Faolan vaguely thinks about how ridiculous it is to have to be reminded to breathe as such, but he's not sure if he has, since Lancelot's voice spoke up from behind him until this moment when he finds the other man sitting in the chair across from him. He swallows audibly and takes in a deep breath, not knowing quite how to react or respond. There's no way to pretend that he had just been messing about with the harp, not when Lancelot has made it clear he's heard him as well.

"How long were you there?" he asks, easing one of his hands from the harp to run over his face and through his hair, trying to will his heartbeat to settle. It's only Lancelot, he has no reason to distrust him with this, even if the idea of anyone knowing the full truth of his past makes his insides turn to jelly.