Geralt could reach far enough that for the time being he was fine helping himself. It took all his considerable will-power not to stuff the warm food into his mouth as fast as his weak arms would work and then swallow it whole. Instead, the opposite. He chose one thing at a time and chewed each bite until it was almost nothing at all in his mouth; it was maddening but created saliva and would help his stomach digest. Also, a side benefit, eating like this he was sure not to vomit everything back up. And so, for the better of a quarter hour, he just let Jaskier talk to the room as he methodically worked his way through three eggs and four fish, one ham, and several plain pieces of bread. Finally he wiped his mouth.

"Water."

Once he'd washed the breakfast down, he leaned back against the headboard and listened to his stomach groan. It was a good feeling, he decided. "They're scared of me." It was addressing both the woman last night, vaguely remembered, and the boy this morning. Jaskier seemed befuddled by it; this was the answer. "If I were human I should be dead and if not dead, then..." he grunted. "Comatose. Invalid. Certainly not taking breakfast. You're too used to me by half, Jaskier."