[Ah, so it's like that. It's been at least a lifetime since the sight of any particular face could inspire in him this rush of tender longing. Lancelot stands in the doorway like an inexperienced suitor, taken aback by his own emotions-- and by the sight of Diarmuid ua Duibhne in a truly distracting state of undress.

This will never do. The hallway is well-traveled. Diarmuid shouldn't linger in his doorway in this state. Of course, the man is far too pure-hearted to think of what a temptation he might pose to the undeserving-- but Lancelot feels he would like to spare the man any amount of trouble or unease.
He himself is uneasy, but cannot tell why. Perhaps it is only for lack of this man's company.

He moves into the room, leaning ever so slightly into Diarmuid's space as he closes the door behind him. Unusually, he is smiling in a quietly intimate, rather unguarded fashion.]

I had merely thought to see you-- to hear how it is you are faring. I know you have been much tried of late, and our conversations in the halls can be rather brief, as we are usually each on some errand or other.

But I can see without your saying so that not all is well with you this day.
Tell me, Diarmuid ua Duibhne, what troubles you? I will do what I may to ease your heart's burden.