I may not always know what's right, but I know I want you here tonight.

I love you.

The thrill of ecstasy was dampened almost immediately by a counter surge of guilt. It felt wrong to be happy when Arthur was dead.

The timing was terrible – or perfect, to muddy the emotions which otherwise would have been clear-cut grief. Mallos had said those words and meant them, and had heard those words said and meant; never before had the two married up. That lack of concordance had characterised the millennia of emotional and sexual promiscuity which had earned him his epithets. Who was he now, when the steady influence of moral characters like Arthur and Aura was replaced with the mutual love of someone neither one of those two should have approved of? If these words had been shared a week ago, Mallos wouldn’t have cared what they thought. Now it felt inescapable, as if Arthur’s afterlife was in his own head, and he was watching over his shoulder.

He shook his head mutely at her question, unsure. Where had it come from? There was no way Mordred could have created an artefact so potent – only divine or ancient magic could have constructed this. Precisely what it did, too, was a mystery. One Mallos had a feeling he would not enjoy solving.

Croe had enough conviction that it could be removed for the both of them. His thoughts on the matter restricted to doubts, Mallos stayed silent. The feel of her fingers interlaced with his was oddly calming in the way that a straight picture frame and parallel pencils could be – that same feeling that it was right, somehow. Again, guilt trickled uneasily down his spine. His internal Arthur didn’t need to say anything; Mallos could see his face in his mind’s eye. He closed his fingers around her hand in defiance, took a breath.

“There are two more things I need to tell you…” He started to say, but broke off at the sound of the door creaking open. A small, furry black face poked around near the bottom. Sperantia’s Siamese-blue eyes seemed greyer somehow, dulled by the light or Mallos’ imagination. She hesitated visibly at the sight of them but only briefly.

“I’ll come back later.” She said, disappearing again hastily. Her once-assertive voice held a questioning note.

“There’s one more thing I need to tell you.” Mallos corrected himself. Sperantia’s return would have been easier to explain. Why was he left with the harder topic? “Arthur sent me a message, before – ” No, not again. It was hard enough just saying his name again. “He said – he asked me to find his new son. He said no one could know, so I brought him here, and I said…”

He trailed off. Croe was smart enough to know what he would have said. Mallos focused on her hand in his, unable to meet her eyes.

And I don't want to lose you should have been the suffix of that I love you.

Mallos
I've learned enough to know I'm never letting go