"You will make it worse if you leave," Lancelot hisses, and holds Faolan down into the chair for a second as he closes his eyes and takes a controlling breath.

Then he's letting go, sliding back into his own chair and trying to steady himself. He takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes mostly on his food and the table -- avoiding meeting Faolan's for now.

"You are one of my dearest friends, Faolan. I do not want to fight with you."