Lancelot's face goes momentarily blank; he blinks a little, sets his glass down, then takes it up again.
"I think--" He pauses, a quite lengthy pause, and then manages, "I am ashamed to say it, but I had not thought of... her situation in that way. It seems, at court, that everyone loves her. I know Arthur loves her. She often times, when it was not just the two of us, seemed happy. But... thou speak'st aright, I think. She did not marry the King of her own will; she did not become Queen, with all its expectations, of her own ambition. She must have, often, felt trapped. But-- I did not see it."
As he speaks, his voice changes a bit, goes softer. Some of the sorrow creeps back in -- it would be easier if he could feel angry on her behalf, but he's not quite there yet. He feels bad, guilty, that he didn't understand this person he held so dear. He thought it was enough to love her, be ruled by her, give his life for her. He ought to have known her better.
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"I think--" He pauses, a quite lengthy pause, and then manages, "I am ashamed to say it, but I had not thought of... her situation in that way. It seems, at court, that everyone loves her. I know Arthur loves her. She often times, when it was not just the two of us, seemed happy. But... thou speak'st aright, I think. She did not marry the King of her own will; she did not become Queen, with all its expectations, of her own ambition. She must have, often, felt trapped. But-- I did not see it."
As he speaks, his voice changes a bit, goes softer. Some of the sorrow creeps back in -- it would be easier if he could feel angry on her behalf, but he's not quite there yet. He feels bad, guilty, that he didn't understand this person he held so dear. He thought it was enough to love her, be ruled by her, give his life for her. He ought to have known her better.