Faolan lets out a soft, humming noise in response to Lancelot's comment about medicine not helping. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised. He's had even non-magical headaches that hadn't gone away until he forced himself to get some decent fluids and rest.

He huffs out a breath in response to Lancelot's suggestion that he hand things to him, watching him squint and attempt to make things out around him, reaching towards him. "Unless you'd like to be wearing this," Faolan counters Lancelot's words with his own, "it's probably advisable that you let me help you." He waits a beat, giving the other man a poignant look that he knows he won't see, before he reaches forward to take his hand.

"Here," he says, fitting the glass of juice into it and then guiding both closer to Lancelot's face. "I made sure not to fill it too much. Just sip. And ask me to take it back." He waits for Lancelot to do this much, figuring the juice is enough for now, he'll get to the biscuits in a moment.