Faolan nods, keeping his hand on the glass as Lancelot sips from it before taking it back after he's done. Balancing it on his knee as he watches the other man's face and contemplates how to explain himself. What to say in response to such a thing.

"Yeah, well," he says, after a long moment. "Lily is a very good dog, but she doesn't know how to fetch you juice or water. I'm here, aren't I? I might as well make myself useful for you." He's hardly going to leave without hard reassurance that this is just a headache as well, for that matter.