"It's-- hard." With the hand Magnus isn't holding, Galahad rolls up the edge of paper again, making it tight. "I'm used to--" To being told, he thinks. To following directions. To knowing exactly what to do because it's laid out plainly, and even if he can't understand what people expect he at least knows clearly what God does. To taking the knowledge of what he wants and burying it down within himself where it can't hurt anyone he loves, which has always meant only Percival but now is expanding definition at a stomach-turning pace. "Not choosing," he finally settles on.