Faolan shakes his head slightly. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Even if you do, it'll clean up." He falls silent for a moment, kneeling before the other man, unable to help his concern for him besides, nor how plainly it shows on his face.

"Are you sure that you don't need to see someone about this?" he asks, at last. "Has it ever been this bad before? Did something set it off this time, do you think?" He shifts the cloth again. If it's making any different at all, he'll need to cool it down again soon. Could Lancelot just be sick? He does seem warm. But then again, a fever would not have lingered for so long, nor peaked in quite such a manner. Maybe there is something supernatural to the explanation. ...Has he been cursed, Faolan wonders with a start.