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Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.
The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.
Sulkily, childishly, she turns her head away from his hand. “I won’t go unless you stay with me.”
”I‘ll stay with you, but I can’t come back with you.”
It’s exhaustion, it’s shock, it’s frustration … whatever it is, she starts to cry, hating herself for it. He will believe she’s trying to manipulate him with it, and that hurts, and makes her cry harder. She buries her face in her hands — those terrible hands with fresh blood on them — to try to muffle it, to try to hide from those blue eyes that see too much.