Lancelot lifts a hand to his face at that, dabs at the blood. It stings, but it's a dull sort of sensation -- the rush the fight had given him had all but kept him from even noticing.

"That would be kind, my lady," he allows, and dips his head a little in acknowledgment. No need to upset the fae still here, especially as she is clearly a court lady in some way -- the one he fought has already used her title. If she can summon a fog and freeze someone's weapon she could easily get rid of him if he failed to be entertaining any longer.

He quietly resolves to try and stay in a general state of 'more interesting alive'. It seems for the best.