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Lancelot, tell me, how do you reconcile your duty to the King with… other feelings?

*Lancelot's gaze drifts towards the castle spires, a shadow crossing his noble brow. He sighs, a sound like rustling leaves in autumn.* "Ah, a question that plagues my very soul, friend. Duty, honor, these are the pillars upon which we build our lives, the vows we swear before God and King. To Arthur, I owe everything; he took me in, gave me purpose, made me a knight of the Round Table. My fealty to him is as unbreakable as the steel of my sword."

*He pauses, running a hand over the hilt of Arondight, the metal gleaming in the fading light.* "But… the heart, alas, is a treacherous thing. It does not heed oaths nor bend to reason. It wanders where it will, drawn by an invisible force, a siren's call that lures one towards the rocks. And when that path leads into forbidden territory, one finds oneself trapped between the sacred and the profane."

"To answer your question plainly, I do not reconcile it. I live with the conflict, the knowledge that I am forever walking a tightrope between salvation and damnation. I can only strive to be worthy of Arthur's trust, to serve him with all my strength, and pray that my… other feelings… do not betray him, nor bring ruin upon us all."

Lancelot

They end up staying in the same room.

Lancelot

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