[Party Like It's 963]

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.