( She doesn't look at him-- not directly. She never quite knew how to speak of such matters, retreating into what was most comfortable: detachment; the same distant manner she was accustomed to carrying out her work. Steeling herself, she says to him: )

Perhaps I needed to tell someone.

( He hadn't specified what he wanted to hear, so she presumed it was okay. She'd allowed the past to torment her for too long; she could trust him, she felt. )

My father passed away when I was not yet thirteen. He was always ill, so this in itself did not come as a shock to me. However, not long before his passing, I had been named his successor, slated to assume his position among the Round Table. My uncle had been expecting this position prior, you see, and saw fit to take matters into his own hands.

( It needn't be said how that plan turned out. )