[He can't stifle the bark of laughter-- it echoes throughout the cave, hard and cutting as the edge of any of the crystals. But there is no mocking amusement on Lancelot's face. Only a torn and unanswerable sorrow.]

So, you will leave me thus once more.
I am not at Peace, Arthur. There is no Peace for me.
Truly, I have hoped the same for you with all my heart and cursed your name-- and yet wished you better with the same breath.

So do not think to spare me, in this place or any other.
Say the truth then! That my Honor-less presence offends you, that you fear and pity my Madness. Say what you will of me in my Betrayal, in my Madness, in my useless Death-- but do not shame my Trust, the Trust and Love of all who knew you! How could your Lie be of any consequence to what you had built? To any of us?

[Lancelot is unused to these tides of emotion. His Madness insulates him. Here he is naked, stripped to his own impulsive and passionate nature. It is not a Merciful thing. He seems exhausted by it.]

But you will not heed my Words, and the Deed is long done, and you will leave me in this Place--
even if I do not wish you to go.