After a long night of contemplation, I finally reached a conclusion.
I had to admit the truth: I was in love with Artoria.
While the weight of the realization had been suffocating during those hours of solitude, once I accepted it, the tension seemed to dissipate all at once.
However, the price for that night of soul-searching came due immediately. My mind felt clouded and sluggish as I sat before a mountain of paperwork the next morning.
'It is fine... I am accustomed to this by now...' Yet, I wondered if such a thing was truly a blessing.
I was unsure whether to be grateful that I could handle a sleepless night so casually, or to be saddened by the fact that such occurrences had become so frequent in my life.
'Well... it is what it is.'
I was processing the documents with my usual speed and precision when a sharp knock at the door prompted me to look up from the parchment.
"Who is it?"
"It is I. Agravain."
Sir Agravain? It was rare for him to initiate conversation, and rarer still for him to seek me out in person. His presence alone signaled that something was gravely amiss. A flicker of anxiety sparked in my chest. Did he somehow know about what had transpired between Artoria and me the night before?
Bracing myself, I spoke.
"Enter."
The heavy door creaked open, and Agravain stepped into the room. I maintained a mask of calm composure as I greeted him.
"Greetings, Sir Agravain. It has been some time. What brings you here today?"
Instead of his usual stoic response, Agravain's face was uncharacteristically pale. He sank into the chair across from me as if burdened by a weight I could not yet see.
What could possibly unsettle the man they called the 'Iron-willed' to such a degree? My surprise grew into concern, but even that was eclipsed by his next words.
"...I require your aid, Sir Elius."
"...My aid?"
He nodded grimly. I could hardly believe my ears. To hear a request for help from Agravain, a man who seemed as if he would not bleed even if pierced by a blade, was truly a rarity.
"At present, you are the only knight I can trust who is also capable of standing against Lancelot. I implore you."
"If that is the case, I shall certainly help. But what is the matter? Has Sir Lancelot caused another scene? Has he perhaps seduced the wife of another nobleman?"
"...No. It appears he is involved in an affair with... the Queen."
"...What?!"
I bolted upright, shock and horror coursing through me. This was no trifling matter. Usually, Lancelot's philandering was a scandal that could be managed—reparations paid and penance served. But this crossed a line that should never have been approached. To touch the Queen of the realm? To betray the very King he served?
Agravain looked at me, his expression suggesting he fully understood my disbelief.
"That cannot be," I stammered, my voice trembling with the weight of the accusation. "Even when Sir Tristan departed, the Queen was the one searching for the King late into the night, worried that she had not returned to her chambers..."
"...The evidence is certain. I have confirmed that Sir Lancelot visits the Queen's chambers deep in the night."
"Dear God..."
I had trusted Guinevere. Because she viewed Artoria as a friend—because she had offered her empathy and comfort—I had believed in her. I had thought the same of Lancelot; after Galahad's ascension, the rumors of his dalliances had ceased, and I believed he had undergone a genuine change for the better.
But was I wrong? I sat back down, rubbing my face with one hand, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.
"...Even so, it is too early to be certain. We must not discard the possibility of a misunderstanding, Sir Agravain. There must be a reason you came to me. What is it you wish for me to do?"
"Tonight... when Sir Lancelot enters the Queen's chambers, I intend to catch him in the act. I need you there with me."
"...Very well. I shall assist you. Does anyone else know of this? Surely... surely the King remains unaware?"
Agravain informed me that Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere were privy to the information and had already agreed to help. Fortunately, Artoria knew nothing of it. That was a small mercy.
"...It would be wise for us all to go fully armed, just in case. If Lancelot has indeed laid hands on the Queen... there is no telling how he will react when cornered."
"...I agree. I shall relay that to the others. Meet us at the training grounds when the sun begins to set."
"Understood, Sir Agravain. I will be there."
Agravain rose, offered a curt bow, and departed from my office. I remained where I was, staring at the closed door in a daze for a long, silent moment.
***
When the appointed time arrived, I donned my armor, buckled my sword to my hip, and left my quarters. The servants and maids I passed looked at me with curious eyes, though they seemed to assume I was merely heading for a late-night training session once they saw my direction.
Entering the training grounds, I found Bedivere, Kay, and Agravain already there, clad in full plate and ready for battle. Seeing that our group was complete, Agravain spoke.
"...We will conceal ourselves near Queen Guinevere's chambers. Once Lancelot enters, we strike."
Everyone nodded, their expressions solemn and grim. We split into pairs; Agravain and Kay took one side, while Bedivere and I moved into position on the other.
Under the cover of the moonless night, Bedivere and I crouched within the thick shrubbery of the gardens, waiting for Lancelot to appear. Suddenly, Bedivere spoke, his voice low and weary.
"I still find it difficult to believe... that Sir Lancelot would do such a thing to the Queen. I truly believed he had changed after Galahad was called to heaven..."
Sharing his sentiment, I nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder in silence.
"I pray it is a mistake," Bedivere whispered. "I pray Sir Agravain is merely mistaken. I pray, by some grace, that he does not come."
"...I feel the same. Wait. Someone is coming."
I silenced Bedivere as a silhouette emerged from the shadows, approaching the Queen's chambers. We watched the figure with bated breath, our eyes narrowed to catch any detail in the darkness.
For a fleeting second, a stray beam of moonlight broke through the clouds. It was a faint, momentary glimmer that most would have missed. But for the Knights of the Round Table, it was enough.
Bedivere let out a stifled groan of despair, and my own expression hardened into stone. It was the man we had hoped not to see. The man we wanted to believe in more than any other.
The Knight of the Lake, Sir Lancelot du Lac, had arrived at Guinevere's door.