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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.
One hand rests lightly on his chest. Summer searches his face. “I won’t try to stop you. I;m going to go tell Morgana what I’ve chosen.” She swallows, hard. “Just remember that I loved you. Goodbye, Medraut.”
She wants to kiss him, but she’ll lose her courage if she does that. So instead she steps back, and slips out of the tent.
A frown pulls his brows together and he turns as she walks from the tent. “Summer!” he calls, following her out of the tent, going to grab her hand but his fingers just miss the skin. “Don’t.”
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.”