"So," Leon says while straightening the stack of parchment in front of him, "you plan to take up this quest, alone, in foreign land, without aid, and in mid winter? Sounds like a marvelous plan sire."

Arthur glares around at the table of knights who each respond with their own look ranging from concern to exaseration, to some misguided sort of pride on Gwaine's part. He sighs in frustration and glances at his servant, Merlin, who is currently staring into a pitcher, presumably filled with wine, and nearly nodding off. It's as if the boy is on strike against sleeping lately, and the shadows under his eyes have become bruise-like. It's highly unlikely that he will be of much use to the king in this particular situation.

"Leon," he says with authority bordering annoyance, "Do not mock me. You know that I can't leave my men to die. I will be leaving at first light and I expect you to help guinevere with matters of court until I return."

"But sire," he counters, "what are we supposed to tell the nobles? That you've left in a solo suicide mission in the middle of January completely alone?"

"Oh no, not completely alone," he answers reassuringly, "I'll have Merlin."

At the sound of his name Merlin starts and jerks the pitcher up, spilling a few drops on the floor. He glances dazedly at the king and tries to figure out why exactly his name has been called.

"Sorry sire," he says sheepishly and with a slight drawl, "I didn't quite catch that. What'd you need?"

Arthur puts his face in his hands and utters a long-suffering groan. It seems Merlin can do nothing right.

"Hmm, yes Arthur you're right. He will definitely turn the tide in your favor. I nearly envy you, this mission will be a piece of cake I'm sure." says Gwaine sarcastically.

"Just shut up Gwaine. I'm leaving tomorrow it's final. Leon, you can just say that I'm visiting one of the outer villages to pick up a present for Gwen. Merlin, pack enough supplies for a week and a half. We ride at first light."

"Yes sire." mutters Leon.

Gwaine just smiles cheekily as Arthur gathers up his papers and leaves the council room with a swish of his cape, leaving an exhausted Merlin to scramble after him. Arthur doesn't say a word until they reach his chambers. Once they are both in the door Arthur locks it behind him. Merlin gives him an odd look, but then simply sets the pitcher down and begins to pick up odds and ends and put them back where they belong.

"Merlin I need your advice on something." He says turning away from the door, "last night something unusual happened."

Merlin answers with a 'hmm' and continues gathering the clothes that have been tossed on the floor. Normally he would have made some side remark in regards to Arthur's words, but not today. He hasn't had good sleep in more than four days and his last meal was yesterday's breakfast. The effects are catching up with him.

"'hmm' that's all you have too say? Just 'hmm'?" asks Arthur, who had anticipated more of a reaction, "don't you want to know? Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Fine Arthur, what could be so incredibly important that it can't wait until I've finished?" Merlin answers tiredly.

"I was visited by a sorcerer!" Arthur exclaims.

"Yeah? What's this one have to say? Is he out for vengeance too, or did he just want to chat about the latest tourney?" Merlin asks, although he is fully aware of what had happened last night between Artur and the sorcerer. Its amazing what a blue cloak, a hat, and a shave will do as far as recognition. Being eighty years old may have also contributed, as well as the dark corridor.

"He's the one who told me where my men had gone. They've been taken by an ancient earth spirit, known by the druids as kal'toh'hah. They disturbed her sacred scrying pool and now she's holding them in a land far west of here, in a valley of giant trees. He gave me directions and a warning about some gate."

"Wait, a gate? What gate?" Merlin asked in faux ignorance.

"I don't know, something about fear, and a talking Griffin. Very odd."

"Oh, I know about that gate!" Merlin responded snapping his fingers in realization, "it's an old druid legend. The gate of truth. The only way for a traveler to pass through is for them to state their greatest fear to the Griffin gargoyle carved into it. If you tell the truth you pass, if not then you have to either turn back, or go around it. But there's only one path and the forest is deadly so, it'd be best to take the Griffin."

"It's seems that something has finally sunken into your thick skull." Arthur says as a backhanded compliment. "You can't let the others know that I received direction from a sorcerer. They would never let me go if they knew. You are to keep this secret on pain of death."

"Must it always be on pain of death?" mutters Merlin, "It's as if we can't just say things between friends and keep them there."

"Well Merlin," Arthur says, flopping into his newly made bed, "you are the worst secret keeper I know. Couldn't keep your mouth shut if your life depended on it."

Merlin raises an eyebrow at him in a very Gaius-like fashion, but Arthur doesn't see. He's already moved on to the next order or insult he intends to give to his servant.

"If that will be all sire-" Merlin starts.

"Oh no Merlin not tonight." Arthur says, all too happy to have someone to order around, "you still need to polish my armour, sharpen my sword, and prepare the horses with enough supplies to last us one and a half weeks."

'Looks like another sleepless night!' Merlin thinks to himself. He moves toward the door to get started so that he might get at least a couple hours of sleep before dawn, but he's stopped by Arthur, again.

"Oh, and Merlin?" he shouts, "Don't forget to layout my clothes tomorrow, and pack me some extra blankets."

"Yes sire." mutters Merlin as he leaves with a defeated slump in his shoulders.

Arthur lays back against the pillows once he hears the door shut. Perhaps he's been too hard on Merlin, the boy doesn't seem to have slept a wink in days. But his concerns are soon forgotten as he is lulled into sleep by the warmth of many furs and the sound of a distant breeze across the window panes.