The three of us walked through the fog in near silence, only my shoes echoing on the cobbles. They both wore soft slippers, I saw, looking down and nearly losing my balance. Sapphire grabbed my arm and steered me after that. I was grateful. Walking in a straight line was nearly impossible. Was impossible. I was very drunk indeed. It was only the shock of seeing them that had induced in me a false lucidity, a temporary sobriety. I was noticing things, but not much, and not rationally, and I knew it. The two dead guards at the gate, for example. I saw them but couldn't tell who they were. A third walked out of the fog and I lurched toward him, arms wide, ready to hug him. He caught me and held me up.
“You stink of booze,” Meran said. “Just like the old days.”
“No! It's not my fault!” I didn't make a sound. It had been funny at first, but now it was frustrating. My emotions wavered from one extreme to another and I recognized the syndrome.
“Let's get you home,” He tucked one arm round my waist, just like the old days, and we staggered on together, heading home. Where-ever and what-ever home might be now.
“How did you survive?”
“What? Can't hear you.”
“I silenced him, he was being a buffoon. We were trying to rescue him and he was… was…”
“Being drunk?” Meran supplied.
“Do we have to talk?” Sapphire asked in the quietest voice I have ever heard anyone use and still sound like they are shouting.
“I can, no one can hear me.”
No one answered. But then, what had I expected? No one could hear me.
We walked on in a fog of muffled sounds for what seemed a long time. I was tired. I wanted to sleep. I said so. No one listened. I tried to sit down and Meran wouldn't let me. I was almost used to his ministrations. He had helped me home several times when I had been a drunk in truth, and he had the knack of it. He talked to me, softly, not angry, encouraging, urging me on. It seemed to take a long time. I either passed out on the way or I just don't remember the rest. It's hard to say. It always was.