[ Older. Arthur raises a brow but doesn't comment. Still, it's worth wondering if Wynn could tell him his future — or what would have been his future. Had he stayed. Will still be, he resolves to himself. If he rules so brightly, so greatly, that they remember him over a thousand years later? He wants to live that. ]

[ But to the question, in hopes his answers will prompt answers in turn from Wynn. ]

I remember Camelot, and my role in it.

[ The first thing, always the first. ]

I remember Guinevere, and Merlin, and my father. I remember how to knock a man out with one blow as well as anything.

[ The quirk of his lips is brief; he's demonstrated that once today, and there's a boyish arrogance to his mentioning it. But it fades. It's not what he can remember, after all, but what he cannot. ]

I don't know what I was doing before I arrived here. For all I know, I caused this to happen. I don't remember my last battle, or the last time I ate my favourite meal. For god's sake, I don't really remember my childhood.

[ He tries not to sound as disturbed as he feels, and fails spectacularly. ]