The five of them ate and drank well into the night, until one by one, they rose and went to bed.
She was lost in thought, when distantly she felt herself being shaken.
"Dorain," Brogan said softly, "wake up. You are quite drunk. You must go to bed." She raised her head from her arms with difficulty, and almost fell over. Her head was spinning; she felt a sudden, overpowering urge to vomit.
"I'm going to be sick," she moaned.
"I'm not surprised," Brogan replied, uncertain whether to be amused or angry as he held an empty serving bowl before her. "Here, into this . . . and don't look so ashamed! You're not the first to unwittingly suffer the effects of too much wine. There, are you done? Yes? Then come; I will help you to your chambers."
She came to again as Brogan removed her sword and scabbard. She was in her room, sprawled in a chair. She clutched Brogan's arm and laid her head on his shoulder. "Please . . . don't leave me alone. Not tonight. I couldn't bear it."
"Dorain," he said, kneeling before her, "you are not yourself. Get yourself into bed and rest."
"Rest?" she choked, unable to prevent the maddening tears that wouldn't stop. "How can I rest? If I am drunk, it is because I cannot bear this further! Do not leave me! Not now! Don't make me beg you. Please."