The incident at my friend's lawn inspired me to get out of the pit I had dug myself. I wanted to know what had happened. I knew it couldn't have been a dream, it was too real to be a dream. I started working on my classes, taking more in mythologies, and I stopped drinking.
If you were so inclined, you might even say that I became stone cold sober.
I eventually moved on to an actual four year college and majored in photography with a minor in classic mythology. My interest in what had happened had not waned, but there had not been any other incidents, so I decided to move on with my life.
I started taking pictures professionally, at weddings and other events. It provided a steady income and it meant that I was always holding a camera, always ready to snap a picture, especially of a statue.
I took so many pictures of statues of all types. Statues of men and women and dogs. Statues that were brand new and blindingly white and statues that were ancient and crumbling.
And I read up on the King Under the Mountain. There were loads of myths about a king or hero in a cave, sleeping until the end of days when he will awaken. Merlin, Bran the Blessed, Charlemagne, King Harold, even Vlad the Impaler was rumored to be one of those sleeping (although I wouldn't classify him as a 'hero'). And then there was Emperor Constantine XI, the last Byzantine Emperor, who was turned to marble and said to await the end.
And then the day came when I saw him again. I was at a wedding, the reception that was being held outside. I was taking pictures of the cake and the guests and I happened to notice that there was a short marble statue near the edge of the reception area. I walked over to take a picture of it when I noticed it was holding something in its hand.
It was a note that read: He Always Tells The Truth. He Need Only Be Asked.
I held the note gingerly in my hand and realized that I no longer heard the sound of people laughing and talking and eating and I turned to see that the reception area was empty. There were still tables and chairs and there was the cake, but nobody was there.
Not nobody. Somebody. The man in the black and gray suit, the man with the cane. He was there. As he smiled at me, I knew that if he was there, so was the King. So I looked around and there he was. He was where the couple had just recently gotten married. He was holding his hands down as if in prayer.
"He prays," the man with the cane said. "He prays for the world's ending, so he can awaken. He doesn't want to sleep, he's tired of sleep, but he can't wake up until the end."
"I know," I said. "I know who he is."
"Good," the man said. "So you will ask you question, then?"
"What I don't know is who you are," I said. "Why are you always here? Why tell me these things?"
"Is that your question for him?" the man asked.
"No," I said. "That's my question for you."
The man smiled. "Very well. I am a part of him. He sleeps, but his sleep is unlike your sleep. His dreams are unlike your dreams. I am his dream. If he were to awake, then poof, I would be gone."
"So it would be in your best interest to keep him asleep," I said.
"Perhaps," the man said, "or perhaps not. I am still a part of him and I want him to wake. But as I said before, that will only happen when the end comes and that will not be soon."
"And why are you appearing to me?" I asked. "What's so special about me?"
"Special?" he said. "What gave you the idea you were special? Perhaps he chose you at random. After all, to tell the truth, he first needs someone to ask a question. So ask."
"Anything at all?" I said.
"Anything at all," he said.
So I asked. And the King answered.
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