AN: Why no, Merlin does not belong to me, thank you for asking.

*Squeals* I can't believe the response I got from this with only three chapters! You guys are the best!

This is the fourth chapter in two days. What does that say about my life?

I also should say if you like this story, I encourage you to check out Overheard by hujwernoo. It's kinda sorta similar to this one. You guys might like it.

Also, if you haven't already, I have a poll going on my profile as to which Merlin story I should write next and I would love it if you guys voted.

Okay, I'm done. Here's the story.

Finally.

The tedious meeting had come to an end. True, Arthur hadn't been paying attention for most of it, but having to sit still while he listened to nobles whine about taxes wasn't exactly his idea of fun.

The meeting was adjourned, and the nobles and knights stood to leave. Arthur turned in a hurry for the door, but found himself face to face with Agravaine.

"Whoops!"

Agravaine's hand slipped on his goblet in reaction to Arthur's sudden appearance. Red wine spilled over Arthur's chain mail, and he felt it soak through his tunic underneath.

"I am so sorry, Sire, I merely wanted to speak to you. I have a few ideas about the land dispute-"

Arthur interrupted his uncle. "That's quite alright, Lord Agravaine. I'm afraid I have business to attend to at the moment, but I will find you later to discuss your ideas."

And he walked away before he was too tempted to plant his fist into his uncle's face.

When he reached his chambers, Merlin was finishing scrubbing the floor. He looked up apprehensively as the king entered.

Arthur removed his chain mail and tunic and threw it lazily on the floor at Merlin's feet.

"Those need washing," was all he said.

Looking surprised, Merlin gathered up the clothes and left for the washroom.

Sighing, Arthur sat down at his desk, where a pile of paperwork was waiting for him. He wanted to talk to Merlin some more about the night before, but he needed some time to think to himself first.

He would have to apologize. He knew he'd come across as angry at Merlin, but that was just because he was overwhelmed with the rapidity at which his world had shifted.

And, honestly, how could he be angry with Merlin? Merlin had tried to tell him something was off about his uncle, but he hadn't listened. Merlin was one of the few people he could trust, and no matter how much he denied it, he cared very much for the servant. He'd come to think of him almost as a brother. Arthur snorted. He'd made a better sibling than Morgana, anyway. Morgana, who would have killed Merlin if Arthur hadn't seen sense.

And once again, the blame would have fallen on the king.

His thoughts shifted to what Merlin had actually been doing. It made sense - how many times had he mysteriously vanished from his job and reappeared looking exhausted? Arthur had attributed it to being hungover, but now he saw that it was unlikely that Merlin actually spent that much time in the tavern. With a fresh wave of guilt, Arthur realized that he had punished Merlin several times for being in the "tavern", when he was probably off saving Arthur's life.

Sighing, he stood up. He had to find Merlin and apologize to him.

0o0

Merlin entered the washroom, his arms laden with the clothes Agravaine had spilled wine on. No one else was there, and he sighed. There would be no one to distract him from his anxious thoughts about Arthur. True, he was glad Arthur wasn't more upset, but how would he explain all the times he'd survived because of magic?

Just then, he heard the door snap shut behind him. He turned and saw...

His blood ran cold. Agravaine had just closed and locked the door, and was smiling in a way that made Merlin very worried.

He kept his face blank. "Lord Agravaine. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Agravaine's nasty grin widened. "Oh, I think there is."

And without warning, his fist swung out of no where and connected with Merlin's jaw.

Pain exploded from the spot where it had made contact, and the warlock staggered backward. Hands came out and shoved him hard in the chest and he crashed to the floor. He felt his head collide with the stone ground, sending more ripples of pain through it. He struggled to get up, but a strong set of hands grabbed his head and smashed it against the stone once more, and he slipped into blackness.

Agravaine took advantage of Merlin's unconsciousness. The washroom was stacked with storage boxes filled with everything from heavy bars of soap to armor waiting to be picked up. There were even some stone bricks, which were left there temporarily for some construction.

It took only a prod from the older man to send them crashing down onto the servant. Agravaine was pleased to see a heavy belt fall out of one of the baskets from the top and bounce off the servant's face, leaving red lines oozing blood. The rest of him was soon covered in heavy wooden boxes and woven baskets and their spilled contents.

Agravaine leaned down, pulling a vial out of his pocket. Personally, he thought the poison was slight overkill, but Morgana had said to be absolutely certain. And she'd also expressed her desire for Merlin to suffer, and the poison would certainly cause that. Uncorking the bottle, he poured some of the thick liquid into Merlin's mouth.

He then stood back to admire his handiwork, pleased with himself. Merlin was known for being uncoordinated, and it would certainly be reasonable for someone to assume that Merlin had accidentally knocked everything over on himself. The head trauma could be caused by the combination of his fall and being hit with a heavy object. He smiled. That would be a very probable cause of death, and no one would think to check for poison. He turned to leave, then paused. He turned around and used to foot to clear away some of the rubble. Then he swung his foot back and kicked the servant as hard as he could and thought he heard a rib crack.

"That's for what you did to Morgana," he whispered, and, without another word, exited the room.

0o0

Merlin finally came to something that could be considered consciousness a while later. He called it consciousness because he was aware of the burning pain that was filling him. It was separate from the pounding in his head - though that was agony enough to turn his stomach. His vision was hazy, and he couldn't remember where he was. The most he was aware of, besides the pain, was that there seemed to be a pool of blood around his head.

He registered dimly, though, that Agravaine must have gotten to him. This was no accident. The aching he felt all over could have been caused by another of his clumsy accidents, but the fire that was spreading through him was not. He was sure that much was poison.

He tried to call out, but even the slightest movement amplified his agony. His breathing tightened in pain. He was stuck here, suspended in misery, and he couldn't even find help.

Suddenly, the poison prompted a coughing fit. The jarring movement lit him on fire all over again, and he became so dizzy he could hardly tell up from down. The coughing began to subside, but the pain did not. Instead, it peaked even more.

As it reached such a pitch that he felt his world dimming into darkness once again, he vaguely thought he heard someone shouting his name. But before he could figure out who it was, he fell back into wonderful oblivion.