Chapter 2

A/N: Right, sorry this took me so long, but, bloody hell, this was hard. I've tried my best to get Arthur's way of thinking right. I'm very sure I did a poor job of it, I just can't get what's in my mind on paper right. Or on screen, anyway. So, here's what I was thinking. Arthur has such a hard time believing Merlin's dead, he convinces himself he isn't. Quite successfully, too, really. He now thinks Merlin's just ran away to escape his chores and has sent his knights after him. He has forced his mind to think and act unusually happy and as if nothing is wrong. Obviously, the fooling-your-own-mind-thing is a Pendragon way of coping with things.

It had been one month, 30 days, since the hunting trip. More than anyone, Arthur knew how hopeless things were. Yet he kept on hoping. Hoping Merlin would turn up relatively unscathed, as goofy as he always was. He knew perfectly well what had happened: a beast had attacked Merlin and he had used magic, but only to say goodbye. Then he'd died. Arthur had felt Merlin die. Arthur had cried for the loss of his best friend, then had yelled at Merlin for treason and for abandoning him, then grieved all over again. But when night fell, his survival instincts had kicked in, physically and mentally.

He persuaded himself that Merlin was fine, had no magic at all and had run away to escape his chores. He even thought and acted accordingly, sending search parties out to catch his runaway servant. As proven before, Pendragons can be very persuasive and are very good at fooling not only others, but themselves quite well too. Arthur very nearly believed his own foolery. Logic dictates such things cannot carry on for long, when the latter go directly against the first. For once, logic won in Camelot. It very nearly threw a party.

Arthur was brooding. He was staring into the roaring hearth, wondering when Merlin would stop his rather pathetic hiding. Merlin's not-presence was unsettling Arthur, making his theory of Merlin-fleeing-work-with-a-pathetic-excuse wobblier by the day. Why didn't Merlin come back already? Not that Arthur missed him terribly or something terribly unkingly and girly like that.

That was an awful lie. Even a hermit living isolated in a ditch somewhere far away, knew that that last thought was an awful lie. Arthur, though, wouldn't dare admit he was wrong, even if it could get Merlin to sing, which was -according to Guinevere- "the best laugh she had ever had". In Merlin's defence, he had been forced to drink that much, since "Gwen had made doe-eyes at me. Have you ever seen Gwen making doe-eyes at you and refused whatever she asked? Of course you didn't- no man can resist Gwen making doe-eyes at him, it overloads our system. Too cute, you see". Arthur would do almost anything to witness such a spectacle himself. Even though he perfectly understood Merlin's forced hand. Doe-eyes, indeed.

Two sharp knocks tore him from his musings, in a way Arthur recognized easily. Guinevere, his lovely Queen. Speaking of the devi- angel! Speaking of the angel (Arthur was new to the marrying-lark, but he did know it was not a very smart move to call your wife 'devil', even in thought. Women had ways to just know these things. The King of Camelot was as mystified- and slightly creeped out- by that as the next man).

No doubt she was here to talk to him about Merlin. She had been the only one who had not yet done so.

'Enter", Arthur said resigned.

'Arthur," Guinevere began tentatively once she had indeed entered, "we need to talk about Merlin".

"Yes, I suspected as much", Arthur answered wryly, "Might as well get it over with".

He gestured to the chair next to him. Guinevere breathed in deeply and sat down.

"Where do you think Merlin is?", she asked, though not in a condescending tone. No prejudices, that was new. Not for Guinevere, but it was for the subject. Many a noble had asked him about sending out search parties for his runaway servant, and all had sounded as if they thought Merlin wasn't worth it and the King was a fool for chasing him. Even his father hadn't had to bear overbearing nobles. No respect, the lot of them. Merlin's fault, of course. Everything always was.

" I don't know, " Arthur said seemingly uncaring, "he just ran away. Probably tried to escape his chores again. Laziest servant I've ever known, he is". This was not how Arthur usually talked, normally he talked a lot fancier. But around Guinevere, Merlin and Gaius, he could just be.

"Arthur, do you really think Merlin would do something as drastic as run away, in the middle of the forest, just so he doesn't have to do the chores he's been doing for years?" Arthur could feel the fierce disbelieve radiating off his wife. He cringed inwardly and turned his eyes to the hearth again. She' d been Morgana' s handmaiden far too long; once she found something she thought was wrong, she would cling onto it. Like a bloody blood-hound.

"Yes?", Arthur tried and snuck a glance at Guinevere's face. Guinevere looked deeply disappointed. He couldn't hide a wince. He was in for it now, one way or another.

"Arthur," she said softly, "give me one time Merlin was away".

"There was that one time when Merlin spent two days in the tavern..." Arthur trailed off when he saw Guinevere frown.

"Merlin hasn't visited the tavern since I got him to sing like a sailor years ago!", she said slowly, "When was this?"

"About three days after I found him when he was captured by bandits near the Valley of the Fallen Kings, do you remember? I punished him for it, of course, made him follow servant lessons for a week."

Arthur saw a flash of recognition in her eyes and then her face darkened.

"You. Punished. Merlin?", Guinevere all but hissed through her teeth.

"Yes?" Arthur quickly changed the subject: " You know, him going to the tavern right after recovering from a near- fatal wound, proves once again that Merlin can survive just about anything." Arthur glanced at Guinevere, hoping it would distract her from whatever dark thoughts she'd been having about him punishing Merlin.

It had, but not in the way he had hoped.

Guinevere had her face in her hands, sighing. "Might as well tell you", she mumbled.

Arthur certainly did not like the sound of that.