Lancelot feels the bed dip, turns a little in the direction of Faolan and frowns as he tries to focus past the headache.

"It wasn't helping," he begins, "painkillers, that is. Then again, perhaps you're meant to take something other than ibuprofen for headaches that are magical in nature."

He moves to try and sit up slightly, squinting and hesitantly holding out his hands. On the bright side, his vision is starting to fade back in -- dark shapes helping him make out where Faolan is in the room.

"Unless you'd like me to grope you it's probably advisable you hand things to me."