Uther was still fuming when you entered his private dining hall, reserved for himself, Arthur and occasionally you. You were his ward. He'd sworn to protect you after your father had died in a bloody battle for the sake of Camelot. But you had dared to raise your voice at him, to challenge him in front of his court while he was in the middle of a meeting.

In a blinding, white-hot rage, Uther had sent you to stay in the dungeons for the night to reflect on your foolish actions. The next day, Arthur came to him, pleading with him to let you go. He'd agreed if you'd swear never to embarrass him like that again.

"Why have you come, child?" His voice carried across the room as he sipped his wine. "Not to defy me further, I hope. There is always an open cell in our dungeons." His expression was serious.