"That sounds inconvenient, to say the least." Merlyn's tone is sympathetic, as his expression. He's never been a fan of that kind of thing, and being trapped in it against one's will would be quite dreadful, he imagines. "As for me, nothing happened, precisely. Or rather, everything happened, but in rather the wrong order from most people's perspective. Hm. How can I put this?"

He scratches his head, then sticks out his hand, starts to say "Mirror," considers the burnt rafter they're sitting on, and stops halfway: "Mirr- Oh, drat it, never mind. Never mind the blasted thing. It can wait until we're on the ground and less liable to be set on fire." Glaring quite ferociously up at the ceiling (and, nominally, the Gamemakers beyond it), he flexes his outstretched hand and draws it back into his lap. "Imagine that I have a mirror here. Imagine that everything you do, everything you see, everything you write or draw, you must do based solely on the reflection in the mirror that this by-our-lady place is so against my summoning. Then you will have something of an inkling of how I understand time."