Arthur put on his best 'this is an intriguing topic and I am considering going forward with this prospect' face. Which was entirely accomplished by his right arm laid flat against the wooden boards, his body leaning slightly forward and his lips clenched and pulled inward. He had sculpted this look in his younger days, when he was sitting at feasts with Morgana and his father. Full unyielded attention was needed for those scolding evenings.
This was no different. This meeting was no different. Something about the outlining farm districts? He knew he should be listening. This would be important when he took the crown surely. His posture, yet, took the same form it did when he was a child. Curled and bored and eager for entertainment.
He glanced at the man talking. Long beard, splintered with dregs of brown scraggly hair, eyebrows bushy and angled as if he were always angry about some topic or other. Rich clothing dangling from his plump body, falling to his almost hystericaly tiny legs.
Listen Arthur. You're a Prince. Listen!
He focused on the words.
"And I believe Sire the..."
Was Merlin having better luck?
No Arthur listen!
"... ground could be harvested..."
His gaze found Merlin...and well he looked outright terrible; his back arched against a pillar, hands groping underneath his head of black hair. He guessed it would make sense. Merlin wasn't raised like he was, to mold a listening compusure. He grew up simply and carefree. He could imagine him running through trees and fetching pails of water from the well.
Just... the way he saw Merlin now. He had never seemed this bad before the council. His feet were tapping the floor and what he could see of his squinting eyes were glazed and feverish.
Merlin, it's not that bad. Hold on a little longer.
His glances now, couldnt help falling to his manservant. Now it looked as if he were whispering to himself. Sharp words forming and then leaving as quick as they had came. His head shaking. Fingers spasming.
"...Arthur?"
The name forced him to attention. His father had been calling to him dissaprovingly.
"We were asking if you agreed?"
Arthur went to form the words, however he stood instead. Merlin was swaying precariously, tilting this way and that. Then he looked at Arthur, eyes impossibly white and huge. The rest of his life that solid unwavering stare would forever be ingraved into the recesses of his mind, permanetly stuck like a thin slice of cold metal.
Anguish. Pain. Fear.
"They will kill you," Merlin said, voice scratching the quiet room. All faces turned to him. The shaking desolute servant.
"They will kill you all."