faderift | A bottle of white, a bottle of red

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A bottle of white, a bottle of red

WHO: Open to anyone that wants wine and warmth and a little company.
WHAT: Wine and no whining.
WHEN: After the mage meeting wraps up.
WHERE: Close to the healing tents, specifically the Orlesian section.
NOTES: There will be wine, drinking, unwinding, and nibbles.

The meeting had been stressful for just about everyone involved. Tempers had flared, opinions made known, a few rounds of confetti and arguing before some manner of accord. Whether it would last or however long it might? No one could truly say. In the interest of being quite done with the stress and headaches such debate brought on the Orlesian healing tents clearing out the potions, bandages, and poultices in favor of what cushions and braziers they had on hand for light and for heat. The space was open, warm, and inviting with an odd assortment of tin mugs or clay glasses set around flat side tables propped up with stones to keep them from wobbling and tipping the whole mass onto the ground. There are some dried fruits and hard cheeses, dried meat and hard crusted bread- whatever scraps they could scavenge or spare and a few bottles of wine or brandy. Across the entrance to the tents there was a sign:

Bring a bottle or food to share for entry.

Tacked below was a list of rules:

Everyone is welcome, don't make a fuss
Don't hog the wine
Don't hog the food
Don't fight or argue
If you finish a bottle open a new one, don't recork it for someone else to find
Clean up after yourselves

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"And what state would that be, Lala?" Wine loosened lips and warmed the heart- it also provided excuse enough for the rather pleased flush on Adelaide's cheeks to find herself in Galadriel's company. The diminuative slipped out before she could think better of it, too caught up in closing the distance and leaning. Like this Galadriel's song was clearer, purer. Comforting after so long a stressful afternoon.

How it might look or how proper or not it may be didn't occur to her in the slightest. She was among friends- or at least friendly acquaintances for the moment.

The diminutive passed without comment, folded into their conversation as easily as they'd taken to sitting together. Galadriel's brows rose, but they did nothing to disturb the amusement on her face.

"I had thought you weary and resting," Galadriel explained and lifted her cup to her lips. "It seems I was mistaken."

She had little left in her clay mug and once she'd emptied it, she rested it in her lap, held idly between both her hands. It was some small miracle that the deep white of her gown had not been dirtied by Skyhold. The fabric was resilient, woven by her own hand, but even Galadriel could not save silk from spilled wine. No, that feat was beyond the power of men or elves.

"I cannot say I am sad to be wrong. The ease of wine and warmth suits you well."

"I was, at first." Then Roul had pressed a glass of mulled wine into her hand and Sabine took to unwinding the tight braid she kept about her head- Henri fetched a book she'd taken from the library to read at her leisure rather than for research. The rest fell into place little by little, a platter of cheese here, another bottle of wine there, warmth and company and now? Music. More even than the Bard in the far corner of the tents.

There was always an undercurrent of music when Galadriel was near. "This all...happened on it's own. Though I am glad that it did. We all needed this."

Some more than others but- she would not begrudge any one person here the comfort offered by warmth and wine and good company. "It suits you as well. You're glowing- you always glow but it's...warmer, now. Joyful."

Edited 2015-11-07 05:23 (UTC)

Though she'd felt the ease of the wine as it crept through her, she hadn't recognized the warmth until Adelaide commented on it. Confused, she brought a hand up and traced her own cheek. The warmth of her own face surprised her and Galadriel's hand froze. She stared at Adelaide for a long moment, startled into silence and as abruptly as she'd frozen, her smile spread again and she laughed. The sound was light and quiet.

"I had not realized the spirits of Thedas were so strong," she admitted brightly, though it was impossible to tell if the double entendre was intentional. She glanced at her cup with a bit of merry suspicion. "I cannot recall the last time I felt so light after drinking so very little."

Her smile turned a little private and softened.

"My husband would have delighted in this to no end, I think."

There was no other word for it. At the startled look- the bright, beautiful laughter? the pun? Adelaide giggled. Giggled and if that was not a sign to set her mug aside for a moment or five and slow her enjoyment, nothing was. She hadn't giggled for love or coin or anything in years- before the events of the Spire, even. Laughed? Certainly. Chuckled? of course. Snorted? Often. But giggling was something done of younger, brighter women, infatuated women-

And perhaps she was a touch infatuated. Warmed through by Galadriel's glow and song, enthralled by her voice and grace. "Perhaps it is strengthened by good company?"

Alright, more than a touch infatuated, but there wasn't anything to be done for it-

Doubly so when that word slipped out. Husband. For a moment Adelaide felt a pang of envy and she honestly could not say what it was for. That someone had Galadriel's favor- that Galadriel had someone that could make her smile so kindly- it came and went, squashed down with a faint shake of her head. Nothing would come of it. Galadriel wasn't meant to be here in the first place, she was her student- and she was her friend. That was more than she'd expected of anyone.

It was enough.

"I take it that wine does not lighten you quite so easily back home?"

"No."

It was unfortunate that the haze of tipsy fondness that swept over her was so ephemeral, it swirled and passed from her face like smoke clearing in a stiff breeze. Her private smile bittered within a heartbeat; it adopted a quick flash of tension and quiet anger. It was a familiar sentiment and Galadriel drew calm over that sour note as quickly as it came.

"It does not."

