A quick, almost uncertain but thankful, smile curved his mouth when she nodded. He had been watching her so very carefully; he wouldn't have missed that sign. Even though he was worried for the lack of fight, he focused instead on helping clean her wound. Lancelot had been in this time enough to learn how to go about a few things. It stilled continued to perplex and amaze him; however, there were a few things that were familiar to him for all that the methods might be a different. "First Aid" was one of those things. As a knight, in a world, where only the slightest of wounds could cause infection and even death, Lancelot knew the very basic of care. He wouldn't even come close to a healer, non-magical or otherwise, but he knew how to clean cuts and even what to use to tend to certain bruises. First Aid had been one of the first things he'd had to learn when he arrived here, due to his job. Far too many times a crate would split, causing splinters, or a knife or a crowbar would cause more damage than expected. There was one in their apartment. One of those kits. Likely a smart thing given how it could get in this world - often times more dangerous than Camelot for all it's large magical creatures.
Lancelot had went to fetch the kit when she sat down and he'd just been turning around when Morgana - quick as ever - put two and two together. It took him a moment to realize, however, how she'd come to that conclusion. He doubted she was told, as Lancelot hadn't and he doubted Arthur would have, when his eyes followed her own. He cleared his throat. Awkwardly.
It wasn't something that he was proud of nor was it something that he could make himself regret. At the moment. Maybe later. Probably never. He was ashamed -- of his loss of temper, of ... Arthur was his king (yes, fine, not here but in a life that mattered a lot to Lancelot, likely to both of them), but not in defending Morgana. Although, he could've thought of a better way of doing so. However, at the time it hadn't seemed like it. Arthur had been at fault. Morgana had been in danger. And Lancelot just ... reacted.
"I did." He said. Clearly, and again, for all the two words even that wasn't -- simple. However, he hoped that was that. He knew better, nevertheless, to hope that. With Morgana, when was it ever? She was just as frustrating as her brother. As exasperating. And as much both made him desire for his head to meet his palms; Morgana filled him with a lost fondness, that Arthur currently did not.
Lancelot opened the kit. His eyes took in the gauze and band aids, he took a few gauzes and began.