"Hm, let me think." Merlyn settles his cup in his lap, frowning a little at the bird on his shoulder. "It was, what, two months in the Arena? Although I died a month or so in, of course - a fascinating experience, I must say, albeit an unpleasant one. And then before that, hm... a month, perhaps, or two? Let us say four months. That sounds about right. Though I can't say I've kept much track of it. When you are as old as I am, one day tends to run into another. Long enough to make myself thoroughly undesirable in the eyes of the regime. Short enough for them to have only beaten me to a bloody pulp once so far."