The silence in Camelot was oppressive. Night lay thickly upon the city, suffocating all possible noise. Owners of local taverns had sensed business drawing to a close early. If one were to wander the streets the honourable Sir Gwaine of Camelot would be found passed out in a puddle of ale near the stables. The horses did not neigh, the scavengers- cats and dogs- did not rustle though the litter. Sir Leon and the guards of the night watch dozed at their posts. The entire population slept deeply.
All of Camelot was silent.
Silent for all.
The room was dark. The two figures approached each other slowly. Apprehension of news danced around with the dust in the air of the previously undisturbed room. Stars shed little light within the room, providing the contrast between a shadow of stubble on the chin and the flesh of the cheek of the first man. The old, wrinkled hands of the second grasped a candle. Flickering flames reflected off his white wavy hair. The red of his robes seemed so dim in the dark.
The glint of the old mans eye made brighter by the candle suggested good tidings. He spoke with a hushed tone; "The letter arrived this morning. He should be itching to leave tomorrow. We can move the plan forward." This had pleased the first man, who had grown impatient.
With a nod and a wave the old man knew he was dismissed. He made his way to the physicians' chambers, taking care in the dim light. He entered silently to not disturb his sleeping ward in the next room.
Gaius dreamt of the plot he had set in motion, and slept with a smile.