Withstanding Trials: Day 7

Word Count: 42,049

Summary of Events:

Saraid was sent out to pick berries by her cousin, even though she was sure that she wouldn't end up finding anything other than shrivelled and dried berries that the birds would eat in the winter. Aodhán went with Ceallach and many others on a hunt, where he was appalled by the poor aim of everyone including Uncle Séaghdha, and thus had no concerns about his being able to win the hunting competition he and Ceallach had agreed to. Saraid returned without berries only to be surprised with a birthday dinner, having forgotten it was her birthday, and not expecting her cousin to have known, but nevertheless deeply touched. Following the hunt's being cut short by rain — with Aodhán being the only member of the party to hit a stag, which he successfully killed — and a feast comprised of hunted fowl, Aodhán was dragged by Ceallach into a drinking competition despite his dislike for drinking vast quantities of ale…

Excerpt of the Day:

Looking at the fourth mug, Aodhán didn’t know that he could do it, he didn’t want to drink until he fell out of his chair. He felt ill enough as it was, but he didn’t want Ceallach to throw it in his face again, so he started drinking, but more slowly than he’d drunk his previous mugfuls.

As he was working on his mug, he heard the sound of the first competitor falling out of the competition, and by the time he’d managed to get the mugful down about a half-dozen of the group, which had numbered around two dozen, if Aodhán could trust his mind to recall clearly, because his head was starting to feel foggy, had fallen out as well.

Aodhán was presented with another mug and sighed as he stared at it. He didn’t know that he had the ability to drink another litre of ale. He’d already had a little over three, and he felt more ill than he’d ever felt in his life from a genuine sickness.

“Get drinking!” Ceallach slurred. “Here!”

Ceallach grabbed the handle of Aodhán’s mug and lifted it off of the table shakily owing to the fact that he was even more inebriated than Aodhán had ever seen him. He sloshed some of the ale over the sides and onto Aodhán’s lap, prompting Aodhán to take the mug from Ceallach and take a sip of the ale, although his mouth made him spit some of it out despite the fact that he’d not taken that large of a mouthful.

Several more competitors had fallen out of the competition by the time Aodhán had downed a quarter of the mug, including what his mouth had forcibly expelled. Before Aodhán could consume half the mug Ceallach had fallen out of the competition, dropping his still partially-full mug onto himself.

Aodhán pushed his mug away and put his face in his hands. He felt like vomiting, and he wanted to get out of his wet, ale-scented clothes. He had no idea how the others who were still in the competition could keep drinking.

He heard a couple more fall out of the competition as he sat there before he lowered his hands from his face and looked around the table to see that no one else was sitting up.

Looking toward the priest, Aodhán saw a sympathetic look on his face.

“The contest is ended,” the priest said.

“I feel horrible,” Aodhán moaned.

“This young man should be shown to his quarters and helped into bed,” the priest said.

Aodhán struggled to sit up on his own and was grateful to be helped to his feet by a servant, who supported him as he staggered out of the room and all the way to his quarters, by which time he felt horridly nauseous.

Covering his mouth with a hand, he moaned. The servant expertly fished his bedpan out from under the bed with a foot and Aodhán dropped to his knees to empty the contents of his stomach into the receptacle in hopes that forcibly ejecting all the ale from his system would help him feel better at least by the time morning came around.