I was willing, Arthur. You did not force my Hand.
[Not at this Time, and not in this Place.]

Perhaps there is no other Way but to play this Game until it is done.
[So long as his eyes are closed, he does at least feel Arthur's reality-- no matter that the reality of a Heroic Spirit is a construct itself.
Lancelot straightens in Arthur's embrace, but does not break it.]

But I can be no help to anyone, as I am.
Not even to the Master I cannot sense, not even to you.