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

[sunshinethroughgrey]

At that, she laughs, then covers her mouth as she does so to choke down her giggles so she does not disturb the archers. She glances over at him, before she speaks with a little more ...decorum.

"I am from all over, really. We moved a great deal when I was a child. I was born in Fereldan, and raised for some years in a small town called Lothering."

[obi_wanmanshow]

"Ah, I know this one. Ferelden, that's the place everyone insists is mainly mud and dogs, but really it's no worse than anywhere else, and nicer than many," Obi-Wan likes humble things, at least in concept. He appreciates their existence, "Although, of course, there's nothing wrong with dogs."

He might be halfway to joking, but he knows enough about Ferelden to append that afterthought to the end. The temple didn't raise him to be a fool.

[sunshinethroughgrey]

"That's the one precisely." Bethany's lips twitched up, "And to give you a little more background - we do not have mud - we have the most fertile land in all of Thedas, with an annual rainfall that farmers swoon for. And our dogs, as they call them, are mabari. The most intelligent of all breeds - they are our wardogs and are feared widely."

Bit of pride entering her tone. "We actually own a mabari. I believe our puppy is with Carver right now... that or Marian."

[obi_wanmanshow]

"Fertile farmland is a resource to be respected. Humility will serve a people far better than noblesse, in a crisis."

A drought, for example, or apparantly, a Blight. Armies marched on their bellies, after all.

"Ah, yes. This will be the sister everyone seems to assume I know so much about?" He hasn't encountered Varric's book yet, but Obi-Wan will find it in his hands eventually. Until then, the Champion Hawke of Kirkwall is mere rumor and heresay, to his mind, "And Carver?"

[sunshinethroughgrey]

"Probably why everyone keeps trying to invade us. In the end they know food is more important than how muddy our dogs are." She dimpled once more, before she took another sip of wine.

Amusement flashed across her face, "Yes, that sister. Trust me, you'll hear all the tales, if you go to the tavern." A pause, and her face softened with fondness and beloved aggravation. "My twin brother. He's ... well. He's outspoken and stubborn. In all the heroic ways."