Faolan isn't foolish enough to refuse the other man's help, not in the least because he probably would have tripped over the blanket if he had been left to his own devices, and probably knocked himself out on the edge of the table. And then he supposes that Lancelot really would have a reason to fuss over him, and he really would have had a reason for his head to hurt. Again by his own doing. No, while it might have been exciting and would have gotten his mind off of the rest of his dramas, perhaps it's better that he hadn't.

He glances down at the plate that's set in front of him, setting his drink before him and shifting in his chair to wrap the blanket further around himself before he reaches for his utensils. Cutting off a very small bite and carefully lifting it to his mouth. Chewing it slowly, glancing up at Lancelot as he feels himself being watched. "It's good," he says. As if there would be any doubt to that. Despite the fact that he's only taken one bite. One very small bite.