Fortunately, ephemeral though it was, the haze of alcohol was also persistent. It rose and enveloped such things without effort, softened them within moments, and set her adrift in pleasant ease again. The calm of her smile became slightly sad, but not nearly so unpleasant as it had been.

"Our wine is not as strong, I think," Galadriel added conversationally and leaned against Adelaide a little more. "And the company certainly affects matters."

She no longer wished to discuss Arda, or think on such things. She was not as wise and careful while tipsy, but she was clever enough to route a conversation. Her eyes followed Adelaide's arm to her mug and the light in her eyes was almost jovial.

"But you are not drinking what I am, are you? Is there some secret to floral wine, or did I merely choose the stronger of the two?"

Things not to ask about or talk about, volume one. Wine in Arda. Adelaide stills at Galadriel's side, watching the sweep of emotions play their way across her face. It was an ill timed question, perhaps- ruining whatever sweet fondness she'd been enjoying. Was it home? Was it something of the spirits in Arda? Was it simply frustrations with how things were in this world?

Were she more sober she would think on it. As it was Adelaide remained still and silent until it seemed that the mood passed, much as she ever had for her sisters and mother in her youth.

"For the better, I hope." The last thing she wanted was to be found ill company in Galadriel's eyes. It was a strange feeling, one she hadn't entertained since her mentors granted her the rank of Enchanter and became her peers- that desire for approval. For esteem.

Clearly this called for more wine. Adelaide relaxed against Galadriel's side, sipping from her mug. "That is a possibility. The mulled wines and ciders tend to be a bit stronger- the meads are particularly deceptive as is the ice wine- their sweetness hides their strength."

Galadriel listened to Adelaide's explanation politely, even as she reached for the bottle nearby, the one that smelled distinctly of flowers and, though she didn't know it, was painfully Orlesian. She refilled her mug and, as she returned the bottle to its place, considered the information she'd been given.

"Iced wines are rather rare in Lórien, but meads? The elves have a great fondness for them, myself included. I doubt there is a day when meads do not flow through the heart of Elvendom," she said and savored the smell of the wine in her clay cup. "In Aman, the finest mead was a drink of golden flowers; it tasted of sweet songs and sunlight. Ours is not so well made as the Valar's, I fear, but the miruvor of the north and of Lórien is not without its merits."

She took a sip of this new brew and seemed to savor it.

"It is a pity I do not know how to make it, else I would share the art," she added and shifted her shoulders in a subtle shrug.

"We had been working on a better means of brewing ice wine and mead in the Spire before....well. Everything. I think most of our notes are likely still there if they have not been burned." Much as she would like to go home again- it wouldn't be. There had been too much death, too much violence. The Spire couldn't signify duty and safety for anyone anymore. Maybe in a decade, maybe in a century- but for now? No.

She puts those thoughts from her mind, content to rest against Galadriel and consider her as she considers the wine. She glowed. How did she glow? Was it the magic? Was it the ring? The wine?

"We would be glad to know of it, I should think, if it is so fine as to bring you to smile." Was that flirtatious? It might have been. Oh dear.

Galadriel would have asked about the Spire, if she were of a mind to, but it seemed a great deal of unspoken catastrophe had happened very recently, and the evening was going far too well to risk such dark conversation. No, she wanted to enjoy herself and, as Adelaide leaned against her and spoke, it took the elf a moment to recognize the woman's tone. Such flirting was not unknown to Galadriel, and the fact that she had only just told Adelaide of her husband meant that it was a friendly thing, free from misunderstanding.

She rested her shoulder against Adelaide's as she let out a short laugh--inebriated as she was, it was more akin to a giggle than she was usually wont.

"My lady," Galadriel admonished quietly. "That nearly sounded like an overture."

Her smile was kind and small.

"We do not need miruvor," she added. "Your company is more than enough to kindle my smile."

Galadriel being married made this safe. How it made it safe she couldn't put into words, but it did. Nothing would come of it. That they are friends, that they can sit like this and drink and discuss wine or life was more than enough for her. The words had tripped out and that? She blamed on the wine. But she couldn't blame it all that much when Galadirel giggles in turn.

Like bells. Tolling bells in a winter's morning. Cold and clear and bright and-

Wine and infatuation made a poet of her. She hid her smile in her cup, blushing and shrugging it off. "Then I shall content myself with that and ask for nothing more, yes?"

It was not so sad a comment but, as she made it, Galadriel felt a twinge of sadness all the same. Her smile was apologetic and, close as they were, it was impossible to miss the softness in her eyes.

"It is not so sad a thing, to have a friend and love them dearly," Galadriel assured her and, in a moment of melancholy, she shifted one of her hands off of her clay cup and rested it on Adelaide's forearm. "Friends are precious, especially for those as old as I, and I would trade one for nothing."

"No, not at all. I would call it practically joyous." To have that esteem, that affection? Was nothing short of miraculous to Adelaide for she still remained somewhat uncertain what it was she'd done to earn it. But it was earned and it was deeply appreciated, Galadriel swiftly becoming a soothing presence in what would prove to be a horribly chaotic life in Skyhold. Be it the wine, the warmth, or the light of her, Adelaide could not say, but the touch earned no flinch, no tension. "Then I am doubly glad and honored that you consider me as such."

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A bottle of white, a bottle of red

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