merrimanlyon | (no subject)

The healing of a frayed and weary land is not the sort of thing that will happen overnight, or even in a week's time. But the rightful king of the Summer Country has made it his purpose to ensure that the healing begins, and so he sets out to make things right once more.

Arthur's reputation as a king was not only gained on the field of battle. His diplomacy and courteous behaviour were well known to those of his court, once upon a time, and it was never more apparent then than it is now. He is busy from morning to night, spending the greater part of his waking hours talking to his people, asking after their health and passing time in seemingly idle conversation, doing what he can to reassure them that all is well. And like all skilled diplomats, the king is a very sound judge of when it is best to talk, and when it is best to be a good listener.

One of the more useful aspects of being a good listener is that it is very easy to sidestep the questions that others ask, in favour of turning the conversation round.

As such, only a small number of people are able to pick up on the meaning behind Arthur's general silence on matters relating to the war that had so unceremoniously dragged him away from his rest.

Merlion is a past master at the carefully phrased question, the statement followed by a pause, the seemingly innocuous comment that is meant to open the door to further enquiry. They are all part of the tools that a good advisor -- a good professor -- must use at one point or another.

Three times, he attempts to enquire (albeit very gently) for more information about what had happened in Fionavar. And three times, Arthur is able to deflect or turn aside the line of enquiry by asking a question of his own, or by seeming to misinterpret the unspoken meaning behind the question, or else by giving a simple, truthful, and entirely uninformative answer.

Some battles are not meant to be spoken of, afterward. If the king intends for this to be one of them, then Merlion will not press the matter further.

If it is meant to be spoken of, on the other hand, then it will happen in its own time.

They are in no hurry, now.

You have not left this land since my return, my lion. Were you waiting for me to give you leave to go?

On the other side of the castle, Merlion's hand goes still in mid-air, quill poised just short of the inkwell. He quickly sets the quill down before the ink can drip.

Not in so many words, my lord, he replies in the same silent manner. Though I will admit that I had been waiting for an appropriate moment to come and speak to you about it.

(Arthur, in turn, mentally replaces 'waiting for an appropriate moment' with 'hovering about somewhat anxiously' -- and considers the altered version to be marginally nearer to the truth.)

This is an appropriate a moment as any, I should think. A light but decisive statement. You have my leave, and gladly. And if there is anything further that I ought to know in connection with recent events, then I expect nothing less a full report.

Of course. It is just short of being a direct command...and it saves them both the trouble of bringing up the recent past in open conversation.

As a result, it is not very long afterwards that one of the castle's many doors opens.