always and forever is forever young
your shadow on the pavement, the dark side of the sun
Everything was slightly hazy, but it only took a few seconds to focus. The pillared room became nothing more than a memory – a sharp, vivid memory, as if the events had only played out a moment before (which, in a way, they had) – and the castle, and a thousand years’ worth of memories, settled in as snugly as if they had always been there. Had they?

When he spoke, Arthur turned his head to grin at someone next to him. Mallos blinked, forcing his vision to widen out, and Morgana’s face swam into view nearby. Great. Ordinarily Mallos would begrudge the presence of others, especially people whose opinions he cared for, when he was in a less-than-healthy state – but right now that regret was dampened by a strangely stronger sense of reassurance. There were people here who smiled when he recognised them, and who wanted to help. He’d take that and a pinch of humiliation a million times over memory-thief in the room of pillars.

His head was slowly clearing, but not fast enough to be able to translate English humour yet. Mallos cast Arthur an odd look – a comforting sign of normality for his family – and accepted the hand up, but regretted it almost immediately. The world shifted as soon as he moved. Arthur’s hand disappeared in his, and he was sitting suddenly behind his desk in his office in Madrid, paperwork spread all over his desk. He jerked forward again and was now standing in a chariot, rattling along at a dull plod alongside a tall, dark-skinned woman (Allianah?) who was holding a bow and scanning the landscape carefully. That meant… he glanced down to see the horses’ reins in his own hands. He could feel them, too; they were really there. The heat of the desert pounded against his bare torso, and the sweat from the horses stank. Beside him, Allianah turned to offer him a smile and opened her mouth as if to say something… but then he jerked forward again and found himself standing in the castle in front of Arthur and Morgana. In the time it had taken for him to get up, he’d gone through two different realities. And they were realities: he could see, hear, smell, feel and taste them as clearly as he could this one.

Unnerved, Mallos didn’t release Arthur’s hand immediately, but gave it a quick squeeze as though to check it was real. It felt real. But, then, so had the water from the pillar, and the papers, and the reins.

Now that he was standing, his clothes hung off him more and emphasised the weight loss. He let go of Arthur’s hand and pushed it through his hair instead, the way he did when he was thinking or worried or nervous, and noticed for the first time that it was the wrong length. It had grown. What the hell? Mallos’ hair didn’t grow; his whole appearance was fixed with… with…

Where was his magic?

Nowhere. That was the answer to that; nowhere. He reached deep inside himself to search for it, his heart-rate climbing, but found nothing. Nothing. He had no divinity. Not a drop.

Arthur’s words finally registered then. “Back where?” He glanced between the king and his sister, meaning ‘back from where’ but stumbling a little over the English. “What’s happen – ”

The room went dark suddenly, as if the lights had gone off. Mallos blinked against the total obliteration of light, realising that he was sitting down with his back against a stone wall. Cold metal sheets attached to chains, judging by the clinking sound, were keeping his wrists and ankles close to the wall. Water came up to about his waist. There was no light whatsoever, and barely a sound other than a faint dripping.

No, no, no, no. Not here. Anywhere but here.

The reality which had been nothing more than an unpleasant memory only a moment before slid into clear mental focus, blocking out everything else. It was impossible to believe that only a second ago he’d been standing inside a warm, dry castle, in front of people he cared about… when he hadn’t been warm or dry or seen even a single person in what felt like a hundred years. The memories of long, long solitude and familial comfort ran parallel, but the solitude was gaining prominence and pushing the kinder castle recollections into a more dreamlike, distant state. Mallos fought the change, clinging to his fading memories of the hospital room. He was not going to be stuck in the dark place again, or… or still for the first time, if what he’d seen with the castle room hadn’t been real. It didn’t feel very real anymore. Certainly not as real as the slick wet stone beneath him and the water lapping over his legs.

“Arthur?” He asked doubtingly of the darkness, his voice edged with an uncharacteristic touch of panic. If he really was alone in the dark it wouldn’t matter, because nobody could hear him; if this was the vision and the castle was real, maybe someone could get him out. “Morgana?”


i can feel you in the silence saying, “let forever be,
love, and only love, will set you free.”