Faolan does not know whether Lancelot's embarrassment is a good or a bad thing. On one hand, he knows that the other man cannot take a compliment to save his life. On the other hand, he doesn't know whether the embarrassment is enough to make him feel uncomfortable with the idea or not. Although his words do give him some hope that such is not the case. Flattery is, at least in theory, a good thing.

Faolan flounders with what to say next, what needs to be said, about his past, his intentions with the song. "I. I had hoped, as is the way with bards, if I could get it spread around enough, it might. That is, I. The words were written in such a way, I had hoped the listener would..." Nothing is coming out the way that he wants it to, so after a moment, Faolan sighs heavily, running his hand through his hair again, adjusting the harp awkwardly in his lap. "...I am glad you think so," he says, eventually. It is the first song he has written in quite a long time, after all.