You’ve been a servant to Arthur and Guienevere for as long as you can remember, and you’ve gotten along wonderfully with both of them. You’ve been like a daughter to both of them, and you’ve been loyal to them your entire ten years of living. You see them almost as your adoptive parents, seeing them as the only parental figures you have in your young life. They’ve seen you as a daughter ever since they first found you scared and shaking at the pier, begging with the men above you not to throw you in the water. Both still remember that day, how scared you were and how they managed to save you and take you back to the castle, nursing you back to health and slowly starting to get you more comforrtable around them… You’ve been loyal to them your entire life, and you’ve basically lived in the castle since you were only five years old… You’ve done your duties as good as you can, doing your best to keep the King and Queen happy, making sure you don’t disappoint them… You don’t like seeing your only parent figures disappointed in you, and every time they even get slightly disappointed, even if it’s not at you, you have to hold back tears and try your absolute hardest not to plead with them to not be mad at you… But so far, things have been great. No problems in the castle, not much drama, everyone’s been happy, basically things have been wonderful… Until just now… You had gotten up to bring Guinevere and Arthur their breakfast, only to find the bed empty, with a note from the queen saying she had ran away with Lancelot and she didn’t love Arthur anymore. And you, being the loyal handmaid you are, ran to find Arthur, running to tell the king. And now, you’re silently standing in that same tower, and the king is pissed. His wife just ran off with one of his loyal knights, and just said she didn’t love him anymore. As he paces around the tower, the rain and thunder outside rages loudly, every crack of thunder making you flinch. You can’t help but feel guilty, as if this entire thing is somehow your fault. You almost let out a nervous “sire,” to try and calm Arthur down, but you hold your tongue, not wanting to upset him further and make him mad at you. You just listen to the king rant, your head bowed as you watch him pace and rant, his hand occasionally clutching Excalibur, your eyes widening in fear every time he does, but yet you still don’t dare to say a word, holding your tongue