[ There's a long, uncomfortable pause before Lancelot replies. His voice drops, from something calm and confident to quiet. Shaken. Perhaps angry, underneath, although it has little fuel yet. How could this man know? He doest not know him. Who would tell of it, when Lancelot has hardly told anyone? Waver, Faolan, does anyone else even -- ]
no subject
How do you know?
[ Then, more firmly. ]
Who told you?