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“Ah,” she murmured. “So it is Excalibur you seek.”
“Aye,” Lancelot inclined his head.
“I will do anything to win it.”
The Lady considered him for long, solemn moments.
At last, she said, “The blade is not meant for mortal men. Only those with the purest heart may wield it.”
“There is no better man than Arthur, My Lady,” Lancelot immediately replied.
“He is everything bright, good and true. He is everything I have ever wished for.”
The Lady’s mercurial eyes flashed with something sharp. Too late, Lancelot wondered if he should not have said what he thought.
But he didn’t lie. It wasn’t in him. He couldn’t contain the feelings he held for Arthur, though he didn’t understand the half of it himself.
“Have you?” the Lady murmured thoughtfully. “Wished for him.”
She paused, as if giving Lancelot a chance to deny it. To take it back.
He didn’t.
“Interesting.”
“Please tell me how I can win the sword, My Lady,” he beseeched again.
“Only to give it to Arthur?” she clarified.
“He will use it for good,” Lancelot said, instead of directly answering her question.
“Very well. But obtaining such a prize requires a sacrifice in turn,” she said slowly, carefully, watching him with those eerie, piercing eyes.
He bowed his head and knelt on one knee before her.
“Anything.”
“Even your life?”
He hesitated. Not because he feared death, but because he knew that no one could protect Arthur better than him. Ergo, he couldn’t die. He refused to.
He must always protect Arthur.
“Hmm,” the Lady hummed, as if she could read his thoughts.
“Your memory then.”
He looked up at her in surprise.
“My memory?”
“After a fashion,” she said with a nonchalant, delicate shrug.
“Your wishes and dreams. This…attachment you have to the human king is dangerous. Creatures such as you are not meant for it. If ever the object of your…affections…should betray you, the world would quail at your wrath and sorrow unleashed.”
“Arthur would never betray me,” he said staunchly.
“Wouldn’t he?” came the sardonic reply.
