It's as if that unlocks something within him. He looks over at Laertes -- and yes, he feels a stab of love at seeing Laertes' own anger. Then he takes a step away; he needs to move, and so he paces a little.

"I don't understand it," he goes on, his voice shaking now, talking with his hands, almost, as he rarely does. "I do not understand the point. This quest, over decades, that was Arthur's great dream and God's grand plan. I was meant to be harmed? Elaine was meant to suffer, as she must have suffered? Galahad attaining the Grail brought joy to no one. Brought more souls to God, perhaps, but Galahad has no joy. He was perhaps the loneliest person I've ever seen. Galahad has a kingdom he does not want. Arthur is dead, Camelot fallen, Britain engaged in wars -- that is my work, born out of everything God planned for me. All of this-- as if God knew not where the cup was. As if the thing matters. It sat untouched in Corbenic for decades and now it sits untouched in Sarras, and everything that's ever mattered is destroyed? Why?"

All of this comes out in a tumble, with a vehemence that Laertes has likely never heard from Lancelot.