Party Like It's 963

The camaraderie, and bright gaiety of the Festival time was over with, and Innloine was sad to see it leave. Though she would never admit it, there were times Innloine felt positively stifled by the day to day duties of setting an example as a noble for their people.

It would be so much easier to be one of them, she thought, to be cared for and sheltered without thought of Daes Dae'mar. At least, the little people played their version of it, so much as it was, but they had no real understanding of subtle machinations.

"Or of Illian fishing tax." Innloine shuffled the papers she had been studying into a large leather sheaf and dropped the thing with a disgusted sigh. She didn't think there was brain enough in anyone's head to fit all of the senseless tax laws from so many different countries, but it was important to at least make some sort of an effort to study them, especially when she'd be quizzed by her tutor at any time about these kinds of minutia.

To be doing this when yesterday the city had been aglow with excitement. Innloine's memories of her first real Festival of Lights were bittersweet, however. She had been making good headway with the son of a shoemaker the night before, at least until Taringail had appeared, and with a drunken grin like some maleficent goat had grabbed Innloine's legs and pulled her straight off the barrel they'd been sitting on and into the mud. Innloine's thoughts became dark. Oh, he would pay.

Resolved, Innloine rose from the small writing desk she had been sitting at and strode out into the hall, leaving behind the tax papers and all of their drudgery.

Taringail woke up with two over-sized armies fighting a pitched battle inside his skull. One of his maids, Martie, was bound and determined to drag him out of bed for the Light knew what reason. His groans of protest had no effect on her and when he attempted to bury himself in the covers she simply called in the other maids to help.

Sitting in front of a meal he didn't want to eat, he tried to remember the last two nights and drew only a dark haze. And the aftertaste of vomit. If previous years were any indicator, both of those things were a sign of good times had by all.

Outside his rooms the world seemed far too bright. Taringail tried not to squint but it was if his eyelids refused to obey. He all but toppled over Moiraine's long suffering nurse and he was damn certain Innloine had deliberately bumped into him. When he had turned around to confront her, a wave of dizziness struck him and he decided perhaps it was better to let things be and go find a nice quiet corner in a garden.

Dalresin watched as his two oldest children bumped into each other and away without even apologizing and tsked under his breath. Taringail had the excuse of being drunk but Innloine was just being rude.

He had no time lecture either since he had to give Anvaere her lesson and then meet his wife at the library but if either of the two got up to anything worse he'd have their hides.