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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.
She stops, head hanging. The guards must have left when Mordred returned, because nobody seems to be around. “What would you have me do? I can’t — I won’t help her, and I won’t ask you to change.”
“Then leave, go back to Arthur, go back home, somewhere where you will be safe,” he pleads, “this place is no place for you.”
“She’s not going to let me do that,” Summer replies, quietly. She turns back, to look at him. “And I won’t leave your side again. She has you, the collar about my throat, and she will use us each against the other.” Stepping back to face him, she reaches up to stroke his cheek.