Lancelot paced up and down the empty corridor. It was very late, or possibly very early in the morning. Moonlight streamed through the windows, shining and shimmering off of his new armour and weapons. Both were signs of his dream being achieved. Both were also dead-weights pressing upon his body and mind. He had not truly earned the badge of honour bestowed to him. Everyone who admired him here was investing in his lies.

He was drawn out of his reverie by the entrance of an elderly gentleman. He was wound up so tight the knight found himself drawing his sword on the intruder into his thoughts, only dipping his weapon in shame after a few seconds.

"Oh I do apologise for disturbing you," the servant (he guessed) said.

"No, it was my fault. I should have been more mindful."

The old man cocked his head to the side and smiled. "Hmm, very good," he said, drawing closer. "I think perhaps you do understand after all."

"Understand what sir?" Lancelot asked confusedly, before mentally berating himself for continuing to act like himself and not a highborn noble.

"Mmm, not quite there yet. But there is hope, yes indeed, there is always that," the servant murmured. "Do not worry about it, good sir knight. True nobility comes not from a person's lineage but from your own actions. It does you credit to have risen so highly and yet remain yourself."

"I do not wish it," Lancelot heard himself say before he could stop. Suddenly he was spilling everything out to the old man. He couldn't help it, the pressure had built up too much inside his head. "I wished to be a knight more than anything," he said sadly.

"And so you are one, are you not?" The old man said, indicating the crest of the dragon.

"I bear it falsely, which is worse than not at all. I do not deserve it," Lancelot replied.

"Oh? Despite your bravery, skill, chivalrous nature, kindness, humbleness and honesty, you are in some way unfit to protect this land and people?"

"No! I lied, I stole, I cheated, I broke my liege's trust before that oath had ever been taken. I have deceived the good king and his knights. I bring shame merely with my presence here."

The old servant looked at him for a moment before bursting into raucous laughter. Lancelot winced and looked around for the non-existent people who could hear such noise.

"You my friend are an odd one. True, you lied. You cheated to get where you want and be assured, the truth will out someday…but not from me. Know this too however, you do not disgrace yourself by existing and Camelot in better times will be glad to have your service."

The man turned to go but Lancelot halted him. "You have told me many things I should have realised before and I know that you are no servant." His beard was too long for manual labour, his words too great to come from scholarly pursuits. "Who are you? You are no servant of this place."

"Ah but I am, in a sense. We find the best ways of putting what we have to the best use and I found my calling long ago. You, Sir Lancelot, may call me Dragoon."

"Is that your name?"

"Yes," Dragoon smiled.

"What should I do now?"

"That's your decision. If you might take some advice from someone who really has no clue in the matter, tread carefully, trust your prince and, when all things lose their light, remember Merlin. Oh, and do not forget yourself either."

With that, the two parted ways.