You glare at the flickering fires of the siege camp. You had to fight him again today, holding out until the sun began to fall in the sky. You didn't want to fight, but his grief drove him to force battle upon you. And now the gossip from the camp says that today's blow looks to be fatal, and you don't want it to end with enmity.
"Lancelot." A hand laid upon your shoulder. "Go. Make your peace." And you turn to obey your Queen, to rush down the narrow steps of the tower, praying that Gawain survives the night.