Faolan shrugs slightly. He doesn't press the subject, when Lancelot's obviously somewhat embarrassed by something that he's said, but good luck to him trying to figure it out, he hasn't the slightest clue. Was it the complimenting that he can't take? Or the borderline flirtation that happened after? Wouldn't Faolan like to know.

He swirls his drink in his glass for a moment before taking a healthy swallow of it. "'S just as well," he says. "Who'd be around to keep rescuing me from trouble, if you did?" He glances at the other man with a small smile, sheepish, apologetic, and softly grateful all at once.