In the summer, I remember

[rowancrowned]

WHO: Thranduil, Legolas, anyone good with a bow or who enjoys the wine on offer.
WHAT: ROOTY TOOTY POINT N SHOOTY ARCHERY CONTEST
WHEN: 8th of Bloomingtide, midmorning until sunset.
WHERE: Valley
NOTES: log for a friendly wager! 

The eighth of Bloomingtide began as a chilly morning; not quite cold enough to leave frost on the budding flowers and fresh-sprouted plants in the heights of Skyhold, but nearly, nearly.

By the time the sun was been in the sky for a few hours, most of the early-morning chill had burned off, leaving a day that promised to be nearly too-hot for those who would be stuck in full-plate and in direct sunlight. Thranduil wasn’t expecting any to come clanking down to his little fete, but had none the less secured a spot in the shade. Varric had apparently found him while he was still working on organizing—the target launchers are set neatly in line with everything else. Along the clay pigeon launchers were the standard, stock targets, blindfolds—and on a table off to the side was a few bottles of sweet wine beside loaves of brown bread and hard cheeses.

The contest did not pretend to be anything other than what it was; a chance to meet, and mingle, and possibly show off archery skills. The purses wrested next to the wine and cheese and Thranduil himself. He had found a chair to rest in while waiting for the contestants to arrive, dressed plainer than he had so far allowed himself to be seen. On his fingers, four rings glittered—but his confidence in Legolas was so absolute, he doubted he would lose even one before the days was out.

Comments

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin offers a glance, then smirks a little at his grimace. "It's a lot sweeter than I'm used to, so you're not alone. But I guess for free wine, it could be a lot worse."

She stretches out taking some more for herself. This isn't going to dent her sobriety at all, neither the vintage nor the lazy pace with which she's consuming it. "That was some nice shooting, by the way. I liked your technique; no holding back, either." That matters more to her than if someone wins or not. Otherwise, what's the point of competing?

[seesobserves]

"No point in doing so," he agrees, still looking out at the field of competition. "All the better to learn who the true masters are."

Likewise, he has no illusions about being the very best in Skyhold when it comes to archery. Give him a mystery to solve, a puzzle to piece together, and it'll be a different story.

He's already learned about a few. He finds Katniss in the crowd, nods toward her.

"The young woman from Redcliffe could probably pick off an enemy raven in pitch dark."

[gatheringstorm]

Glancing over, Katniss grins. "Yeah, Katniss is one of the better archers I've seen, not just for the competition. Her archery saved our asses in Emprise du Lion. Metaari's supposed to be pretty damn good too, but I haven't had much time to observe him yet." She takes a sip, resolving to change that. "But I'll become the next Divine before Legolas is bested. His reflexes are just too good."

[seesobserves]

"Mm. He's the one his father wanted to show off." Sherlock isn't too familiar with the rifter elves himself, but it had been easy to pick up a few things here and there. "At least he's living up to the promise."

[gatheringstorm]

"The rifter elves are something else, aren't they? I can see why the native ones are so drawn to them." Legolas and his archery skills have her admiration, and he seems a friendly sort, but she has less to say about his father...and her opinion of their kin, Galadriel, is not especially high. Threatening Araceli will do that.

[seesobserves]

Sherlock can understand, on an intellectual level, why the native elves feel drawn to the others... but that doesn't mean he likes it.

So he prefers to pretend like he doesn't understand.

"Sentiment?" he asks lightly, as if guessing, his nose wrinkling like he smelled something sour.

[gatheringstorm]

That nose-wrinkling gets a small smirk out of her. "Having an allergic reaction there? Though to be fair, I can't say I have any about my own ancestors. Qunari society isn't anything to be proud of, so whatever. But I guess it's different when the elves here lost so much, things they considered worth keeping. Seeing these elves must remind them of what they could have had."

[seesobserves]

"They must think they walked straight out of the Ancient Age." A sardonic note, there. Sherlock can't actually speak to whether the Dalish believe these elves traveled through time...

...or to whether such a thing could actually be possible, in the Fade. He'd prefer to think it isn't.

[gatheringstorm]

"Something like that, yes." She catches the sardonic note, but that doesn't make it any less true, at least to the Dalish elves. "What will come of it, who the hell knows."

She's tired of dwelling on the elves for now, though, not invested in how they choose to define or redefine their culture. If they want these elves to guide them, well, that's their call.

"So, will you be joining me out west?"

[seesobserves]

Sherlock nods, humming his confirmation around another swallow of wine.

"Deathroot's abundant in the Approach. It's a chance to harvest plenty for making grenades."

And tea. But he's never yet divulged to anyone what's in that foul-smelling brew he drinks every other week. Not their business.

[gatheringstorm]

If Korrin's seen it, she hasn't asked. Whatever it is, it can't be any worse than Cabot's hangover cure, which she'll tell anyone smells like an ogre's asshole. "Oh yeah, deathroot's a great place to get that stuff. I'll pass on what I find; the only grenades I really use are the healing mist ones." There isn't much need or desire for her to toss things at enemies when she can just blur forward and slice them to bits now.

[seesobserves]

He swiftly makes the connection between the healing mist and her newly developed specialty. Why else would she need the grenades so badly?

"Able to fling lightning from your hands, and you prefer to get within swinging distance."

It might sound as though he disapproves on the surface, but there's a touch of humor just on the edges of his tone. He's teasing her.

[gatheringstorm]

That gets her to laugh, tilting her head back. "Hey, when you've had to hang back for so long, it feels good to be a badass from the front line. Besides, I still use plenty of lightning. I just mix it up a little. What good would I be if I became too predictable?"