sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

She let him lead her down from the tower; let him help her gather up her few things: some books, some dresses, her small physician’s gear. Her voice shook still when she asked, “What will the King think? I can’t just — ” She faltered to a stop, staring down at the cloak in her hands, and the tears rose up again, closing her throat. I don’t belong here. This isn’t — my family — no one cares. No one will care. She sat down, hands fisting around the fabric, despair rising up again.

“Arthur? He’ll understand.” He tried to draw a laugh. “Merlin will make him, no? But if you’re uncomfortable with it we won’t.” He lowered his eyebrows in sincerity and concern. “Just know the option is open to you, along with any other support you feel would help.” He saw her tears begin to fall, so put an arm around her shoulder and buried his face in the crook of her neck as they walked. “Please, just, tell me what you need. I’ll get it for you.”

“I’m not,” she sighed, “uncomfortable. With moving. Only — I won’t be welcome. I won’t. I can’t — how do I even say this? I’ve no part in the Court, Percival, you know that. I’m not one of the Queen’s ladies, I’m not use to the King, I’m — I can’t be a knight — I’m nothing but a foreign noble’s daughter, floating about the edges of Camelot.” She crumpled the cloak harder, embroidery digging into her hands.

“Percival, you can’t — there’s nothing. I’m broken, I was born broken. Unwanted, unlovable, undesirable. Unneeded.”