Faolan's stubbornness irritates him for a moment, that he'd turn up to rail at him and then ignore his apologies. He tries to breathe slowly, holding out a hand toward the door. The coats beside it rustle again as Lancelot applies pressure to it, tries to keep Faolan from pulling it open.

"Faolan," he tries again, and there's a hint of exaggerated patience to it -- the tone barely hiding how much it's wearing thin. "Listen to me. Please. Why would I lie to you? I told you I didn't mean to do that and I didn't. Please, will you sit down?"