...

[It was true, he had died, hadn't he? Does that mean his quest for his death was over?

Then...

What was left? What was left of Lancelot of the Lake? Was it his shade? Or merely his name? He doesn't know. He doesn't know.

All he hoped was a death, one of eternal sleep, not of a journey in a bright and lush world brimming with life

Was this his second chance? He know not of it, but there was one thing he was sure of. His stubborn mind took a chance to think it over.]

...Answer me, not as my king, not as the King of Briton.

Answer me as a friend.

Do you still forgive me, even after all that has happened?