lanselos_du_lac

When he hears the first, he relaxes; he dreads to think he should make her uncomfortable, or should make her worry over any jealousy she thinks he might have.

(He had never felt jealous of Arthur, and he does not know if Arthur felt jealous of him. He doubts it, somehow, after all of this. He had told Guinever the truth because he felt he must; because in spite of everything he had been faithful to her. He is learning, now, that there are other ways to love, and to be in love, that don't require hiding and guarding and defensiveness. These things weren't possible at court, but here they are. He had always wanted for Guinever to choose what she desired, in so much as she could. He finds, increasingly, that he wants that for all of them.)

Lancelot watches her face, squeezes her fingers gently and then draws their hands closer to kiss the back of her hand. "Say on," he says quietly, "It's well."