When Guinevere knelt down beside him and held him, Arthur slid an arm around her waist and leaned into the embrace, finding solace even in that simple gesture.
After a minute, he leaned back to look at her, brushing a thumb over her cheek where he had seen his father strike her. His jaw tightened as rage flared through him, a powerless anger since Uther was completely outside his grasp, which was likely for the best just now. "It is I who am sorry," he said quietly.
How many times would he find himself apologizing for the wrongs his father visited upon her?