It works in plays, doesn't it? All you have to do is slip in through the kitchens, get the food that's intended for Falathar, and carry it down. Oh, and somehow get your hands on the keys to the cell door on your way.
You make it as far as the kitchen. It's a cavernous space full of roaring hot ovens and bustling cooks and assistants. No one gives you much of a glance. You look around, but there's nothing easy for you to grab that looks convincing. It's unlikely that Falathar is meant to be eating an ornamental pineapple carved into the shape of a griffin.
You find someone who looks harmless and tug at their sleeve.
"I need the meal to take down to Lord Falathar," you say in your best bored tone.
The servant scowls. "That already went down."