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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.
His words snap something inside her, overwhelming her sense of his emotions. “For my own good?” she spits, anger redoubling. “/For my own good/? What do you know of my good? Do you think — do you think I cannot protect myself? I’m not, not strong enough, not — damn you, Mordred. I am not fragile, I am not some helpless maiden.” The tears which slide down her face are born now of fury, and she sucks in a harsh breath.
“Fine. When you believe that you can trust me with honesty, come and find me.”
His answer, straight away would have been a no, a pure and simple no. He knew, as well as anyone that she could look after these people. But her life, and those of the citizens of Camelot depended on her hating him, on her leaving. Mordred sucked in a breath as he moved past her and out into the hall, leaving her to stand by herself in the door of the armoury, his eyes stinging as he walked.
This was, by far, the hardest thing he had ever done.
She watches him down the corridor, bewildered and hurt. This isn’t like the first time they fought — she trusts his heart now, and believes he trusts hers. So why won’t he tell her? What is he protecting her from?
It’s horrible. She swipes at the tears on her face, more rolling down every time she blinks. Out. She has to get out, from the castle, from Camelot entire. She has to not think about it, though it’s already too late; the fear has already begun.
She forces composure, holds her head high. Turning the other direction, she makes her way out of the castle, out of the town, blindly walking through the forest with no thought of where she’s going.