He watches Faolan clamber onto the table and begin to cut, trying to bounce his weight on the rope to make it fray faster. Come on, come on, come on--

The rope snaps suddenly and Lancelot drops to ground, crashing slightly against the table but managing not to overturn it. He curses slightly louder than he really intended, cringes in on himself as pain sears through his arms after having them stretched out for so long. For a second he just swallows back the pain in silence, then he flicks his eyes up to Faolan.

Yes, he looks terrible, but yes, he really does want to get out of there as soon as possible. Carefully picking his way over he half turns to stand beside the table in case Faolan wants to steady himself on him as he jumps down.

"Who else is here?"

Are there more people outside? Lancelot feels oddly self-conscious already that three people have come to rescue him.