own pain, fear and self-doubt echoed in her often wet eyes and subdued voice.

Gaius also could not fill any more of the gaps in the mystery of his ward, on Arthur's trips to the physician's chambers. And whether his heavy sighs were in exasperation over yet another set of bloody royal knuckles, and pulled shoulders, or the dark-haired man of their scrutiny and despair, the King had decided that he wanted to be neither a witness to nor an instigator of the old man's troubled mind. He had therefore made the conscious decision, in the last couple of days, to keep his visits there to a bare minimum. For the time being, anyway...unless there was any change to be seen in the occupant of the physician's back room.

Arthur had to admit that he had grown more than a little frustrated at the lack of much progress in his friend's health. He had spent as much time as he could discreetly spare, in the first two or three days after that horrible night, either pacing the small spaces in Merlin's room, and the larger one beyond, or taking a turn at soothing his fevered brow. But on all those occasions, the closest he had ever come to seeing some sort of improvement, was when Merlin had opened heavy-lidded eyes, and had seemed to be staring straight at him. The young man's seeming return to consciousness, though, had lasted only a couple of seconds more than it took for Arthur to realise it was a false hope. His servant could not see or hear him, and the windows to his delirious ravings had once again slammed firmly down over glassy, blue irises and dilated pupils. Merlin had not rendezvoused with the land of the wakeful since then, despite his fever having gone down, and Gaius' satisfied conclusion that his wounds were on the mend.

The image of Merlin's pale, fading, lacerated body stole into his mind, like the woodworms that his servant had never managed to find in his chambers. Arthur wasn't quite quick enough to halt the wince that skewed his features, before he was able to vehemently evict the memory from his thoughts. Looking up from the knot in the table he had absentmindedly been studying - when he had let his consciousness wander - he caught the pointed frown his Uncle was throwing in his direction, and immediately looked away. His cheeks carried a slight tinge of red as he shifted stiff limbs, in the hope the improved blood-flow would help wake him up.

"...which will be in time for Prince Anlawd's visit to sign the trade agreements next month. A small increase in the tax of foreigners entering the city to trade should suffice. This will bring our annual intake to approximately..."

His eyes still slightly unfocused and his leg muscles screaming in protest at their sudden call into use, Arthur stood. It was a credit to Lord Bretel's ability to not send himself to sleep during his own speeches when the current one came to a stuttering standstill, and his eyes, along with those of his fellow council members, were cast on the King. Even Lord Corbet had somehow noticed a change in the sleep-inducing proceedings, and had awoken with a loud snort and sudden jerk.

"Sire?" came his Uncle's confused and yet still condescending voice, when no explanation for the king's change in position was forthcoming. Arthur continued to stare, his eyes glazed, into the middle distance. Agravaine, following his gaze and finding no reason for the view to hold his nephew so unrelentingly, deepened the lines on his forehead, before clearing his throat noisily and addressing the young King more forcefully. "Arthur, is there something amiss?"

Arthur blinked and seemed to come out of his daze, and with a slight shake of his head he said, in an almost faraway voice - still not meeting his Uncle's, or any of the council member's pointed looks - "This meeting is adjourned." And ignoring the consternated mutterings and confused frowns that were directed either at him or towards neighbouring occupants of the table, the King pushed back his chair and headed towards the door with a purposeful stride. Agravaine leapt from his own seat so fast he nearly knocked the chair flying, and hastened after his nephew. He trotted past the the two shocked guards, who were still staring in the wake of their King's unexpected departure, to catch up with the blond-haired man, just before he reached the end of the corridor.

Arthur glared down at the leather-gloved hand, that had interrupted his tumultuous thoughts and halted his step to grasp at his rapidly disappearing sleeve. Blue eyes drilled into the unwelcome intrusion on personal space and newly-resolved purpose, until the grip slowly loosened and withdrew, but before he could resume his mission, the dark-haired Lord addressed him again, with a seemingly genuine air of bemusement and urgency.

"What's going on, Arthur?" he began, "There were still a number of items on the agenda to discuss. Do you have another meeting to attend that I was not informed of? We could reconvene-" A single raised hand from the King brought an abrupt end to his suggestion, and the head shake that followed ensured it never left the confines of his pursed lips, so he instead waited for the explanation he was sure he was due.

Once tightly clenched jaw beneath unshaven cheek was released, the words did indeed come; if a little reluctant and snappish. "No, that will not be necessary, thank you, Uncle. We can pick up where we left off at the next council session." The young King made to turn away and carry on with his quest, were it not for the older man taking another step forwards to block his path.

"Arthur, what is going on? You can't just walk out in the middle of a meeting of the council." At the raised eyebrow over cold eye, conveying the unspoken question of 'Who is King here?', Agravaine winced and tempered his next admonishment to something slightly more humble, with a placatory raising of both hands. "I mean, it was a little unexpected, and what with your father's unfortunate mental decline before the end, as well as recent events, well...we wouldn't want idle gossip to turn into whisperings of dissent or a vote of no-"

"Just what exactly are you implying, Agravaine?" Two fists had joined the jaw in a clenching contest and the older man took a small step of submission back.

"Nothing, my lord. My only concern is for your welfare, and that of the impression you give to your subjects." He paused and stoically returned the King's gaze for a moment; attempting to smooth ruffled Pendragon feathers, and convey a sincerity he did not feel.

Arthur sighed heavily and stretched out his fingers, releasing some of the pent-up tension; though his shoulders remained stiff and his brow furrowed. "I appreciate your advice, Uncle, but there's something I must do, so you are free to see to your own affairs."

Agravaine, recognising a dismissal when it was directed his way, gave a minimal bow and watched as his nephew pulled down on the flowing folds of his jerkin and proceeded on his original path. With a smirk and a shake of his dark locks, the King's Uncle spun round and headed in the direction of his own chambers. He had no need of one of the many spies he had around the castle to know where his distracted nephew was headed, and he silently wished every pox and plague he could think of to befall the court physician and his meddling ward.