Lancelot gathers her in, both arms tight around her, and kisses her temple. He feels, at this moment, that he would do anything for her -- he would go to war, he would chase down the mansion spirits and get a proper explanation, he would answer any hurt she may have -- and he knows none of these are possible, or even what she would want. But now, he understands, the important thing is feeling that burning inside himself.

So he holds her fast, murmuring reassurance; he does his best to be as present, as sure, as solid as he can be.